Faking Ms. Right: A Hot Romantic Comedy (Dirty Martini Running Club Book 1)

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.

Now I was drowning in feelings. So I’d drown those fuckers in whiskey.

Hours later—I was too trashed to have any concept of time—Dad peeked into my office. My head was down on my desk, the bottle near my elbow.

“Shepherd? Are you okay? Why aren’t you at work?”

I lifted my head and slowly blinked. “Day off.”

“What happened?”

Sitting up, I raked my hands through my already-messy hair and poured more whiskey. “Everly wanted me to donate my sperm.”

“Excuse me?”

“She had a contract and everything. For her sister.”

He pulled the glass away from me before I could pick it up and take a drink. “Shep, I’m not following.”

“Doesn’t matter. She’s just like the rest of them.” I leaned forward, intending to put my forearm on the desk, but it slipped off the edge. I swayed in my seat, but managed to recover. “I thought she was different, but she’s not.”

He regarded me through narrowed eyes for a moment. “Have you eaten recently?”

“No. Food soaks up the alcohol.”

“Exactly.” He took a deep breath. “Okay, Shep. Stay here. I’ll be back.”

“Don’t bother.” The room kept spinning, so I laid my head on the desk again. “I’m fine.”

I wasn’t sure if he answered. The next time I opened my eyes, he was gone. Good. I didn’t want his pity.

But when I reached for more whiskey, it was gone.

“Shepherd?”

I cracked an eye open. Had the room stopped spinning yet?

“Hey, Shep.” Another voice. Who was here?

Where was I?

Sucking in a deep breath, I sat up. Blinked my dry eyes open. I was still at my desk. I must have fallen asleep—or passed out—with my head on my arm. I had a red mark on my forearm and probably a matching one on my face.

I was still too drunk to give a shit.

The people in the room came into focus. Dad. Hadn’t I told him to leave me alone? I was mad at him for something. Right—he’d taken my whiskey. I was about to ask him where he’d put it, when I realized who else was here.

Ethan and Grant stood next to my dad. They both looked like they’d just gotten off work, wearing similar button-down shirts and slacks. Grant had his arms crossed and Ethan stood with his hands in his pockets.

“He’s been in here all day,” Dad said.

“Thanks for letting us know,” Ethan said.

“I’ll get dinner going,” Grant said. “Need help moving him?”

“You don’t move to need me,” I said. “I’m fine.”

“Clearly.” Ethan’s voice was laced with sarcasm. “Dad and I can handle it. But I think we should feed him first anyway.”

“Not hungry. I’m fine.”

Ethan chuckled. “You’re not fine, you’re drunk off your ass. I’d call Everly but I have a feeling she’s the reason you’re shitfaced right now.”

“Why didn’t she tell me?” I asked. Or at least, that’s what I meant to say. I was slurring too much to make a lot of sense.

“I don’t know, man, but let’s get you sobered up.” Ethan shoved some water at me. “Drink this and we’ll get some food in you. You look like hell, by the way.”

I took a long swallow of water.

Food and water started to clear my head, which was exactly what I didn’t want. But no one would let me near the whiskey again.

Eventually, as if I were a helpless child, my brother helped me to my room. I fell into bed, my head still too fuzzy to argue. Vaguely, I was aware of Ethan and Dad talking. Something about letting me sleep it off. I ignored them. Just kept my eyes closed and sank into drunken oblivion.

I woke up fully dressed, sprawled out face down on my bed. My mouth was dry, my eyes gritty, and I had a splitting headache. I hadn’t been this hungover in a very long time.

This was why I preferred to keep myself—and my life—under strict control. The consequences of letting go were never worth it.

“Fuck.” I brought a hand to my forehead. I had no idea what time it was. Or how I’d gotten here. The last thing I remembered, I’d been sitting at my desk, pouring whiskey down my throat.

A hazy memory of food came back to me. I had the sense that Ethan and Grant had been here, but maybe I’d imagined it.

Groaning, I hauled myself out of bed. There was still a hint of Everly’s strawberry scent on these sheets. I needed to get away from it.

The glimpse I caught of myself in the bathroom mirror was nothing short of horrifying. I was a goddamn mess.

A shower helped. Someone had left me water and ibuprofen by the bed, so I took those. The water helped, too. I was dehydrated as fuck. My stomach was raw, but I figured I should try to eat, or at least have some coffee.

I shuffled to the kitchen, wincing at the light. Ethan and Grant were drinking coffee in the living room with my dad. Was it the same day? Or had they spent the night? I still hadn’t figured out what time it was.

“Morning,” Ethan said, his voice bright.

“Is it?” I fumbled for the coffee.

“Yeah, you slept all night. But you still look pretty rough.”

I grunted as I poured myself a mug. “Did you stay here?”

“Yeah.”

Grant stood. “I have to get to work. Are you sure you’ve got this?”

Ethan nodded. “Yeah, we’ll handle it. I’ll see you at home tonight.”

“There’s nothing to handle,” I said.

They ignored me. Grant squeezed my shoulder on his way to the front door.

I went into the living room and sank down into an armchair. Everly’s ugly bean bag chair was still in its place, mocking me with its hideous yellow fuzz.

“Don’t you have to work, too?” I asked, glancing at Ethan.

“I took the day off.”

“Why?”

His brow furrowed, as if I’d just asked a stupid question. He pointed at me, tracing his finger up and down. “Because this.”

I hunkered down in the chair and took a sip of coffee.

“So, all we could get out of you last night was something about Everly, and being a sperm donor, and some mumbling about gold-diggers,” Ethan said. “What the hell happened?”

I told them about the contract I’d found in Everly’s desk. How she’d agreed to be my fake girlfriend so she could hit me with a sperm donor request—and she’d kept that detail from me.

“So, you broke up with her,” Ethan said.

“No, I couldn’t break up with her because our relationship was fake. I told her our arrangement was over.”

“That’s the same as breaking up with her.”

I groaned, pinching the bridge of my nose. “Are you here to argue semantics?”

“No, I’m here to help because you’re a fucking mess.”

He wasn’t wrong. For the first time in my life, I’d totally fallen apart. It was pathetic. “I just drank too much. I’ll finish my coffee and go into the office.”

“Don’t go to work today,” Dad said.

“I was already out yesterday. I have to go in.”

“No, you don’t,” he said. “Give yourself a break.”

I rubbed my forehead with my fingertips. “I don’t need a break. I just need some caffeine and to go to work.”

“Shepherd.” Dad’s voice was uncharacteristically sharp. I hadn’t heard that tone from him in a long time. “You’re hurt. You need to deal with that, not bury it and pretend it didn’t happen.”

“There’s nothing to deal with.”

“He’s doing it again,” Ethan said, as if I wasn’t sitting right here.

“I know,” Dad said.

“I’m doing what?”

“Bottling everything up,” Ethan said. “I can practically see you doing it. It’s like you’re shoving every emotion you’ve ever had into the deepest, darkest recesses of your psyche. You did the same thing when Mom left.”

I didn’t reply. Just took a sip of coffee, keeping my eyes anywhere but on my dad and brother.

“It’s not healthy,” Ethan said. “Come on, you can talk to us.”

I didn’t want to talk. I wanted to go to work where I could focus on something else—anything but Everly. I had a company to run. I couldn’t wallow in hurt feelings because my fake girlfriend had been keeping a secret.

“There’s nothing to talk about. We had an agreement. It’s over.”

“I don’t know how she put up with you,” Ethan said, rolling his eyes. “If Grant was this emotionally stunted, I’d have gone crazy a long time ago.”

“She doesn’t have to put up with me at all, because it’s over.”

“And clearly you’re fine with that.” Ethan’s voice was full of sarcasm.

I took a deep breath. “No, I’m not fine with it. I feel like shit and not because I’m hungover. I was going to…” I paused, shutting my eyes for a moment. “I was going to ask her to stay. But it turns out, she’s no different than any of the other women I’ve dated.”

“Have you met Everly?” Ethan asked. “Because I’ve met a few of the women you dated. They were all… well, like Svetlana. Sorry, Dad.”

“It’s all right,” Dad said. “I should have known better.”

“Do you remember when Dad had the heart attack scare, about five years ago?”

My brow furrowed. “When it turned out to be severe acid reflux?”

“Yes. Who were you dating at the time? What was her name?”

I thought back. “Ava Sinclair.”

“And where was she while you were in the hospital, waiting for news?”

I cleared my throat. “At the spa. Or getting her hair done. I don’t remember.”

“What about when Grant got a promotion and Dad threw him that big party. Hadn’t you been dating that woman, Megan something, for a year? But you came to the party alone.”

“I remember her,” Dad said. “Vaguely.”

“Yeah, I’d been dating Megan for about a year. And she didn’t come with me to Grant’s party because she was getting Botox. Paid for with my credit card.”

“See?” Ethan leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Everly showed up for you when I was in the ER. She’d never even met me.”

I couldn’t deny that. She had.

“And she went above and beyond with this whole fake girlfriend thing. I have a hard time believing it was all a maniacal plot to get you to jizz in a cup for her sister.”

“I trusted her,” I said. “I trusted her with a lot, and she kept this from me.”

Ethan opened his mouth to reply, but he was interrupted by a knock at the door.

Dad stood. “I’ll see who it is.”

I waited, straining to listen while Dad answered the door. A moment later, he led two men into the condo. They looked familiar, but I couldn’t place them.

Why were they glaring at me?

Dad cleared his throat. “Movers. Here for the rest of Everly’s belongings.”

That was why they looked familiar. They were the same guys Everly had hired when she moved in.

Groaning, I leaned my head back against the chair. “Fuck.”

“I’ll take care of it,” Dad said.

“Did I drink all the whiskey?” I asked.

“No, and I’m tempted to let you spike your coffee at this point,” Ethan said.

One of the movers came in and picked up the bean bag chair.

“Careful with that,” I barked at him. “It’s her favorite.”

He glared at me again.

“Are they friends of hers?” Ethan asked, lowering his voice.

I shook my head. “No, they’re just the guys she hired when she moved in here. But basically everyone Everly meets becomes her new best friend, so…”

“Of course they do,” Ethan said. “Everly’s delightful.”

I shot him a look.

“Sorry. Not helpful.”

I got up and shadowed the movers as they packed Everly’s things and took them out of my condo. Neither of them spoke a word to me. Dad kept Ethan company in the kitchen while he cooked breakfast, and I acted like a lunatic, barking at the guys moving my former fake-fiancée’s belongings.

This wasn’t me. I didn’t pace. I didn’t yell at people. I wasn’t intimidating because I was loud. It was my silence that made people jump to do what I wanted. I was precise, disciplined, and cold.

Or I had been before Everly turned me inside out.

After the movers left, Ethan wanted to talk more. But I was done talking. I thanked him for his concern, and his help, and went back to my office. Cleaned up the mess I’d made getting plastered in there the day before.

Then I got to work. It was what I did. What I’d always lived for.

It was all I had left.