Faking Ms. Right (Dirty Martini Running Club, #1)

by Claire Kingsley

I figured if more people made an effort to be friendly, the world would be a much better place.

Martini Mondays. Taco Tuesdays. Wine Wednesdays. Thirsty Thursdays. Fast-food Fridays (don’t judge).

After the champagne and the Manhattan, I was in danger of bypassing a little tipsy and heading straight for telling inappropriate stories and asking strangers for hugs. Not that I’d ever done that before. Okay, yes I had.

We stared at each other, like we were both shocked at our own outbursts. And our copious dropping of f-bombs.

Nora had been wrong about catching feelings. There was no catching involved. They smashed into me, shattering into my soul with a million tiny sparks, filling me with a warm tingly sensation. He turned back, meeting my gaze, a disarming openness in his eyes. Right there, in that exact moment, I did a terrible, terrible thing. I fell in love with my boss.

“We’re going home and I’m going to fuck the shit out of you when we get there.”

I kissed her because, in that moment, there was nowhere else I’d rather be, nothing else I’d rather be doing. And no one else I’d rather be doing it with.

“Oh, son.” He tossed back the rest of his whiskey. “If you haven’t figured it out yet, you will soon.” “Figured what out?” “You’re in love with that girl.”

“Everly, you have the biggest heart of anyone I’ve ever known. And I’m about to ask you to give it to me, forever. All I have to give you in return is mine, which, to be perfectly honest, isn’t enough. But I love you with every bit of it—with every piece of my soul. Will you marry me?”