Faking Ms. Right (Dirty Martini Running Club #1)(24)

“Keep telling yourself that,” Nora said. “But sweetie, just remember. Even though I’m going to say I told you so, we’ll be there to peel you off the floor when this crashes and burns.”

“Of course we will,” Hazel said.

I rolled my eyes. It wasn’t going to be necessary. I had this handled. A few months pretending to be my boss’s girlfriend and I’d have good news for my sister. I could do this for her.

And now I wanted to do it, to prove to my friends that I could.





10





Shepherd





The movers would be upstairs any minute. Thankfully, Dad wasn’t home. He was out to dinner with Svetlana—which made my skin crawl, but I was glad he was occupied with something else. I didn’t want an audience when Everly arrived.

I’d told Dad that I’d already asked Everly to move in. He’d been predictably thrilled. Ethan and Grant didn’t appear to be interested in becoming parents, and Dad had his heart set on being a grandfather. Sadly for him, he’d pinned all his hopes on me, and I’d failed to deliver. The news that I was taking this step, as he put it, had made him practically giddy.

That had given me a twinge of guilt. He was going to be disappointed when I ended yet another relationship without giving him a daughter-in-law. Or grandchildren.

I strummed the strings of my guitar with my calloused fingers, playing a few random chords. The one-room condo where I kept my guitar collection was three floors down from my residence. No one, save the condominium association, knew I owned this unit. Even Ethan, who knew more about me than anyone, didn’t know I had this space. It was private. Intensely personal. None of it looked like the man I showed the world. The slick businessman with all the answers.

This room was dim, the only light coming from a small lamp on the counter. It wasn’t a stereotypical man cave. No giant TV or well-stocked bar. No sports posters or beer signs on the walls. I kept a bottle of twenty-one-year-old Glenlivit in the kitchen, replacing as needed. Had a leather couch along one wall. Some framed posters for ambiance—Zeppelin, Deep Purple, Rush, Queen.

And my guitars. Acoustic. Electric. I had a white Fender Stratocaster. A gorgeous wood-grain Gibson Les Paul. A vintage Rickenbacker bass. Some, like the Gibson Hummingbird acoustic in my hands, I played. Others were just for display. Not to be ostentatious—I didn’t show off my collection. No one knew of its existence. I had them because I loved them. Because it made this place peaceful. And mine.

Sometimes I contemplated why I kept this part of myself so separate. But the answer to that was simple. Music made me vulnerable. I’d never worn my heart on my sleeve like my father did. I was too much like my mother. Practical, logical. Cold. On the outside, at least.

I’d discovered music as an adult, and it had become my outlet. The only real way I was adept at expressing myself. And that simply wasn’t something I wanted to share with the people who knew me as Shepherd Calloway.

I strummed a few more chords, the melody coming easily. I’d left the office early to give myself time to decompress before Everly arrived. The arrangements had been made quickly—by Everly, of course. It was her job, after all. She wasn’t giving up her apartment. Simply moving what she’d need for the next several months. Enough to convince my father, and Svetlana, that we were a couple.

She’d be arriving soon, so I needed to get upstairs. After putting my guitar back on its stand, I slipped out and took the elevator to the penthouse.

A knock on the door heralded Everly’s arrival. I opened it to find her with two movers in the hallway outside, all of them laughing hysterically.

“Yes, I’m serious,” Everly said. She seemed to be in the middle of a conversation that they all found incredibly amusing. “It really happened. Cross my heart. Oh, hi, Mr. Callow—I mean, hi, Shepherd.”

I glanced at the two movers and their smiles faded. “Bedroom is to the left. End of the hallway.”

They nodded, readjusting their grips on the boxes they carried, and moved past me.

“Wow, way to ruin the mood,” Everly said.

“Excuse me?”

She pressed her lips together, almost as if she was surprised she’d said that out loud. “Never mind. Are they…”

“My father’s out for the evening.”

“Oh, okay. So we don’t have to…”

“No.”

“Right. Good.”

She was dressed in a yellow top and cropped jeans, sandals showing off her bright pink toenails. Her hair was up, just a few little wisps hanging down around her neck. Quite the contrast from the other night, when she’d owned that red dress.

The movers went back out for another load. I decided they didn’t have any more need of me and went into the kitchen to pour myself a drink.

Everly followed me in. “So, are you going to show me around or anything? Do I get the make yourself at home speech?”

“Do you need a speech?”

“I don’t know. It might be nice.”

“You’ve been here before.”

She leaned her hip against the counter. “That’s not really the same. I’ve been here to sign for your deliveries. I’ve never even used one of the bathrooms. How many are there?”

“Four.”