Faking Ms. Right: A Hot Romantic Comedy (Dirty Martini Running Club Book 1)
Faking Ms. Right: Chapter 11

There had been a brief respite in the substantial tension between me and Shepherd when he’d gone to his office and I’d gone to the bedroom to unpack. There were two walk-in closets—one completely empty and outfitted with shelves, drawers, and plenty of space to hang my clothes. Half the bathroom was similarly ready for my temporary occupancy. It made me wonder if he always kept his things to the left half of the bathroom, or if he’d cleared space for me.

But as the last hour of evening ticked toward bedtime, I found myself growing increasingly nervous. I kept glancing at my phone, my desire to text Nora and Hazel at war with my desire to pretend this wasn’t really starting to freak me out. In the end, the freak-out won, and I group-texted the two of them.

Me: I’m here. I unpacked. Now what do I do?

Hazel: What do you feel like doing?

Nora: What does the bathroom look like?

Me: Bathroom is gorgeous. Why?

Nora: Does it have a tub?

Me: Yes, a big one.

Hazel: What does the bathroom have to do with anything? I think Everly is bored, not in need of improved hygiene.

Nora: Take a bubble bath.

Me: That does sound nice.

Hazel: Good idea.

Nora: Leave the door open a crack and see if he peeks.

Me: No!

Nora: Why not? It’ll be fun. Bring your phone. I want live updates.

Me: Why would I do that?

Nora: Why wouldn’t you do that?

Me: Not helping, Nora. I’m sitting on the bed I have to sleep in tonight. With my BOSS.

Nora: You signed up for this, E. Bubble bath.

I sighed and put down my phone. A bath did sound nice. And his tub was enormous. My apartment only had a shower. It wasn’t often that I got to take a long, hot bath.

I went to the bedroom door and leaned out, listening. I’d heard Svetlana leave well over an hour ago, and Richard seemed to have gone to bed—or at least to his room. Shepherd was still in his office, as far as I could tell. Nora’s suggestion of a bath was sounding better and better. I needed to relax, or I’d never get to sleep.

The bathroom really was gorgeous. Gray and blue tile. Fluffy white towels. Everything sparkled. I turned down the lights for ambiance—they were on a dimmer, which made me wonder why all bathrooms didn’t have lights on a dimmer—and turned on the water.

I set my phone on the ledge next to the bathtub. Of course I wasn’t going to leave the door open and live-text Nora and Hazel. That was just silly. I just wanted my phone for something to do while I soaked.

But then again, it was getting awfully steamy with the water running. Maybe leaving the door open a tiny crack was a good idea. Just to make sure there wasn’t too much moisture. It would have been a shame to create a mildew issue in this beautiful bathroom.

So I left the door open a crack, slipped out of my clothes, and got into Shepherd’s glorious bathtub.

The water was perfect. I settled in, letting the heat seep into me. I hadn’t seen any bubble bath—which, honestly, was a relief. If Shepherd had bubble bath, the only conclusion would be that one of his past girlfriends had left it here. There was nothing wrong with a man who liked bubble baths, but he didn’t strike me as the type, so I doubted it was the sort of thing he’d keep on hand for himself. And despite the fact that this was totally fake, I didn’t like the idea of finding traces of another woman here.

Call me territorial, but I was going to be the only woman in my fake boyfriend’s life. While we were still faking it, of course.

My phone buzzed against the tile with a text.

Nora: Well?

Me: In the bath. Nothing. I think he’s working.

Nora: Boring.

Me: What do you expect me to do?

Nora: Did you leave the door open a little?

Me: Yes, but only so it wouldn’t get too steamy.

Hazel: Mildew can be a serious health hazard.

Nora: Whatever makes you feel better.

The sound of the bedroom door opening and closing almost made me drop my phone in the water. I gasped, bobbling my phone a few times. I could hear Shepherd’s brisk footsteps in the other room. They stopped, then seemed to go back the direction they’d come.

Me: He’s in the bedroom, but I think he’s about to leave.

Nora: I bet he walks by again.

Hazel: Curiosity is a powerful force.

Nora: If Hazel agrees with me, you know I’m right.

I shifted, the water moving in a slow wave. And then I heard his footsteps again. Had he walked by the door?

Me: Okay, heard him walk by again. I think.

Nora: Told you.

I waited, scarcely daring to breathe. I was sure—positive, even—that he was doing something perfectly normal that had nothing to do with curiosity about me in his bathtub.

The footsteps stopped, but I didn’t hear the bedroom door open again. He was still out there. Not going to his office.

He walked by the bathroom door again. Was I imagining things, or did he walk much slower that time?

Me: I think he strolled past the bathroom door.

Nora: Strolled?

Me: I just mean he walked… slower.

Nora: It’s ridiculous how much fun this is. E, move your legs so the water splashes a little.

I shifted and the water moved, making a soft splashing sound. For a second, there was only silence. Then I heard Shepherd’s quick footsteps and the bedroom door opening and closing.

Me: He left.

Nora: Immediately or after a pause?

Me: After a pause, I guess.

Nora: I love this. You flustered him. I bet he went to his office to stroke the sex stick.

Hazel: You think? He didn’t receive much stimulation.

Nora: He has his hot assistant naked in his bathtub. He’s stimulated.

Groaning, I leaned my head back. What was I doing? I shouldn’t be making this situation more uncomfortable than it already was. That’s what I got for listening to Nora.

Me: I’m getting out and going to bed. I have to work in the morning.

Nora: Walk by his office and see if you hear anything.

Me: No!

Nora: Fine. You’re boring. But we all know he’s in there pleasuring himself to the thought of you in his tub.

Me: I’m positive he isn’t.

Neither of them replied, so I put my phone down and enjoyed the hot water for a little bit longer. I didn’t hear any sign of Shepherd. I was sure he wasn’t even remotely interested in what I was doing in here. He’d probably been in the bedroom to get something, or to change his clothes. Maybe he hadn’t been sure I was in here, so he’d paused by the door to see if the bathroom was occupied. Nora had this all wrong. He wasn’t aroused by the thought of me in his bathtub. The guy was practically a robot. Sometimes I figured he dated just to project the illusion that he was human.

Then again, when he’d taken me home from the gala, he’d seemed remarkably human.

I got out, took a quick shower to rinse off and wash my hair, and got ready for bed. Shepherd was apparently still in his office—did he ever not work?—when I stood facing the bed, my hands on my hips, dressed in my good morning sunshine t-shirt and shorts pajama set.

This was where things got real. I was standing here, staring at my boss’s bed, and somehow, I had to talk myself into getting in it.

A noise from the hallway made me gasp. He was coming. As quickly as I could, I turned off the lamp and jumped into bed, whipping the covers up over my shoulder. I’d pretend to be asleep. Then he could do what he needed to do, get in bed, and we’d both be spared the worst of the awkwardness.

I scarcely dared to breathe as the door whispered open. He clicked it shut almost silently. Was he trying to be quiet for me? That was nice of him. He went into the bathroom and closed the door.

The tension of the day was finally wearing on me. I’d tried to keep things light and friendly with Shepherd, but he was so serious. It was hard to know what he was thinking. At work, I’d learned not to worry about it. But this was different. I needed to figure out how to navigate this new dynamic, and I needed to do it fast.

My eyes were just starting to get heavy when Shepherd came out of the bathroom. My back was toward his side of the bed, but I swore I could feel his movements. Usually, he was brusque and exacting. I could envision him getting into his bed at night with authority, the way he did everything else.

But the man on the other side of the bed seemed to be moving with quietness and care. Was he as nervous about this as I was? Or was he simply hoping to keep from waking me so I wouldn’t bother him as he was trying to fall asleep?

The covers moved and I felt his weight slide onto the mattress. Oh my god, I was in bed with my boss.

Okay, this was fine. I’d thought about this ever since Nora had brought it up over martinis. It was part of the deal. Like Shepherd had said earlier, we were both adults, and it was a king-sized bed.

Neither of us moved and tiredness started to get the best of me. I was warm from the bath and exhausted from moving. His bed was amazingly comfortable, and I sank deeper into the mattress as my body relaxed. My eyes drifted closed.

And then he moved.

He rolled over, the silky sheets rustling against his body. Oh my god, what was he wearing? I hadn’t looked. Did he wear pajamas to bed? Was he in his underwear? Did he usually sleep naked and he’d have to get used to sleeping with something on since I was here? I wanted to turn over and peek, but I couldn’t move. It was like I’d been paralyzed.

In the silence of the dark room, I heard him take a slow, deep breath. I could imagine the air filling his lungs, his broad chest expanding. I wondered if he had chest hair. The hair on his head was dark and thick—chest hair seemed likely. And, oh god, did he have a happy trail on his lower…

Stop it, Everly. Stop it, now.

This wasn’t helping me sleep, and I had to work tomorrow. What was I supposed to say to him? Sorry I dozed off during the meeting, I was up late contemplating your body hair.

No. Not good.

My back was getting stiff from lying in the same position for too long. I needed to move, but I was afraid to try. What if I accidentally touched him? What if my toes brushed his leg?

I kept still for a while longer, but eventually I had to risk it. I’d never fall asleep like this. Lifting the covers slightly, so I wouldn’t pull them off Shepherd when I moved, I rolled over to my other side.

This put me facing him, so I kept my eyes squeezed shut. I hadn’t accidentally touched him, so that was good. Realistically, there were probably three feet of space between us. I was as close to the edge of the bed as I could get without falling off. He’d probably done the same thing.

Risking a quick peek, I opened my eyes just a crack. His back was to me, the covers pulled up to his shoulder. In the darkness, I couldn’t tell what he was wearing.

I’d never given it a lot of thought, but sharing a bed was awfully intimate. There was a certain vulnerability to it. Shepherd was an exceedingly private person, and he never made decisions without careful consideration. The fact that he trusted me enough for this was oddly touching.

It made me want to be the best fake girlfriend ever.

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