Faking Ms. Right (Dirty Martini Running Club #1) - Claire Kingsley Page 0,11
so she and her wife can have a baby with the right genetic traits?
Kill me. There was no way.
But my sister looked so happy. I loved my sister, and I loved making people happy. Was there a way to do this that wouldn’t be totally mortifying? I had no idea, but maybe I could think of something. Although I wondered if my time would be better spent searching for an alternative donor who had the genetic traits they were looking for. Because the thought of asking my boss to donate his baby batter made me want to crawl under the table and die.
5
Shepherd
Straightening the sleeves of my tux, I walked over to the bar at the Four Seasons Hotel. Soft music played in the background and a handful of other people conversed nearby. Tonight’s event was in the ballroom, but I wasn’t ready to make an appearance yet. I was here alone—dateless for once—and I wanted to take my time.
Truth be told, I didn’t want to be here at all. I wasn’t a fan of these events. Giving to charity was fine, but I could do that by having my assistant send a check. These things were for networking. Rubbing elbows. Showing off.
I didn’t need to show off. But I was here anyway. The Seattle Philanthropic Society was presenting my father with an award, and he’d hounded me into being here to see it. Somehow my brother, Ethan, had managed to get out of attending, which meant I really couldn’t leave.
I took a seat at the bar and caught the bartender’s eye. Ordered a Manhattan.
Being here alone was pleasant. No fussy date to attend to. I could arrive late—which I had—and leave early—which I planned to. And I didn’t have to listen to my date’s endless stream of chatter.
I was going to stretch out this period of singlehood. No women for a good, long while. Maybe I’d take that vacation my brother was always bugging me about. Go alone, to a city where no one knew me. Spend my time any way I wanted, my only obligations to myself. It was tempting enough that I almost had myself convinced I’d do it.
But I probably wouldn’t. Time away from the office wasn’t relaxing for me. There were always too many things happening, and I didn’t trust anyone else to run my company.
I didn’t trust many people, to be honest. Not with anything.
Trusting others got you into trouble. People always had ulterior motives. My money and influence made me a target. It was tough, sometimes, feeling like I had to go it alone. But I didn’t see any alternatives.
My mother had taught me that. Hammered the lesson into my head more times than I could count. Then she’d demonstrated it by having an affair and leaving my dad. He’d trusted her, and look where it had gotten him. My mother was wealthy in her own right, but she’d still taken my father for as much as she could, even though it had been her infidelity that had ended their marriage. She was a lawyer, through and through. My dad’s trust in her had almost been his downfall.
But despite trusting too easily, my dad was a survivor—smart as hell, and persistent. He’d bounced back just fine.
“Well, hello.”
That sultry voice with its slight accent made my back clench. What was Svetlana doing here? Hadn’t I sent her on vacation somewhere?
“What are you doing here?” I asked.
“Getting a drink.” She leaned against the bar, looking like she ought to have a cigarette perched between her fingers, waiting for me to offer her a light, like some starlet from the forties. “Maui was lovely. It’s too bad you didn’t join me.”
I supposed it had been several weeks since I’d last seen her. “I’m glad you enjoyed your trip.”
“It was very generous of you. I never did get to thank you properly.”
“No thanks necessary. That was the point.”
The bartender came over and she ordered a cosmopolitan. She glanced at me, but I didn’t offer to pay.
Why was she here? She’d left me two messages shortly after I broke things off with her, but I hadn’t returned her calls. It seemed she’d been happy to spend my money in Hawaii. She was certainly tan.
I’d made it clear we were over. What did she want?
“All alone tonight?” she asked.
“No, my date is running late.”
Obviously I didn’t have a date. But I wanted her to think I did. Solidify the fact that our brief encounter was finished. I’d moved on.