Faking Ms. Right (Dirty Martini Running Club #1) - Claire Kingsley Page 0,94
best friends. It wasn’t so much what they’d said—other than the interview in Miami, they hadn’t really told me anything I didn’t already know—but what they hadn’t said that struck me.
Everly hadn’t told them about the band.
I wasn’t sure how I knew. It was possible they were avoiding the topic because she’d made them swear to keep it to themselves. But as I listened to them talk, I knew she hadn’t. She hadn’t told her best friends my secrets. She shared everything with them—I remembered her saying so—but she hadn’t shared this.
She hadn’t betrayed my trust at all.
“Oh fuck.” I stood and started uncharacteristically pacing around my office. “I told her to leave instead of listening to her and now she’s at an interview in fucking Miami.”
“Oh good, he’s catching up,” Nora said.
“What if she takes the job and leaves?” I was muttering to myself, no longer paying attention to her friends. “Damn it, she thinks I don’t want her. She doesn’t know it was real, because I never fucking told her.”
“This is good,” Hazel said quietly.
“Wait for it,” Nora said.
“I need to go to Miami.”
Nora held up a finger. “There it is.”
“When did you say she left?”
“This morning,” Hazel said. “They sent a private jet for her.”
“When is the interview?”
“Tomorrow,” Nora said.
“Thank fuck.” I went back to my desk to get my phone. Started scrolling through my contacts. “I have time to get there.”
Nora stood and patted my shoulder. “Atta boy. We’ll come if you want, but I have a feeling you’ve got this.”
I looked up. “Yeah. Thanks.”
They left, but I was too busy trying to find the right contact to notice. I didn’t own a private jet, although I could have. I hated to fly commercial, but I found it easier to just charter a plane when I traveled.
But what was the guy’s name? Everly always made the arrangements, so I rarely spoke to him. Which meant I was probably shit out of luck getting him to do me this big of a favor. A last-minute cross-country flight was a tall order, even with what I was willing to pay him.
However, if he knew Everly…
Finally, I found him. Tom Nguyen, owner Blue Streak Charters. Hoping for a miracle, I called.
“Blue Streak Charters, this is Tom,” he said.
“Tom, this is Shepherd Calloway. I need your help.”
“Okay…”
“I think you know my assistant, Everly Dalton?”
“Of course,” he said, and I could practically hear him smile. Good. That was a good sign.
I took a deep breath. Here went nothing. “I’m in love with her, but I’m also an idiot and I screwed up. And now she’s in Miami interviewing for another job and I need to get there before tomorrow morning, otherwise I risk losing her forever.”
“Is this a joke?”
“I’m not known for my sense of humor, Mr. Nguyen.”
He chuckled. “Fair enough. So you need a last-minute flight to Florida.”
“Yes.”
“I just have one question.”
“Sure.”
“Does Everly love you back, or am I going to get in trouble for this?”
“I think she does. I hope. Her best friends were just here trying to convince me to go after her.”
“Nora and Hazel? If they’re on your side, I’ll do it.”
How the hell did he know about Nora and Hazel? I shook off the question. “I’ll pay whatever you ask.”
“Standard rate will be fine, Mr. Calloway,” he said. “This is for Everly. If I didn’t have to pay for the fuel, I’d do it for free.”
34
Everly
My heart beat like a hummingbird’s—a rapid flutter, sending too much blood to my face. I stood in the restaurant lobby, wishing my cheeks weren’t so hot. Wondering if I’d worn the right outfit. Trying not to fidget or fan myself.
Nora had helped me choose the perfect interview attire—a breezy cream blouse and charcoal knee-length skirt, paired with yellow and white polka dot heels. I’d balked at the shoes, but Nora had insisted. She’d said they showed my personality, and if Cameron Whitbury didn’t want to hire a girl who could rock yellow polka dot heels, it wasn’t the right job for me anyway.
In a weird way, I saw her point.
But now that I was here, in a gorgeous restaurant in Miami waiting for this interview, I wanted to vomit from nervousness. And maybe change my shoes.
The phone interview had gone well. It hadn’t been over Skype, which had turned out to be a very good thing. Even after a shower, clean clothes, a good meal, and Nora’s makeup and hair treatment, I’d still looked like a girl who’d just been