Faking Ms. Right (Dirty Martini Running Club #1) - Claire Kingsley Page 0,16
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.
But that was hard. He looked really, really good. It wasn’t like I’d never realized how attractive my boss was. Obviously, I knew. No woman could look at Shepherd Calloway and not be a little awed at that gorgeous specimen of a man. I wasn’t immune to that. But over the years I’d spent working for him, I’d tuned it out. Dwelling on how stupidly attractive he was would only distract me from doing my job, and developing a crush on my boss was a terrible idea. Even if office dating wasn’t bad news in and of itself, I knew his type, and it certainly wasn’t me.
So I ignored the way he steered me through the crowd. The warmth of his hand on my back. The way he walked with such confidence. It wasn’t swagger. Shepherd Calloway didn’t need swagger. He exuded masculinity and power. His piercing eyes, dark brow, perfect hair. His posture. His voice. It all said everything you needed to know about him. He was in charge, and he knew it.
Ignore, ignore, ignore.
He paused to talk to someone, so I grabbed another glass of champagne from a passing waiter. I didn’t inhale this one, just held it between my fingertips and took a few sips. I noticed I was leaving red lipstick marks and wondered how soon I’d need to reapply.
The man nodded to Shepherd and moved on.
I leaned closer to him. “How’s my lipstick?”
“What?”
“Does my lipstick need fixing? I got some on the glass.”
His eyes went to my mouth and he licked his lips while I tried not to fidget. “Your lipstick looks fine.”
I pressed my lips, rubbing them together.
“But how much are you drinking?” he asked.
“Are you serious? This is two. And if you think you can make me pose as your girlfriend, in this dress, without a few drinks you’re crazy.”
“Okay. I just wouldn’t have guessed that you drink.”
I laughed. “Then there are probably a lot of things you wouldn’t have guessed about me.”
He stared at me for a few seconds, like he’d never seen me before and wasn’t sure who I was. Then something else caught his eye and his expression changed—he was back to the emotionless Mr. Calloway I was used to.
An older man in a black tux approached. He looked vaguely familiar, although I couldn’t place him. There was a woman in a gold dress hanging on his arm and when she turned, I almost spit out my drink.
It was Svetlana.
The man smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He looked a lot like—
“Son,” he said to Shepherd. “It looks like your date arrived. Do I get the pleasure of an introduction?”
Oh, holy shit. This was his dad? What was Svetlana doing with Shepherd’s father? And why was she staring at me like that? If she’d had claws, she’d have been using them on my face right about now.
“Dad, this is Everly Dalton,” Shepherd said. “Everly, my father, Richard Calloway.”