Faking Ms. Right (Dirty Martini Running Club, #1)(81)

But I’d pulled myself together for the interview. It had been with Cameron herself, and I almost hated to admit it, but we’d really connected. It hadn’t felt much like an interview at all. More like catching up with a friend. She’d told me about her plans for the foundation, and what she was looking for in an executive director. And although she’d asked me questions about my work experience and future goals, the feel of our conversation had been easygoing and casual.

Right then and there, she’d invited me to come meet with her in Miami. And I’d said yes.

Afterward, I’d descended into the depths of despair again, and this time I had something new to lament about. I’d liked Cameron Whitbury, and I could see myself taking this job.

Nora and Hazel had been extremely confused by my angst. I was interested in the position, and the interview had been great. Why had they found me in a puddle of my own tears?

I’d been forced to admit that I’d secretly hoped to discover the job wasn’t for me, or that I disliked Cameron, or some other compelling reason for me to turn it down.

Logical? Not even a little. It wasn’t like passing on this job would mean Shepherd would suddenly come to his senses, apologize—with an appropriate amount of groveling—and declare his love for me. It would just mean I’d either have to suffer the horrific awkwardness of working for Shepherd until I found another job or deal with being unemployed for a while.

The only potential problem was the location. Nora and Hazel had gone very quiet when I’d told them I was being flown—by private jet, no less—to Miami for the next interview. They hadn’t said I shouldn’t go, nor had they reminded me how difficult it would be for the three of us to live on opposite sides of the country. I appreciated that they’d held back. I’d seen the concern in their faces, and I’d heard them frantically whispering when they thought I couldn’t hear. But they hadn’t tried to sway my opinion.

Not yet, at least. They would, if it came down to it. But I appreciated that they were letting me explore this option on my own.

The hostess seated a party of three and I smoothed my skirt. I’d gotten here too early. Not being late was one thing, but twenty minutes of standing in the lobby was making me a little bit crazy.

The truth was, I didn’t know if I was willing to move all the way to Miami. Did I really want to uproot my life? Move away from Nora and Hazel? From Annie and Miranda? If they had a baby—and I was sure they would, somehow—it would be a lot harder to be the cool aunt who came to every birthday party, Little League game, and school play. I’d fly home to visit as often as I could, but how often would that really be?

And it would mean closing the door forever on whatever I’d had with Shepherd.

I took a deep breath. I couldn’t think about Shepherd right now. The only thing I needed to focus on was nailing this interview.

Cameron came into the plush lobby. She was stunning. I’d seen plenty of photos of her online, but they didn’t do her justice. She had thick auburn hair and a light dusting of freckles across her nose. Flawless skin, and I’d have killed for those cheekbones. She wore a blue sleeveless blouse that made her eyes pop, high-waisted slacks, and a pair of silver stilettos I’d covet until the day I died.

She gave me a warm smile. “Everly?”

“Yes.” I held out my hand and she shook it. “Everly Dalton. It’s so nice to meet you in person, Ms. Whitbury.”

“It’s nice to meet you, too. And please, call me Cameron.” She glanced at my feet. “I love your shoes.”

Kudos to Nora. “Thanks.”

“Are you ready to be seated, Ms. Whitbury?” the hostess asked.

“Yes, thank you.”

I nearly gasped as one of the largest men I’d ever seen seemed to appear out of nowhere behind Cameron. He must have been six and a half feet tall. But it wasn’t just his height that almost made me jump out of my cute yellow heels. He was practically two people wide. Huge shoulders, thick tattooed arms bulging out of his tight black t-shirt. Thighs the size of tree trunks. How had I not noticed him there?

“I’ll go first,” he said, his deep voice monotone.

A flash of irritation crossed Cameron’s features. She gestured for him to go ahead of her, then she and I followed.

The hostess led us to a private terrace. The man held up a hand and raised his eyebrows at Cameron before going outside. He searched the entire area. For what, I had no idea, but he looked beneath the table, under the chairs, and over the railing.

“Clear,” he said, then stood off to the side, arms crossed over his thick chest.

Cameron cleared her throat as we walked outside onto the terrace. “Sorry. Jude is… security.”

“I suppose someone like you needs a bodyguard,” I said.

She pulled out a chair. “My friends seem to think so.”

We both sat and I crossed my legs at the ankles.

“I’m glad you could come out on such short notice,” Cameron said. “I appreciate you taking the time to meet with me in person.”

“Absolutely.”

The waitress came and asked for our drink orders. I was about to order a very sensible glass of water, when Cameron spoke first.

“Mimosas?” she asked, a hint of a smile on her face. “Or a bloody mary, perhaps?”