Page 77 of Cinderella Is Faking It

And here I thought we’d gotten through that day without hiccups. Actually, I’d forgotten most of that day, favoring the memory of coming home to learn Del had used my bed to her advantage. “What are you saying exactly?”

“The numbers add up in the system. Not on paper.”

The elevator stopped and opened its doors to the grand lobby, where all foot traffic led in one direction: out. I worked my jaw and hit the button for the 20th floor again. “Show me.”

Once upstairs, I motioned for Jonas to give me a minute while I dialed Del’s number and slipped into an empty conference room. She picked up in a heartbeat. “I’m afraid Del can’t come to the phone right now, she’s dead.”

“Oh no.” I chuckled, wishing I could see her bright smile instead of facing a mountain of paperwork. “That’s horrific. She was so young. How did she die?”

“She was too overwhelmed by the sheer number of shoes in her closet.”

“The white ones, with the round buckle.”

She tsk-ed at me and I knew the exact eye roll that went with that sound. “You don’t even know what I’m wearing.”

“No, but your ass looks great when you wear them.” I grinned and narrowed my eyes at the view from the window. The general direction was correct, but there were miles and hundreds of buildings between us.

“Wow. Okay, Casanova, lucky you, I was planning on wearing a white jumpsuit, so they could actually work. They’re damn uncomfortable though, so if I wear them, you better be prepared for another foot rub in exchange.”

Might as well rip the band-aid off. “I won’t make it tonight. I’m stuck at the office.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“I’m sorry.” I meant it, too. I had no doubts that she would have looked amazing, or that she would have let me take off far more than her heels later tonight.

“It’s okay.” Her voice didn’t sound like it was okay. “But then I won’t wear the white shoes.”

“I can send Fred if you need a ride.”

“It’s fine. Victor should be able to drive me.”

“I can hear your brain churning through the phone.”

“The Kit event was so much easier with you there,” she said, voice small. “You’re really good at striking up conversations.”

“Del, I promise you, everyone thought you were charming.” If only she could have seen herself from the outside, seen how everyone she talked to had been genuinely laughing and smiling between all the fake niceties of that event. “It didn’t have anything to do with me.”

“I’m good once people spill the beans about their lives, but you’re the bean can opener, slicing through the cold, hard exterior before we get to the good part.”

That had to be the strangest compliment I’d ever gotten. “Do you want to know my two best tricks for this kind of networking?”

“Yes,” she mumbled, “please.”

“First, you ask people about the day of the week or even the month. Just say something like ‘Wow can you believe it’s already August?’ or ‘What a week and it’s only Monday, right?’ and they’ll steer the conversation to talk about their business plans, family vacation or whatever they actually have on their mind. And then, if they give clipped answers or you just want them to keep talking, you stay silent. You smile and you nod like you expect more, all your attention on them. People hate awkward silence, and they’ll fill it as long as you keep looking at them.”

“That sounds fake.”

“Consider it your sociological experiment for the night. And Del? The red block heels with the big bow.”

“How do you know my shoes better than I do?”

“I remember everything you wear.” Especially since Brody had let me in on the whole secret code of women’s outfits.

“You almost had me thinking you have a foot fetish. Which would be fine. By the way. No kink-shaming.”

Jonas rapped a knuckled against the glass door of the conference room, brows raised. If he was rushing me, it had to be bad. Fucking hell. I raised a finger at him to get one more moment.

“Kink-shaming? Picked up a new term, Blondie?”

---