Page 116 of Cinderella Is Faking It

“I’m literally kicking as hard as I can,” I huffed.

“Maybe with your foot, but you need to put your goshdarn hip into it, nugget.” Sometimes, when Scarlett yelled at me, it felt like getting yelled at in a black and white movie. She wore her black hair in victory rolls, and her lips in a shade of red that made my favorite lipstick look bland, and she cursed like she was about to get censored for impropriety. Just last week she’d asked me if I was ‘on the fudging rag’, which turned out to be her way of asking if I was on my fucking period, because apparently, I was punching like abloated raccoon.

“Excuse me, Mrs. Ashton, your eight o’clock is here.” Scarlett’s assistant, a mousy girl with big glasses blinked up at us.

Scarlett didn’t usually do one-on-one sessions and her assistant hadn’t gotten the hang of dealing with this setup yet. When I’d asked her about it, she’d said she preferred it when Beck owed her a favor, not the other way around, and hadn’t elaborated further. Maybe I should have asked, but even if I tried to evict him, Beck was already living on my mind rent-free. I didn’t feel like upping his square-footage on top of that. Even if he had arranged for Scarlett to be my private teacher, I was still paying through the nose for these lessons.

“Alright, Del, time to hit the shower. We’ll try again next week.”

“Okay.” I deflated. I wasn’t good at not being good at something.

“Mind if I give it a shot?” The low, familiar rumble of his voice ran down my spine like a shiver. Beck slid his suit jacket off his shoulders and threw it over the ropes of the ring.

“Be my guest, but I’m out of here in twenty, whether you’ve talked numbers to me or not.” She tossed him her pads. “I have dinner with Harlan and his parents tonight.”

“No, it’s fine,” I said, backing away from Beck as he climbed into the ring. All that damn height and muscle mass and unfair bone structure wouldn’t get anywhere near me. “I’m done for tonight.”

“Come on, Blondie, hit me. Let out some of that anger.”

“I’m not angry at you.”

Scarlett cleared her throat. “I’ll be in my office if you need me.”

I should have left. I should have gone home instead of waiting for Scarlett and her assistant to disappear in her office. I shouldn’t have said: “Why can’t you just leave me alone?”

“I want to explain.”

“You don’t have to. I get it. We both lied. I pretended to be Cordelia and you pretended to be human. But you see how one of these lies involved putting on pretty dresses, and the other involved double homicide plans, right?”

“I keep trying to tell you. I didn’t know Julian was going to harm Cordelia.”

“What did you think was going to happen? Once you figured out that I wasn’t her, how did Cordelia factor into your plans?”

“Institutionalized.” He threw his arms out as if that answer was so obvious. Of course. When someone doesn’t fit into your plans, you just put them in a straight jacket. “Private clinic in Switzerland. More fucking luxurious than her own house. Double homicide? What the fuck are you on about?”

“Eclampsia. Unfortunate but not uncommon.”

“What?”

“Don’t play stupid, asshole. How big is Brody’s trust, huh?” My voice exploded out of me. Okay, so maybe there was anger simmering in my veins. I ran my thick, fingerless gloves over my face before the tears of frustration could well up. If we were doing this, I was going to get through it clear-headed. “Half of that donut franchise her grandparents established along the west coast, right? I googled it. Estimated annual revenue is 120 million. Her half is 60 million. Over 18 years? Roughly a billion dollars in Julian’s pocket. It’s a good fucking play. Keeping it in the family.”

“We’ll go over how revenues work some other time, but-”

“You set me up to die. Did your mother inspire that plan? Kill the spouse, keep the kids?”

“Sweetheart-”

“Shut up.” I barreled into him. I didn’t even pretend to aim for the soft pads on his hands. My fists drummed into him, and he didn’t even flinch. “Shut up, shut up, shut up.” My voice broke. “You told him.”

“I didn’t tell him anything.”

“Stop. Fucking. Lying. Beck.” Sobs cracked through my chest. “He knew. He knew how I let you touch me. Did you have a good time mocking me behind my back? Discuss how many fingers you needed to make me come?”

His head snapped sideways as if I’d slapped him. “Fuck,” he breathed. Caught red-fucking-handed.

“Yeah. I know you told him.” My voice hiccupped and I brushed the tears from my face. “What was the plan here? Teach Delilah how to climax, because once she’d been fucked by the great August Beckett, she wouldn’t want any other dick ever again? If you’re the only one, who does it for me, I’d have to marry you, right?”

“Something along those lines.”

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