Faking Ms. Right (Dirty Martini Running Club #1)(31)

There was the part where he was a robot with no feelings. At least, that was what I tried to tell myself as I fell prey to his hypnotic gaze and man-heaven scent.

He traced a thumb down the side of my face, his touch sending a zap of electricity through my veins. Why was he… Did he just… Where was I?

Richard cleared his throat, snapping me out of my stupor. Right. They were watching. This was part of the act.

“Sorry to interrupt such a tender moment,” Richard said.

Svetlana’s features were carefully neutral, her jaw relaxed. But her eyes were once again shooting daggers at me. Swords, even. Or maybe laser beams. I had to stifle a giggle at the momentary image of Svetlana with glowing red eyes.

“It’s fine, Dad,” Shepherd said. “We were just leaving.”

“Date night?” Richard asked, his eyes crinkling with a smile.

“Indeed,” Shepherd said, draping a possessive arm around my shoulders. “You?”

“Casual night in,” Richard said.

I wondered if Svetlana had known they weren’t going out before she’d come over. She wasn’t dressed for a night in—at least not by my standards. She wore a form-fitting blouse with a plunging neckline with a pair of flowy pants and gold stilettos.

I decided to pretend she’d expected an expensive dinner—likely what I was getting—and gave them both a sweet smile. “That sounds fun. Have a good night, you two. Don’t wait up.” I winked at Richard.

He grinned back at me. “Have a great time.”

With his arm still around my shoulders, Shepherd steered me out into the hallway. As soon as the door closed behind us, he let go and shifted so there were several inches of space between us.

Right. Faking it. Our audience was gone.

I took a deep breath to center myself as we walked to the elevator. Maybe it was catty of me, but the fact that Shepherd was taking me out to a nice dinner—treating me to something Svetlana likely wanted—gave me warm fuzzies.

Shepherd was quiet on the ride down the elevator to the parking garage. He didn’t say much on the way to the restaurant, either. I was used to that. And being with Shepherd like this—outside of work—had grown increasingly comfortable. I didn’t feel the need to fidget, or try to make conversation as we drove. I sat with my legs crossed, admired my cute heels once or twice, and watched the bright lights of the city twinkle in the evening darkness.

We pulled up to the curb and a valet opened my door and helped me out of the car. Shepherd was there a second later, offering me his arm. That was interesting. This date was only to maintain the charade that we were indeed dating, but there wasn’t anyone out here who knew us. We didn’t have to act too couple-ish. But maybe he figured we were better safe than sorry.

I took his arm and we walked into the dimly lit restaurant. El Gaucho was beautiful, with glamorous retro decor and live piano music in the background. Shepherd helped me out of my coat, then pulled out my chair for me before taking his own.

We got menus and ordered drinks. A martini for me—gin, with a twist—and a Manhattan for him.

“Do you know what you’d like?” he asked.

I pursed my lips as I perused the menu. “Probably the fish. Definitely not steak.”

“Do you not eat red meat?”

“No, I do. It’s just…” I hesitated, not sure if I wanted to share the details of one of my worst bad first dates. But I guess it didn’t matter. It wasn’t like I was here to impress him. “The one time I had dinner here, I choked on a piece of steak. My date just kind of watched in horror while a lady from a nearby table did the Heimlich maneuver on me. Then in the aftermath, he ditched me and stuck me with the bill.”

Shepherd blinked once. “Is that a joke?”

“Unfortunately, no. It actually happened.”

“You were choking and he left you here?”

I nodded. “Yeah. I don’t exactly have great luck in the dating department. Especially when it comes to first dates. That’s probably the worst one, though.” I paused, the menu loose between my fingertips. “Well, maybe not the worst.”

“What could be worse than that?”

“Well, let’s see. There was the guy who was trying to find women who looked like his ex-girlfriend,” I said. “He asked me to take a selfie with him, even though we’d only just met for coffee. And then he sent it to his ex, who also happened to be working right next door. She marched over and they got in an argument. It was really awkward.”

Shepherd’s brow furrowed. “I don’t know what to say to that.”

“I know,” I said with a sigh. “The guy who took me to a wedding on the first date was pretty bad, too. It was two hours away and I didn’t have my own car. Everyone got really drunk and got in a cake food-fight. He left me there because I didn’t want to go to a hotel for a threesome with him and a drunk bridesmaid.”

“I can’t tell if you’re kidding,” he said.

“Nope. And then there was the guy who kind of muscled me into playing a no-hands balloon-popping game at a bar. He got stabbed in the… well, you know.” I pointed downward. “With the pin that had been holding the balloon to my clothes. Served him right, though. This was after he grabbed my hips and started thrusting his crotch against me to pop the balloon.”