Faking Ms. Right (Dirty Martini Running Club #1)(65)

Everly dragged me into the photo booth. I thought my hat was enough of a prop, but she shoved a giant mustache on a stick at me and insisted I hold it up. She grabbed a gold and black fan and a cardboard cutout champagne bottle.

We looked ridiculous. But by the third photo, we were both laughing.

A strange thing happened as the party wore on. I realized I was having fun. We tried cocktails we’d never had, posed for more silly photos, joked and laughed with our siblings, and danced together to the admittedly very good jazz trio. As I spun Everly around on the dance floor, her silver dress twirling, I felt a freedom I’d only ever experienced on stage.

Playing with my band, I hid behind anonymity. I let the other guys work the crowd. I was just there to let go. To lose myself in the music. But here I was, in my own home, surrounded by people who knew me as Shepherd Calloway, billionaire CEO. And I felt that same sense of freedom. I laughed and smiled and danced.

The band started a new song and I pulled Everly close. I lifted her chin and leaned down, kissing her. Not because we were supposed to. Not to sell everyone in the room on the veracity of our relationship. I kissed her because, in that moment, there was nowhere else I’d rather be, nothing else I’d rather be doing. And no one else I’d rather be doing it with.





27





Everly





I read the email for probably the tenth time, a potent mix of feelings swirling in my tummy. It was from Cameron Whitbury, entrepreneur and self-made billionaire. And she wanted to talk to me about a job.

Cameron was in the process of starting a charitable foundation. Her email talked about social responsibility and using her wealth to help people. How she needed a more organized approach to charitable giving. She could be doing so much more, but her schedule was already full. A charitable foundation would allow her to support organizations doing good work, start scholarship programs, and fund causes and research.

And she was considering me for the executive director position.

She’d found my profile online and spoken to a few local contacts about me. Apparently, I had a great reputation. I hadn’t even realized I had a reputation. But Shepherd did, and I’d worked with a lot of people both inside and outside his company. That had been enough for her to approach me about her new venture and ask if I’d consider an informal phone interview.

It did sound like an incredible opportunity. I liked my job—and I was good at it—but this would be amazing. I handled all of Shepherd’s charitable giving, and it was the one of the best parts of my job. This would be a huge challenge, but I knew I could do it.

The question was, did I want to?

A new job would mean not working for Shepherd anymore. I had such mixed feelings about that. On the one hand, it was hard to imagine changing jobs. Shepherd and I had a good routine. On the other, this new opportunity had so much potential.

Of course, I might not get it. She just wanted a phone interview. An informal one at that.

I’d started and deleted a reply several times already. A phone interview wasn’t a commitment. There was nothing wrong with me talking to her, just to get more information.

But I didn’t feel good about agreeing to an interview without talking to Shepherd first.

He was in his office—the door open a crack—and he didn’t have anything on his schedule for the rest of the day. I got up and took a deep breath, smoothing out my dress, and went to his office.

I tapped my knuckles on the door a few times. “Hey. Can I talk to you for a minute?”

He looked up from his laptop and his mouth turned up in a subtle smile. “Of course.”

I clicked the door shut behind me. He watched me come in and take a seat on the other side of his desk, a look of curiosity on his face.

“I’m a little disappointed you’re all the way over there.”

God, why was he so sexy? That little grin. Those dimples. That perfect jaw and delicious mouth. He sat back in his chair, his posture all calm confidence.

“Sorry, I’m just… I think we should be…” How should we be? This was certainly a work issue—boss and assistant. But it also touched our personal relationship, whatever that was now. Should I approach this as his employee? His friend? As the woman he was currently living and sleeping with?

His brow furrowed. “Is everything all right?”

“Yes. Fine.” I brushed my hair back over my shoulder. “I got an email recruiting me for a job. It’s an executive director position for a charitable foundation. It’s new, and they’re looking for someone to run it, and somehow they found me. And the email just asks if I’d be open to an informal phone interview. Who knows, they might have a hundred candidates at this point, so chances are I wouldn’t even make it to the next round. But I didn’t feel right about responding without telling you first.”

He looked straight at me, his expression so hard to read. I shifted in my seat, my tummy fluttering with nerves.

“Are you interested in the position?”

“Well, yes. At least, I’m interested in finding out more.”

“Then you should take the interview.”

My lips parted and I blinked a few times. “Really?”

“If it’s what you want, yes.”

I looked down at my hands. I could feel the immaturity of what I was about to say. The silliness of pouting when he was clearly being supportive. “That’s it? You’ll just let me go?”