Page 14 of Cinderella Is Faking It

“Touch you?”

“Act concerned, but also, yes, that.”

“It’s not an act.” He shrugged and turned, carrying his plate to our table.

God, I couldn’t get a proper read on him. How could he blow his kindness out of proportion - how much did a restaurant cost? - and then turn around with such chauvinist views like ‘all men everywhere only care about external beauty’. Was that a generational thing? He did have like ten years on me. Maybe I shouldn’t have cared. This was the third and last time I’d meet this man. Then again, I’d have to make conversation with him for the next hour or so, just to make Cordelia look good.

“Okay August Beckett, you have to answer some questions for me.” I piled some pancakes onto my fruit bowl before joining him at the table. My apple juice was already waiting for me.

“Beck,” he corrected me, “and only if you answer some for me.”

“Fine. Truth for truth.”

“Go ahead.”

“Why meet me here when you know I have a boyfriend and you have no chance?”

“First of all, I reject the premise that I don’t have a chance if your only reason for not going on a date with me is your relationship status,” he pulled a croissant apart over his plate, “but to answer your question, I intend to get to know you, Del. You’re the owner of Axent’s biggest competitor. I would like to get to know you intimately, yes, but it would be a stupid business move to ignore your existence just because you rejected my advances.”

Damn. That actually sounded like a logical answer. “But why-”

He interrupted me: “My turn.”

“Okay.” I picked up my first pancake with my hands - not a date, no audience, manners were overrated.

Beck watched me tear into the pancake, but only asked his question: “Read or watch anything good lately?”

“Really? That’s your question? - Don’t answer that.” I caught him off just in time when his grin had widened. I wasn’t wasting one of my questions on that. Oh god. I had no idea what Cordelia would read or listen to. And I had no idea what would make a good impression on Beck. Rereading Sense and Sensibility for the 100thtime probably didn’t. “I’ve been listening to this podcast on Greek mythology.” That one could work. It was niche, but it wasn’t too weird. “It breaks down The Odyssey and compares different interpretations and translations, including Emily Wilson’s, who’s the first woman to translate it into English.”

“That’s neither read nor watch, but I’ll let it slide because it was a good answer.”

“Do you really think men care more about what a woman looks like than what she has in her head?”

“I never said that.” I raised my brows at him, and he sighed and leaned back in his chair. “First impressions matter, and in most social constructs, first impressions happen visually. Most people take one look at a person and can tell you whether or not they’re attracted to them and would like to engage with them in a sexual context. That can be a long-term relationship or a one-night-stand. That’s all. Of course, there’s exceptions. There’s always exceptions. If you met your boyfriend on one of those swipe-right dating apps though, I doubt he’s the exception.”

“You’re really good at rationalizing.”

“I’ll give your compliments to my old therapist.” Beck smiled and God, his smile was beautiful, but it disappeared as fast as it had come. He nodded at my hands wrapped around my second pancake. “Why do you hurt yourself?”

“I don’thurtmyself.”

“Del.” He leaned forward, arms braced on the table, and dropped his voice. “Why do you hurt yourself?”

The only person who had ever put it that bluntly was my former therapist – back before I lost my health insurance. Defne had only voiced some concerns when she’d noticed my nervous habit, and Tabitha had suggested a number of workouts as substitute. “Please ask a different question.” Cordelia didn’t need that kind of weakness pinned on her.

Beck didn’t move and didn’t speak, his dark eyes burrowing into me. Was it getting hot in here? I pulled on the collar of my dress, aching for a little cool air. “Alright,” he finally said, “you get one pass. Ideal first date?”

That was easy. And matched Cordelia’s lifestyle. “Sleepover.”

He choked on his croissant.

“Not like that, perv.” I rolled my eyes at him. “Actual sleepover. Cute PJs, watching movies, doing face masks, consuming a copious amount of sugary snacks, talking until 3am.”

“So your boyfriend is actually a girlfriend?” Asshole. I chucked one of my strawberries at him and he barked out a loud, chesty laugh. “Sorry. Sounds cute. Your turn.”

“Actually, I need a minute. Does your new restaurant happen to have any bathrooms?” He pointed over my shoulder to the door in the corner of the restaurant with the stick figures on it. “I’ll be right back.”

As much as I’d enjoyed tearing through those pancakes, the grease was clinging to my fingers. Just looking at the oily sheen made my spine crawl. I didn’t even want to think about the stains that could leave on this $300 dress.