Faking Ms. Right (Dirty Martini Running Club, #1)(14)

My phone buzzed with a text from Mr. Calloway’s driver, saying he was outside. “Yeah, I think so. Can I wear black? I don’t have red ones that match.”

“Black is fine.”

I dug out a pair of black heels and stepped into them.

“Those are adorable,” Nora said.

I took a deep breath and glanced in the mirror one last time. “Okay, I have to go. Do you think I’ll fit in with everyone there?”

“No,” she said, shaking her head with a smile. “You’re not going to fit in. You’re going to blow everyone away. You’re a knockout.”

A rush of nerves made my stomach feel queasy. “This is crazy.”

She tucked my phone and the red lipstick into a little black clutch and handed it to me. “Knock ’em dead, tiger.”

“You’re the best.” I gave her a quick hug before rushing for the front door. “Love you!”

“Love you, too,” she called as I hurried out to meet the driver.

Ten minutes later, the car pulled up to the curb in front of the Four Seasons Hotel. I sent Mr. Calloway a text to say I was here. Before I could open the door myself, his driver had done it for me. I took a deep breath, eased my leg out—this dress was difficult to maneuver in—and stood.

Mr. Calloway was already waiting outside, dressed in the black tux I’d made sure had been cleaned and pressed for him. He looked up from his phone, and for the first time in the three years I’d worked for him, he looked right at me.

His eyes were blue, contrasting with his dark features. His hair was neatly slicked back, as usual, and his stubble trimmed to perfection. It ought to be. I made all his grooming appointments, timing them precisely so he always looked perfect.

He stared at me, but I hardly blamed him. I’d never seen me looking like this, so he certainly hadn’t. I decided that instead of letting the weight of intimidation crush me, I’d do what I always did when it came to Shepherd Calloway: figure out what he needed and get it done.

Squaring my shoulders, I walked across the sidewalk toward him.

“Well?”

He blinked at me, his mouth slightly open. “What?”

“What am I doing here? You made it sound like an emergency. Is the dress okay? I borrowed it from a friend.”

His eyes swept up and down, and if I’d thought I felt naked when I first tried on the dress, that feeling had nothing on this moment. My cheeks warmed and I was positive he could tell I wasn’t wearing panties. Oh god, this was the worst thing that had ever happened to me.

Actually, that wasn’t true at all. After some of the horrible dates I’d had, earning the prize for worst thing ever would take something much more extreme than going commando in front of my boss. That was actually comforting. Silver lining.

“The dress?” he asked.

What the hell was wrong with him? I’d never seen him act like this before.

“Yes, the dress. Mr. Calloway, are you drunk?”

“What? No.” His brow furrowed, and he seemed to come back to himself. He straightened his cuffs. “The dress is fine. And it’s Shepherd tonight.”

He took me gently by the elbow and led me inside. We crossed the opulent lobby side-by-side, passing people in tuxes and evening gowns.

“Okay, Shepherd,” I said, trying on the name. I’d never called him that before. “What am I doing here?”

He took me through a set of large double doors into the ballroom. “You’re my girlfriend tonight.”

I stopped dead in my tracks. “I’m sorry, what did you just say?”

His jaw hitched. Under different circumstances, that would have made me nervous. I knew that look all too well. No one questioned Shepherd Calloway. But tonight, I wasn’t having it. Not when he’d called me on a Friday night, demanded I meet him at an event with no notice, and told me to dress sexy. He owed me an explanation.

I crossed my arms and looked him in the eye.

His nostrils flared and he pulled me to the side. “Look, I realize this is out of the ordinary. I don’t have time to explain everything right now. I’m going to introduce you as my girlfriend.”

“Am I also your assistant? Or am I supposed to pretend to be someone else?”

Something in his expression changed—he softened, looking me in the eyes as we spoke. “No, you’re you. My assistant.”

“So you’re pretending to date your assistant?” This didn’t make one bit of sense.

“Can you go along with this or not?”

A waiter walked by with a tray of champagne flutes. I plucked one as he passed and downed it in a few swallows.

“Jesus,” Shepherd said.

I put the empty glass on a small table. “Okay, I’ll do this. But you owe me.”

“Fine,” he said.

“Like, you owe me big.”

“What do you want?”

“I don’t know yet.” My sister’s request ran through my head, but here was no way I was bringing that up right now. “But I’ll let you know.”

“Deal.” He offered his hand.

I placed my hand in his and he held it, his grip firm. I’d never made this much eye contact with him, but the quick infusion of champagne was helping.

He let go of my hand and placed his on the small of my back. I swallowed hard, thinking about my lack of a panty line. Trying not to think about how nice Shepherd looked in that tux.