Faking Ms. Right (Dirty Martini Running Club, #1)(32)

I pressed my lips closed to stop myself from making this worse. Why was I telling him all these stories?

But instead of continuing to eye me like I was crazy, he smiled, laughing softly. “That’s… awful.”

“Yeah, it was. Needless to say, there weren’t second dates in any of those cases.”

“I should hope not.”

“Like I said, I don’t have great luck. Obviously, I’m here with you, aren’t I?” I closed my eyes again. “That came out wrong. I just meant—”

“Everly, stop,” he said. “It’s okay, I know what you meant. And I have to agree with you on the bad luck. That’s an impressive list of horror stories.”

I stopped myself from telling him that those weren’t the only ones. But at a certain point, it was going to start making me look pathetic. “Yeah, it’s pretty bad.”

“You’re not the only one who’s had bad dates.”

“Well, I know that. Most people have a bad date story or two. But you can’t mean you.”

He raised his eyebrows. “I once went on a date with a woman who drank an entire bottle of champagne while we were waiting for our dinner. By the end of the meal, she’d hit on the man next to us, cried twice, called an ex-boyfriend, had a lengthy debate with the bartender about someone on a reality show, and taken off her bra by doing that thing women do when they slip it out the sleeve of their top.”

I covered my mouth, trying not to laugh. “You’re kidding.”

He shook his head. “I wish I was.”

“I’m sorry, I’m not laughing at you. I guess it’s nice to know I’m not alone in the terrible date department.”

He lifted his glass and raised an eyebrow. “To no more bad dates.”

I clicked my glass against his. “Cheers to that.”

After dinner—during which there was absolutely zero choking—Shepherd drove us home. The food had been delicious, the conversation interesting and fun. I’d had a great time. If it had been a real date, I would have gone home giddy, floating on a cloud of endorphins, and texted my girlfriends to gush about what an amazing time I’d had.

But I didn’t. It had been a great evening, but instead of making me feel light and happy, it made me a little bit sad. Because none of it had been real.





14





Shepherd





The waiting room at the oncologist’s office was surprisingly comfortable. Light gray walls. Soft lighting. A large saltwater fish tank took up almost an entire wall.

I’d spoken with my dad’s doctor when we’d first arrived. I wanted to make sure there wasn’t anything Dad had been keeping from us regarding his illness or treatment plan. He hadn’t been. His prognosis was good, his course of treatment what I expected.

I flipped through my messages on my phone while I waited. I’d left the office early so I could come to his appointment, but it looked like I hadn’t missed much. Everly had things well in hand. In fact, she’d probably gone home for the evening.

Everly. My gaze slipped from my phone screen, my eyes losing focus. She was so perplexing. At work she was as competent as ever. Smart, punctual, efficient. But she wasn’t just my assistant anymore, and the change was seriously fucking with my head.

She padded around my condo barefoot, in tank tops and shorts that showed all kinds of skin. Hair up off her neck, tempting me. She happily wished me good morning, or good night, always in that bright, cheery voice. Always with a smile. She sat in her hideous yellow bean bag chair with a book or drank wine with my dad, their laughter carrying to every corner of my home.

Moving her in with me had been my idea, but I hadn’t counted on her presence being such a mindfuck. She was everywhere, a constant distraction. Flitting through my thoughts in those tantalizing pajamas. Sleeping next to me, making my sheets smell like strawberries.

“Shepherd?”

I blinked, glancing up at my father. He raised his eyebrows and I had a feeling he’d been trying to get my attention.

“Finished?” I asked.

“Yes, finally. Sorry, son, I didn’t think we’d be here this long.”

I stood and pocketed my phone. “It’s fine.”

We went out to the parking garage and got in my car. I glanced at my dad a few times as we headed home. He’d been uncharacteristically quiet this afternoon. The appointment with his doctor had gone fine. Perhaps things were already cooling off with Svetlana—that could account for his solemn mood.

What if he was about to end things with her? Or she with him? That would mean an end to the charade with Everly. That thought was oddly alarming.

“Are you all right?” I asked. “You seem quiet.”

“Yes, I’m fine,” he said, in a voice that indicated he was anything but.

“Dad.”

“All right. I’m concerned about my financial situation. I’m not getting any younger, and I lost a lot of money. I can’t keep living with you indefinitely.”

So it wasn’t Svetlana that was bothering him. I didn’t know whether to be frustrated or relieved.

“Look, we’ll figure it out,” I said. “We have a plan to get you back on your feet.”

“I just wish I hadn’t put you in this position.”