Page 52 of He Falls First

“What we have is fake,” I had said, like an idiot. I don’t want it to be fake. And I only have myself to blame for the way things are going.

I set the glass down with a clink that’s too loud in the silent room. The liquid sloshes over the rim, but I don’t care. I stand up, pacing the floor as if I can walk off the restlessness gnawing at my insides.

“Argh!” I groan, clenching my fists in frustration. It’s like she’s got me wrapped around her little finger, and I can’t even pinpoint when or how it happened. This was supposed to be a business arrangement, nothing more. But every time I’m around her, I don’t just feel the physical attraction—which is already bad enough—but it’s the emotional connection I don’t know how to shake.

This has gotten out of hand.

Elizabeth and I, we need to talk. Really talk. About this thing between us. It’s not just a ruse anymore—if it ever was. It’s driving me insane, and we can’t go on like this.

With a heavy sigh, I make my way towards Elizabeth’s bedroom.

The idea of spilling my guts has my palms sweating like some angst-ridden teenager, but I can’t do this any other way. It’s like the connection between us forces the kind of honesty that I’ve always craved from others.

Be careful what you wish for.

I’m outside her door, hand raised to knock, ready to lay it all out, when I hear her voice filtering through the wood. She’s on the phone.

“…I know, Allison, but it’s so hard to resist him sometimes,” Elizabeth says, her tone holding a note of exasperation that makes me smile despite myself.

My heart leaps at her words. So she feels it too, this pull between us.

Allison’s voice comes through, tinny but assertive. “Lizzy, honey, it’s about making sure you’re valued. You know, the ‘He Falls First’ rule.”

“That part,” Cora chimes in with a calm tone. “It’s about not settling, Liz. Remember?”

“True. I need to focus on the ‘He Falls First’ pledge. Life goes on after a fake engagement, I guess…”

My hand drops to my side as their words sink in, twisting something inside me. They’re talking about her love life. About her moving on after our charade. When I won’t be part of her love life at all.

The realization stings worse than a slap. I lean against the wall, the texture of the wallpaper rough against my skin.

Elizabeth speaks again, conviction in her voice. “After this engagement thing blows over, I’m going to find someone real. Someone who falls for me first, you know?”

Her friends coo their approval, and it’s as if they’re stamping my fate with every damn syllable. She’s still thinking about shopping the market. Looking forward to it, even. Even after everything between us.

Which shouldn’t surprise me at all. I should’ve known better. Better than falling for my assistant, for a number of reasons.

Elizabeth’s got plans. Plans that don’t include me. Maybe I’ve been reading too much into our moments together, because she’s still committed to dating other guys after our fake engagement is over. And there I was, standing outside her bedroom door like a damn fool, thinking we need to address this intense attraction between us.

What an idiot.

I back away from the door, my jaw set. Okay. It’s time to lock down the professionalism, bolt it tight, and throw away the key. We had an agreement, a contract, and I’m sticking to it like glue.

Elizabeth’s dating skills. The upcoming weeks will be about transforming her into a woman who knows her worth and demands the respect she deserves from potential suitors. It will be a crash course, a boot camp for romance—and I’ll be the drill sergeant with an iron heart.

But as I stride away, there’s this annoying voice in the back of my head whispering how much I want her. And I hate it, hate that it’s there, mocking me with its persistence. I shove it down, bury it under layers of resolve.

Strictly professional. That’s the goal now. Just a boss and his assistant. Dating guide and student. Nothing more.

Later, I stand on the terrace, which is alive with the flicker of candles, their soft glow dancing against the night sky. At my request, my staff has set up a candlelit dinner. Soft strains of music float through the air, setting the stage for what appears to be a romantic evening.

I watch Elizabeth’s eyes widen as she steps into my meticulously orchestrated scene—an illusion crafted for instruction, not indulgence. The gold strands in her hair shimmer in the candlelight, but I won’t let that make me forget my new resolve to make this strictly about her lessons.

“Wow, Hendrix. This is…” She trails off, eyes taking in the table set for two, the intimate spacing of chairs, the pathway cleared for dancing. “You didn’t have to do all this.”

“It’s for your lessons,” I say gruffly. “Now come, have a seat.”

She’s dressed in a simple but elegant black dress that hugs her curves just right. It takes every ounce of self-control not to let my eyes roam over her body as I pull her chair out for her.

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