Page 126 of Cinderella Is Faking It

“I’m not putting in a good word for you with her,” she said after offering a drink - which I declined based on the amount of cat hair on her clothes.

“That’s not why I’m here.”

“In that case, let’s hear it.” She leaned back and folded her hands in her lap. They looked similar enough, but the way they moved was nothing alike. Where Del’s mind was whirring a million miles per hour, her body sometimes moving as if it was an afterthought, Cordelia’s every muscle twitch seemed controlled. Even her slow blinks seemed deliberate to make me feel watched.

Maybe Del had been right. Maybe I was a good liar, and I’d lied to myself above all. BecausethisCordelia Montgomery, I couldn’t picture myself longing for, not even if Sternberg himself published a manual for falling in love.

This Cordelia Montgomery was, however, the reason I came here. I inhaled and met her eyes. “I’m sorry.”

She tilted her chin up, a small smile curling around the corners of her lips. “I think I misheard you. Repeat, please.”

Alright, they may not have moved alike, but Delilah and Cordelia were two peas in a pod. “I’m sorry,” I repeated, “I think we both know why I’ve been putting my efforts into making amends with Delilah, but I realized that you deserve an apology as well. The original plan was to facilitate an Axent-Montgomery merger through marriage between you and me. I came to that charity dinner prepared to sweep you off your feet and I thought it would be easy because of your mental health. And when we found out you had gotten yourself a stand-in, I had arrangements made to ship you off to a mental institution for the rest of your life. A very nice one with horses and art classes, but I still hadn’t considered… you. You’re great at what you do. I’ve been keeping an eye on your foundation. I underestimated you in the worst way possible.”

“Hmm.” Cordelia leaned back in her chair and tapped a pen against her lips. “So, you’re admitting that you were an ableist pig?”

“Yes.”

“Good. What are you doing to make up for it?”

“Excuse me?”

“An apology is worth nothing if you don’t do the work to back it up.”

Shewasgreat at what she did. I had been the fool to walk into the wolf's den without prepping on an economical level. “I suppose you have something in mind.”

“I’m glad you asked.” She beamed and straightened in her chair. “I want three free self-defense classes at one of your gyms for every survivor benefitting from our foundation. We invite all of them to join fully sponsored group seminars in our centers on the east and west cost twice a year, so don’t think just because they live in South Dakota or Texas, they won’t make use of their free classes. I need a majority of these classes to be taught by women. All instructors have to be trained on dealing with vulnerable people who might experience mental health issues during the class, such as PTSD flashbacks. We’re willing to provide that training through our foundation, but you’ll pay for it.” She handed me a piece of paper across the desk.

“Done.” I pulled my pen from my jacket pocket and signed on the dotted line.

“Just like that? No negotiation? You didn’t even read the contract.” She narrowed her eyes at me, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“I signed Delilah up at the club,” I said.

“I know. That’s what gave me the idea. I don’t understand the relevance though.”

“I’ve seen her train with a professional fighter, and it doesn’t work. You can’t tell someone who needs to work through a mental block that they just have to turn their hips and kick harder. So, no. No negotiation. I want that training for my instructors. All of them, not just the ones teaching self-defense. Can your foundation accommodate that?”

“Yes.” She shot a quick look over her shoulder, but Yelchin’s expression remained stoic. Whatever silent exchange passed between them, she turned back to me with a smile. “I like that energy, but you’re not getting a friends and family discount.”

“Name your price. You can work out the details with Scarlett. She runs the day-to-day.” I handed the contract back along with a Vortex card that had Scarlett’s details on it. She’d rip my head off for giving out free classes like candy, while throwing money at Cordelia for that mental health training. Maybe she’d have to get that regional manager back. Anna? Hannah? That girl that had been harping on about inclusivity.

“Amazing. Perfect.” Cordelia stuck the business card to her monitor with a piece of pink tape. “Del isn’t here by the way. She’s at work.”

“I know. This wasn’t for her benefit.”

“Well, consider your amends to me made.” She stood from her chair and shook my hand as she dismissed me. “I’ll see you around, Beck.”

“I thought you didn’t show your face outside your house.” Confused, I turned in the doorway just to see her big toothpaste-commercial-worthy grin.

“That’s correct.”

FIFTY-THREE

Vortex was closingfor the whole week, and when Scarlett called to cancel my lessons, she had some choice words about the Montgomery foundation hijacking her ovulation window, when she had originally taken three days off just to spend them in bed with Harlan. That was already way more information than I needed from her, so I decided not to ask any more questions. Instead, I went right to the source of the hijacking.

“This is a conversation that requires a lot more ice cream.” Cordelia sighed and swung herself out of her desk chair.

We were in the middle of pumpkin spice season, but for Cordelia that just meant she’d chase her ice cream with a hot chocolate (extra marshmallows). I thought my Starbucks order was bad, but Cordelia trumped me on sugar consumption in almost every way possible. The only exception being that disgusting tea Victor kept making for her.

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