Page 28 of He Falls First

Suddenly I feel a buzz that has nothing to do with the fancy drinks being served. I toss my hair over my shoulder and lift my chin, trying my best smoldering look.

“Like this?”

Hendrix nearly chokes on his whiskey. “Trust me, you don’t have to try that hard,” he says, amusement flickering in his eyes.

I laugh, the sound light and airy. For a moment, I forget we’re playing a part. This feels easy, natural. I meet Hendrix’s gaze with an unexpected warmth flowing between us, and if I didn’t know any better, I’d think he was looking at me like… like he could actually fall for someone like me.

This is just pretend, I remind the flutter in my chest. But oh, what a lovely fantasy it is.

I sidle away from Hendrix, trying to channel every bit of femme fatale energy I can muster. Then I lean against the bar, flashing what I hope is a mysterious smile at no one in particular.

Aloof, but approachable. Isn’t that what Hendrix said? Well, that one’s easy for him—having the emotional range of a teaspoon comes in handy for appearing aloof.

My phone buzzes and I glance down to see “Dad” on the screen. Ugh, not now. With a sigh, I answer.

“Wait. You’re out gallivanting with your boss?” Dad says when I explain where we are.

“Yes, we’re out at an event. It’s work-related.” I roll my eyes even though he can’t see them.

“Work? At a bar? Sounds like a fine line you’re walking, Lizzy. I don’t like the sound of this.”

“Look, Dad, I’ve got this, okay?”

“Your sister would never—”

“Yep, gotta go, Dad.” I hang up before he can finish. Because clearly, I need another lecture like I need a hole in the head.

He wants me to be more assertive, like Marianne? Fine. Then I’ll make him stop bothering me. I’m having fun here with Hendrix. And Dad’s badgering is probably part of what made me the hopeless people-pleaser I turned out to be. That’s changing now, and I’d rather focus on my growth than let my father hold me back.

Shaking off the irritation, I return my focus to the task at hand. A little straighter posture, a flick of the hair—it’s like I can feel the power of confidence pumping through my veins. Or maybe that’s just the adrenaline of pretending I know what I’m doing.

“Can I buy you a drink?” a voice asks, breaking into my thoughts.

Turning, I’m met with not one, but several hopeful gazes. Seriously? They’re popping up like moles in a whack-a-game. I meet their eyes briefly before glancing away, keeping my expression cool and intriguing.

“Uh, sure,” I say, like I don’t care one way or another.

“What’s your name, beautiful?” another man asks from behind my other shoulder, and suddenly it’s an auction with me as the prize.

“Okay, hold on, one at a time here,” I say with a giggle. “Though I wouldn’t mind if any of you wanted to take your shirts off and start wrestling for me!”

They laugh. All of them. Like I’m actually funny, and not just a goofball. I can’t believe the difference a little confidence makes—I’ve never been this popular with men before.

Then a low, familiar voice interrupts. “Excuse me, gentlemen.”

Hendrix looms behind me, his presence sending a ripple of tension through the group. He looks like he’s just bitten into a lemon, or witnessed a crime against humanity. He places a possessive arm around my waist.

And is the man wheezing a little—or was that an actual growl I just heard?

“This woman is my fiancée,” he informs my would-be suitors, his jaw tense and eyes narrowed. “And I can provide her with all the drinks she needs.”

The men back up, hands raised apologetically. “Sorry, man, we didn’t know.”

Their postures collectively deflate as they slink back into the shadows. Hendrix has that effect—like human repellent or a walking ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign.

I turn to him as they retreat, my eyebrows raised. His jaw is clenched, eyes stormy.

“Was that really necessary?” I ask, trying to keep it light despite the intensity crackling in the air.

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