Faking Ms. Right (Dirty Martini Running Club #1)(85)

The corner of Shepherd’s mouth hooked in a little grin and he leaned down to kiss me. I caught his lower lip between my teeth and bit down, just hard enough to get him to grunt.

“I’m going to fuck you so hard for that later,” he growled in my ear.

“Promise?”

The last couple of weeks, since we’d come back from Miami, had been busy. I was still working for Shepherd, just until we could get a replacement up to speed. Cameron was anxious to get moving on her new venture, so I’d been scoping out office locations, pricing furniture, and putting together a preliminary budget.

Thankfully, it was Friday. It looked like we’d just found his new assistant. I had a few options for office space to send to Cameron. Nora had been helping me with office décor ideas, and Hazel had given me a lead on a potential office assistant.

Things were coming together.

Reluctantly, I dropped my arms and stepped back. “I have a few more things to do, then I’m heading home. Are you going to the Office early?”

“Yeah.”

The way he looked away, not quite meeting my eyes, made me feel all squishy inside. I’d caught that rare display of emotion. Shepherd Calloway was nervous.

I squeezed his arm. “I’ll see you there. And it’s going to be great.”





As usual, the Office was packed. Dahlia Marlow was on first, regaling the crowd with her sultry voice. I loved that the same bar that rocked out to Incognito was mesmerized by a woman in her late fifties singing folksy music and playing an acoustic guitar.

To be fair, she was amazing.

“I still don’t believe you,” Nora said. She stood next to me in a ripped Jack Daniel’s t-shirt showing little peeks of her lacy red bra, with distressed jeans and shiny black stilettos. Somehow Nora knew how to dress perfectly for every occasion, even a rock show at a dive bar.

Hazel sipped her bourbon. This wasn’t exactly a martini kind of place, so we’d all opted for Maker’s Mark, neat. “I think you’re trying to play a joke on us.”

I shrugged one shoulder. “Think what you will. You’ll see.”

The other day, Shepherd had surprised the heck out of me—and his dad and brother—when he’d unceremoniously invited them to see his band. He hadn’t bothered to set up his invitation with any explanation. No by the way, I play bass in a band, and I’ve never told you. He just casually told them he was playing Friday night and said they could come if they wanted to.

I’d given Richard and Ethan more details. Then Shepherd had mentioned, just as casually, that if I wanted to invite anyone else, it was fine.

Obviously, I’d taken him up on that. Show off my hot bass player to my friends? Yes, please.

His secret guitar lair, however, was still just that—a secret. I think we both liked it that way. We’d meet down there sometimes and pretend to be strangers. At least, I’d pretend. Shepherd’s version of role-playing was mostly letting me do all the talking and then ravaging me on every available surface.

I loved it.

Richard made his way through the crowd, followed closely by Ethan and Grant. Shepherd’s brother and brother-in-law looked around, bewildered, like they were wondering the same thing as Nora and Hazel—when we were going to drop the punch line and let them in on the joke. Richard, however, almost walked right into me. His eyes were locked on the stage.

“Who is that?” he asked, his voice awed.

“Dahlia Marlow,” I said. “She’s amazing, isn’t she?”

“She’s incredible.”

If a man could have actual stars in his eyes, or maybe little red hearts appearing around his face, Richard would have had them now. He always wore his heart on his sleeve, but I’d never seen him like this. I wondered if there was a way I could introduce him to Dahlia after her set. I didn’t know her well, but I’d chatted with her once on a night I’d come to see Shepherd play.

Annie and Miranda arrived, looking just as skeptical as everyone else. We all exchanged hellos and hugs—except for Richard, who was still too busy mooning over Dahlia to notice anyone else existed.

Her last song ended and she smiled at the enthusiastic applause. Richard whistled. I could have been imagining things, but for a moment, it looked like their eyes met. Dahlia’s face registered a hint of surprise, and she seemed to pause before continuing to smile and wave at the crowd.

The bar owner came out and thanked her for her set. Excitement swirled in my tummy. This was it.

“And now, let’s give it up for Incognito,” he said.

The crowd roared as the band took the stage. The lead singer and the guitarist came out first, taking their places in front. The drummer waved his drumsticks at the crowd and sat behind the drum kit.

And then there was Shepherd.

Dressed in a dark t-shirt that showed off his toned arms and a pair of jeans that made me want to take a bite out of his cute butt, he walked out on stage and picked up his bass. He was all cool, casual confidence. No swagger. Shepherd didn’t need swagger. Not in a tux at a fancy gala, or in a plain t-shirt on stage in a dive bar. He wasn’t here for the attention, and that made him infinitely more sexy.

“Holy shit,” Nora said.

He slung the strap over his shoulder and fingered the bass strings. He knew we were out here, but I didn’t see a hint of that nervousness I’d caught earlier today. His eyes swept the crowd, finally landing on me. The corner of his mouth twitched and he winked.