Faking Ms. Right (Dirty Martini Running Club, #1)(73)

“Right, because I’m just your boss.”

“At first you were. Come on, Shepherd, neither of us knew what was going to happen. I’d worked with you for three years, but I barely knew you. So yes, at first, I thought if I moved in with you, I’d have a good reason for asking you to do this for my sister. But I was never going to lord it over you or try to guilt you into it. And like I said, I decided not to. I told them they have to find a new donor, and they agreed.”

“My dad ended things with Svetlana last night.”

My mouth popped open but the tickle in my throat came back. I turned to the side to cough a few times. “He did?”

“And I told him everything.”

“Is he okay? How did he take it?”

Shepherd still wasn’t looking at me. “He’s fine.”

“Are you sure? That must be a lot to process.”

“I said he’s fine. And now our reason for this,” he said, gesturing between the two of us, “is over.”

I flinched away, like I’d just been slapped. “That’s it? You want me to leave?”

His voice was cold. “Every woman I’ve ever dated has wanted something from me. Every single one. Usually it’s just money.”

“Shepherd, no—”

“You can stay until you’re better, but I won’t be here.”

“Wait. Don’t walk away. Please.”

But he was already out the door. A few seconds later, the front door closed, hard enough that I could hear it all the way back here.

Shock left me motionless for a long moment. What had just happened?

I gathered up the contract. I wanted to burn this stupid thing. I never should have agreed to ask him in the first place. And now he thought…

He thought I’d been using him. He thought I was no better than Svetlana, or any of the other gold-diggers he’d dated.

My shock and hurt were quickly replaced with a hot streak of anger. Is that what he thought of me? That everything I’d done had been to butter him up to get him to agree to donate his sperm? That I would go so far as to sleep with him to get what I wanted?

I pushed the covers aside. There was no way I was staying here. I’d go back to my stuffy, dusty apartment.

The ring on my finger caught my eye, feeling suddenly heavy. I hated this ring. It was too big and flashy and it didn’t mean anything. A stupid, expensive reminder of why I was here.

I pulled it off and tossed it onto the bed.

Sniffing and coughing a few times, I shoved some things in a bag. I’d have to come back for the rest of my stuff. Anger fueled me, but I could feel the crash coming. The tidal wave of emotion that was soon to overtake me.

For now, I clung to anger like a lifeline. Stuffed my clothes in a bag. Hauled dresses out of the closet. Tears stung my eyes as I took a load down to my car, but I swallowed them back. Refused to let them fall.

I packed what I could and before I left, I wrote Richard a note. I wanted him to know I was sorry for lying to him and that I hoped he could forgive me. He was a good man. I hated to think that what I’d done had hurt him.

I put the note on the desk in Richard’s room. And then I left.

By the time I got to my apartment building, I was struggling to hold back the tears. What had I done? My entire life had just blown up in my face.

Nora and Hazel had called it. They knew me too well—knew I’d fall for my boss. And I hadn’t just fallen. I’d tumbled over the side of a cliff. But now I realized there wasn’t anyone at the bottom to catch me.

I’d had some shitty experiences with men. Awful first dates. A couple of relationships that had ended badly. But I’d never been this devastated. Not once.

Because I’d never loved someone like I loved Shepherd.

I shuffled into my apartment and tossed my stuff on the couch. There was more in my car, but I’d get it later. My throat hurt from coughing, but worse was the pain in my chest. It had nothing to do with my lungs, and everything to do with my heart.

It was completely broken, shattered into a million pieces on the rocks at the bottom of the cliff.





31





Shepherd





I slept in my condo downstairs and when I came back in the morning, I knew she was gone. She hadn’t just gone to work. Half her stuff was missing and there was no sign that she’d slept here last night.

A glint of light on the bed caught my attention. Her engagement ring—fake though it was—sat on top of the rumpled covers, as if she’d carelessly tossed it aside. I picked it up, pinching it between my thumb and forefinger. It was over. She was gone.

Fuck.

I felt like shit. I put the ring in the top drawer of my dresser and went out to the kitchen. It wasn’t even seven in the morning, but I poured myself a glass of whiskey. And then I did something I hadn’t done in years.

I took the day off.

It wasn’t just to avoid Everly, although I was man enough to admit that was part of it. But I doubted she’d gone to work today anyway. She was probably going to quit. I tried to tell myself it was for the best. I’d unceremoniously kicked her out last night. I certainly didn’t expect her to still work for me.

But really, I stayed home so I could do nothing but get royally fucking drunk.

I was feeling too many things—a confusing jumble of emotions. I’d been up half the night, wrestling with what to do. Had I made a mistake? Should I have listened to her? I was sick of second-guessing myself. That wasn’t me. I was firm. Decisive. I never let feelings get in the way.