Page 10 of He Falls First

“Samuel Summers?” A nurse calls out.

“Ah, that’s my cue.” Dad rises, shooting me a thumbs-up before turning his charm on the staff again. “Lead the way, beautiful. You take good care of me now, you hear?”

“Of course, Mr. Summers,” the nurse says, leading him away with a practiced patience that deserves a medal.

Alone in the waiting room, I glance at the clock and sigh. Hendrix is probably thinking less and less of me the longer I make him wait for my return.

My mind slips, falls, and dives headfirst into a fantasy where Hendrix, with those piercing green eyes, corners me by his desk, all brooding intensity and disheveled hair.

“Late, Miss Summers?” he’d say, voice low and dangerous.

I’d stammer an apology, but he’d just tut, tut, tut and bend me over the firm mahogany surface of his desk. I can almost feel his hands gripping my hips, pulling me close, positioning me just right. The thought of his hand lifting, poised, makes me flush with heat. His harsh smack on my ass would—

Stop it, I chastise myself. What the hell? This is not me. I don’t have thoughts like this. Well, actually I do from time to time, but usually only under very controlled circumstances: at home, in my bed, where nobody can hear me breathe or ask me if I’m not a little young for Keanu Reeves.

I do not get carried away by uncontrolled, wholly inappropriate fantasies about that also-too-old-for-me, very much off-limits boss of mine, Hendrix Monroe, who would probably fire me on the spot for such unprofessional daydreaming.

“Everything went smoothly, Lizzy,” Dad announces cheerily as he reappears. The post-procedure bounce in his step is both impressive and horrifying.

“Great. Let’s get you home,” I say hastily, ushering him out the door. Delayed from work because of your dad’s vasectomy is bad enough. But delayed because you’re lost in a spank-fueled daydream about your curmudgeonly boss?

That’s a story that won’t be told. Ever.

I flick open the car door, guiding Dad’s slow shuffle into the passenger seat. As I slide behind the wheel and fish out my phone, a message from Hendrix lights up the screen: “Where are you?”

“Dad, I’ve got to get back,” I mutter, shoving the device into my purse.

“Work?” Dad grunts, eyebrows knitting together as he inspects the hospital band around his wrist like it’s a bizarre trophy.

“Yep.” I sigh. “Hendrix is… demanding.”

“I can’t believe you’re still working as an assistant.” Dad’s voice has that tone—the ‘I’m-not-angry-I’m-disappointed’ one. “Is that what you want to do with your life, Lizzy? To be at the beck and call of some hotshot forever?”

“It’s not about being an assistant forever. It’s about using tech for good, making a difference. You know this.” I start the engine, perhaps a tad too aggressively. “Not all of us can be charming retirees who spend their days wooing receptionists half their age.”

I throw the car into reverse, resisting the urge to glance at the messages piling up on my phone.

“Ouch, Lizzy.” Dad chuckles, obviously unbothered. “I’m just saying, don’t bank on being someone’s assistant for too long. You’re smarter than that.”

My fingers tighten around the steering wheel as I navigate out of the parking lot.

“That’s not the plan, Dad,” I snap back. “This job—it’s a stepping stone, okay? There are opportunities here, ways I can make a difference through tech.”

“Sure, sure.” Dad waves me off.

Irritation simmering, I say, “Shouldn’t you be resting or something instead of interrogating me? You just got snipped, remember?”

“Resting?” He laughs, patting his lap with a lewd grin. “Darling, I’m ready for action. The doc said it’s not like they removed the—”

“Stop!” I cut him off, horrified. “Too much information, Dad. Way too much.”

“Resting’s for the old and the dead!” He laughs, and I roll my eyes so hard they threaten to stick that way.

After dropping Dad off with a stern reminder to actually take it easy, I’m back in the car alone, staring at another barrage of messages from Hendrix. They read like a list of commands meant for some kind of corporate robot, not a human with a life outside of work. I mean, this might not have been my favorite errand, but it counts as having a life, right?

I thumb through the messages. Demands. Deadlines. ‘ASAPs’ thrown around like confetti. This is killing my attraction to him, and honestly, it’s probably for the best. Today I’m playing the rope in the middle of a tug-of-war between Hendrix and Dad, and it’s wearing me thin.

If I’m going to live up to the “He Falls First” pledge, I’m going to have to learn to put myself first in all areas of life. The pledge isn’t just about romance—it’s about respect, boundaries, asserting myself. And if I have to start by putting a billionaire boss in his place, so be it. Let him wait.

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