Faking Ms. Right (Dirty Martini Running Club #1)(21)

And Everly was perfect.





8





Everly





Monday morning began as it always did. I arrived on my floor and made my way past cubicles and offices, saying hi to my coworkers. Smiling. Asking them if they’d had a good weekend or wishing them good morning. Steve had another story about his cat, which I listened to attentively.

Nothing unusual at all.

I glanced at the clock as I went about my usual Monday morning tasks. Eight twenty-two. He’d be here in five minutes.

My heart beat a little faster than it should, and a tingle of nervousness made my belly feel jumpy. I got Mr. Calloway’s coffee, double-checked his schedule, made sure I had everything in order.

And tried very hard not to let my thoughts drift back to the feel of his hand on my lower back. Or on my arm. Or how his voice had sounded saying my name.

Knock it off, Everly. That might as well have been a dream.

Yes, a dream. He had been a dream. So dreamy in that tux.

God, I was doing it again.

The clock changed to eight twenty-seven and the elevator door opened.

Mr. Calloway walked down the hallway, dressed in his suit. He had his phone out, and he flicked his thumb across the screen as he made his way toward my desk. I grabbed his coffee and stood, ready to follow him into his office.

Nothing unusual. It was just another Monday.

He turned the corner at my desk, and just as I was about to fall in step behind him, he stopped. Looked up from his phone and met my eyes. “Good morning, Everly.”

“Good morning,” I managed to croak through my shock.

Steve looked like he’d just witnessed a miracle. Or maybe a murder. His eyes were wide, and his mouth hung open.

I shrugged at Steve, suddenly remembering I was holding Shepherd’s—no, Mr. Calloway’s—coffee. I held it away from me so I wouldn’t spill it on my clothes if it sloshed out through the opening in the lid. Wincing, I hustled into Mr. Calloway’s office.

He set his briefcase down and I put the coffee on his desk. I turned to take his jacket from him, but he wasn’t there. He was standing next to the coat tree, hanging it up himself. What was he doing?

This wasn’t a problem. He could hang up his own jacket. No big deal. I took the remote for the blinds and opened them. He took a seat at his desk.

Good. Back to normal.

“Close the door,” he said.

I froze. It wasn’t the first time he’d asked me to close the door so we could meet in private. As his assistant, I was often privy to confidential information. But there was something about his tone. And the way he was messing with our routine had me so off-kilter, I didn’t know which way was up.

He glanced up and raised his eyebrows.

“Right.” I shut the door. “Sorry.”

“Have a seat.”

“I’m sorry Mr. Calloway, but I’m not prepared for a meeting. I don’t have a way to take notes.”

“Everly,” he said, a slight edge to his tone. “Just sit.”

I walked around to the other side of his desk and slowly lowered myself into one of the chairs.

He sat back and pitched his fingers together. “Are you single?”

The question was so unexpected, it took me a full five seconds before I could collect myself enough to answer. “Um… single? Yes, but—”

“Hear me out,” he said, cutting me off. “I find myself in a difficult situation. You met my father on Friday and saw who he was with.”

“Yes…”

“It turns out my father has bigger problems than Svetlana.”

“Worse than that harpy?” I asked, then clicked my mouth shut. Oh my god, why had I said that? I hadn’t even been drinking.

The corner of his mouth twitched. “Yes, worse than… the harpy. He’s been diagnosed with cancer.”

“Oh, Shepherd, I’m so sorry.” I shut my mouth again, realizing I’d just called him Shepherd. What the hell was wrong with me? One evening in a red dress with my boss, and suddenly I’d lost control of my mouth.

He didn’t seem to notice. “His prognosis is good, although he’ll need to undergo radiation therapy.”

“That’s good. I mean, about his prognosis.”

“It is.” He pressed his lips together and leaned forward, putting his elbows on his desk. “What I’m about to tell you doesn’t leave this room.”

“Of course.”

He nodded and there we were with the eye contact again. “My father’s illness isn’t his only issue right now. He’s also suffered a series of financial losses.”

I nodded, not sure what to say.

“My brother and I will do what we can to help him, but it’s important this information doesn’t become public. If his board of directors gets wind of this, they’ll vote him out. He’ll lose the company he’s spent his lifetime building.”

“Okay.” Had he just said brother? Since when did he have a brother?

“He’s liquidated most of his assets, which includes the building he was living in. And given that he’s undergoing cancer treatment, he’s moving in with me.”

“That’s nice of you.”

“Indeed. But I’m sure you can see how my father’s relationship with Svetlana is suddenly a much larger problem than it was seventy-two hours ago.”