Shenanigans (Pretense and Promises Book 2)

by Jade C. Jamison

  SHENANIGANS

  (Pretense and Promises #2)

  Jade C. Jamison

  Shenanigans

  Conor Hammond is desperate.

  Well, not quite—but desperate enough to do something potentially stupid. His high school reunion is right around the corner and, now that he’s a wealthy business owner, all those girls who used to diss him will want to hit on him—and he needs a buffer. His assistant Morgan Tredway’s going to help out by playing his fiancée for the weekend.

  But then Conor notices how nice Morgan’s legs look in those red heels…and Morgan remembers how she used to have a crush on her boss. That doesn’t stop them from telling themselves that these shenanigans are just distractions. It’ll be back to business as usual come Monday morning.

  Except the emotions feel real.

  When Conor’s propositioned by the ultimate trophy girlfriend and Morgan’s ex comes crawling back to her, will they look back on their weekend romance as just a fling or seal the deal?

  “Was it just me, Morgan?”

  “Was what just you?”

  “What happened back there.” She was afraid of admitting the feelings that had been growing for this man. If he wasn’t thinking and feeling the same thing, she’d look like an idiot—and things between them would be awkward for a long while.

  But he demanded an answer—one she wasn’t ready to give, so she countered with another question. “What happened back there?”

  He squinted his eyes, scrutinizing her face once more. “I guess it was just me.”

  Oh, fuck. She was at a crossroads now—and she wanted this man desperately, no matter how afraid she was of telling him the truth. And this wasn’t like her at all. Usually, the truth spilled out of her mouth like vomit, and she had no way of stopping it. Why was she now so hesitant?

  Conor was loosening his tie, walking across the room to the door.

  The real Morgan took over, telling this namby-pamby fearful-in-love girl to step aside. “If you’re talking about the strange chemistry between us, it wasn’t just you.”

  Morgan heard the deadbolt click into place before Conor turned, pulling the tie out from his collar. He’d never looked so gorgeous to her before, so appetizing and undeniably hot. She had nothing to lose now. “I can’t explain what was happening, but—”

  Conor placed his finger on her lips, as if to shush her, but his touch was gentle. Swallowing the saliva that had pooled in her mouth, Morgan tried to figure out if he wanted her to shut up so they could pretend it never happened—or if he had some other motive. His eyes continued studying her face, and she wanted to tell him the answers he was looking for weren’t there. There would be no talking, though, because Conor’s face was moving closer to hers—and that could mean only one thing…

  Copyright

  Copyright 2018 by Jade C. Jamison

  Cover image © Kiuikson/ Depositphotos

  Cover design © Mr. Jamison

  All rights reserved.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author. Characters and names of real persons who appear in the book are used fictitiously.

  Sign up for Jade’s VIP mailing list and get a free copy of her bestselling book, Bullet.

  Click here to get started: www.jadecjamison.com

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  Free Book Offer

  About the Author

  Also by Jade C. Jamison

  Prologue

  CONOR HAMMOND HAD been laughing so hard, his belly ached. He’d thought a bachelor party would be the stupidest, most boring waste of time ever, but he’d been wrong. Prior to the event, he’d conjured up images of nonstop drinking, skanky strippers, and ridiculous shenanigans—but he should have known better. The best man, lawyer Brock Ford—formerly a good friend from his undergrad days—was also in his thirties, working, and serious about his future.

  In other words, they were both mature, ensuring no adolescent antics.

  However, that didn’t mean they weren’t going to have fun. As a nod to the good ol’ days, the small party of few men occurred at a small bar where said men nursed beers while shooting pool and talking. And Brock entertained them all with one story after another.

  While Conor was enjoying himself, he found Brock’s behavior strange—because Brock had been hardnosed and serious ever since passing the bar years ago. Conor wondered if Brock had loosened up now that he owned one-third of the law firm his father had given to him and his brothers or if it was his lovely wife-to-be who’d helped the guy relax a little. Whatever the case, Conor was damn near having to wipe tears off his face from laughing his ass off.

  “So the guy said to the cop, ‘I don’t suppose you’ve got one more bed for the night?’”

  All three men started laughing again at the punchline to his joke and Abel, the youngest of the group, slapped Brock on the shoulder. “You’re killin’ me, man.”

  “That means you need another beer.” Brock waved his hand in the air for the cocktail waitress’ attention. “Or maybe you’ve had way too much. Hell if I know.”

  “If you’re doing it right, you only have one bachelor party,” Conor said. “So what’s one more beer?”

  “Indeed.”

  Harrison, the blond, leaned over the table to line up a shot while the waitress brought a tray with four more frosty mugs. Brock thanked her before telling his friends to drink up.

  “So,” Conor said, guzzling half the mug, “I thought you and I were going to be bachelors forever. What gives, man?”

  Brock smiled, and it emphasized his dimples. “When you find the right woman, Conor, you don’t question. You just do it.”

  The smirk on Conor’s face belied what he really thought. “But I recall a good friend of mine telling me that you don’t put yourself in a situation you’ll regret later. ‘In the wrong situation,’ he said, ‘you could wind up with a permanent disease, or you might end up a father, or even married. So fucking pay attention and keep your heart out of it’.”

  “I said that?”

  Conor rolled his chocolate-brown eyes and shook his head. “She must have seduced you. You’ve lost your mind.”

  Brock got ready to speak when Abel said, “Yeah, I got that lecture from Brock before, too.”

  Harrison made the shot and then stood up straight. “Me, too. What gives?”

  Conor thought by that point that Brock knew he wasn’t getting out of this one. “It’s a long story, guys…”

  Conor, hoping he appeared casual, ran his fingers through his earthy brown hair and said, “We’ve got all night and hardly a plan. I think this is a need-to-know basis.”

  The other two men walked around the pool table and Conor turned, leaning over to make a shot. He sunk the remaining stripe in the pocket before turning. “Since the game’s over, there’s no better time like the present.”

  Brock
grinned. “All right, guys, but you’ve got to heed my warning. Don’t try this at home. You’ll regret it.”

  “Regret what?”

  “Just give me a minute, and I’ll tell you how it all happened.” The men put their cue sticks up and walked over to an empty table. Once they’d settled in, Brock said, “It’s easier than I ever would have thought to pull the wool over people’s eyes, so over the past few months, I’ve wondered more than once if people are completely stupid or if I’m just one of the best actors you’ve ever met.”

  Conor shook his head, grinning from ear to ear. “Getting pretty deep in here, my man.”

  Brock laughed. “Okay…so I meant what I said in the past—that I’d planned to be a perpetual bachelor…but what I’m going to tell you now is that when you find the right woman, all that shit goes flying out the window. I promise you I wasn’t looking for a girlfriend, much less a wife. But, as you know, dad was getting ready to hand over the reins of the firm to me and my brothers—and he’d always hinted that he would only give the firm to married men. Husbands, he said, were more reliable, more trustworthy, more apt to work their asses off, etc.”

  “That sounds like bullshit.”

  “Yeah, but try telling that to the old man. I think he just wanted grandchildren so my mom would shut up about it. Anyway, I sensed that Bret and Brandon were going to take advantage of my marital status—”

  “Or lack thereof.”

  Brock chuckled again. “Yes, or lack thereof at my dad’s retirement announcement party…so I decided to level the playing field.” Lifting his mug, he took a swallow of the cold yellow ale. “I found the cutest new lawyer in our firm and made her a proposal.”

  Abel said, “No way.”

  Brock nodded, a grin plastered on his face.

  “So your marriage is a sham?”

  “No…but our engagement was.”

  Conor polished off his beer, slamming the mug on the table. Maybe he’d imbibed a little too much. “Explain.”

  The charm oozed off Brock, one of his natural traits—one Conor admired and envied. “Bear in mind, I was feeling pressured. But I made a deal with Erica: in exchange for playing my fiancée, she’d get to start handling cases—her own cases—instead of doing grunt work, which is something we sometimes made new recruits do. You know, kind of pay their dues for a while. But the way it was going to work was, when dad handed the firm over to us, Erica could walk away—from me, at any rate. She could keep the sweet new job and even the rock on her ring finger.”

  Harrison broke the awed silence—well, almost silence. It was a bar, after all. “So why the hell are you going through with the wedding? What changed your mind?”

  “Erica. I got too close. I fell in love with her—and her family. And we have enough in common to keep us comfortable but enough differences to keep things exciting. The chemistry is off the charts, my friends, and I decided months ago that I want my kids to look like her.”

  Conor pretended to rib his friend. “He’s got it bad, boys.”

  “No kidding. Guess we have to learn from the master what not to do.”

  Conor began laughing again. “You should have taken your own advice, my friend.”

  “No,” Brock said, and Conor couldn’t mistake the dreamy look in the lawyer’s eyes. “I got lucky. I found the perfect woman in spite of my stupid self.”

  Conor’s smile didn’t fade, but he still believed his friend had swallowed the Kool-Aid, cup and all…and Conor would never do that. He wasn’t a sucker—and women were good for one thing only. One thing—and if you left before morning, you would never make a mistake. Brock had admitted his error—getting too close. Conor would never do that—and he most definitely wouldn’t do something foolish like playing a sexy, sweet woman’s fiancé. No way in hell.

  It would be a recipe for disaster.

  Chapter One

  IN FRUSTRATION, MORGAN Tredway ran her long, slender fingers, complete with nails painted in fuchsia, through her dark shoulder-length tresses. If other women envied Morgan, it was for her thick wavy hair—but she’d never imagined herself to be envied by other females and she didn’t give a shit anyway. If anyone marched to the beat of her own drummer, it was this woman, and half the time, even the drummer didn’t know what the hell she was doing—and that was a-okay with her.

  One would think, with this lackadaisical attitude, that Morgan would have had a difficult time maintaining employment for a successful, wealthy business owner. But she hadn’t. Instead, she’d simply had to become creative—and organized. She’d been artful in her answers for her interview five years ago and, when Conor had offered her the job, she’d realized pretty damn quick that she’d have to actually do all the things she’d claimed to be good at—like organization, time management, and using her people skills. She read everything online she could get her hands on and discovered quickly that the most important thing that would save her bacon was her daily to-do list. And so she’d make a list daily—as well as one she would create for her boss (that, regretfully, was often at odds at the list he’d made for himself, so she started making him an itinerary, letting him know about his upcoming appointments and meetings). Her list drove her work daily, helping her get things done and making her appear to be a lot more in control than she actually was.

  At first, she’d been a pretender. Today, she really was her boss’ right-hand woman.

  On this particular day, however, she would have preferred to have been anywhere but work. Well, this afternoon, at any rate. She’d had lunch with her boyfriend Rex like she had many times before…except this time the asshole had decided to break up with her then and there—for no good reason.

  “Why the hell do you wear so much red, Morgan?”

  She’d set her sandwich down. Until the bite of his words, she’d been looking around the park, enjoying the sound of the birds chirping and the sensation of the gentle cool breeze on her calves. Something about his tone got her attention. “What the fuck does that even mean? And why do you care, T?”

  Yes…one of her many affectionate names for the son of a bitch was T-Rex.

  “You wear it too much. Have you ever considered the message you’re sending by wearing it as much as you do?”

  “What the hell?” She refrained from picking the sandwich up and tossing it at him. “Red is the color of confidence and assuredness.” Okay, so the last word felt awkward on her tongue, but she kept going. “It’s a fucking power color. And I don’t like what you’re saying. You’re implying I don’t pay attention to the clothes I put on.”

  Rex was already packing up his food, placing the sandwich wrappers in the plastic grocery bag he’d brought it in. “No, I think you do—and it says a lot about you.”

  Repeating her earlier sentiment, she raised her voice. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean…I don’t think we should see each other anymore.”

  Even though she believed him, she started laughing. “You’re joking, right?” Of course, he wasn’t joking—but he should have been.

  “No. I’m serious, Morgan. I just don’t think we’re compatible. It’s not because you wear a lot of red but what it symbolizes.” He stood. “I hope we can be friends.”

  Here it came—the part of her that couldn’t be contained by a tame to-do list or the conservative clothing she’d crammed in her wardrobe so she could be respectable on the job. “Does the red symbolize this?” She stuck both middle fingers up, making the knuckles on her index and ring fingers bend, just like she’d learned in middle school. When she was super angry, she’d add those balls to the dicks when she was flipping people off. Total anger meant the whole package.

  Asshole.

  “Actually—”

  “Fuck you. I don’t want to be friends with somebody who can’t even properly explain what he means.”

  “I can ex—”

  “Get the hell out of here, Rex.” Morgan was trying way too hard to think of a play on her old affectionate nickname Sexy
Rexy, but nothing came to mind. Instead, as he stood and turned, she took one jab. “You weren’t that good in bed anyway.”

  He looked back at her. “Really, Morgan? I thought you were more mature than that.”

  “Well, ya thought wrong. Get the fuck out of my face before I—do something I’ll regret.” Yeah. As in something even less mature.

  So the breakup, plus her less-than-classy way of dealing with the shock, was weighing heavily on her mind and, of course, that was when Conor called her into his office. It didn’t matter what he needed; she wasn’t ready for it.

  But she didn’t have much choice. Her lunch break was over and he paid her well for her time, attention, and work. So she told him she’d be right there and stood, drawing a deep breath into her lungs before grabbing a notepad and heading to his office.

  First, though, she glanced down at his to-do list and felt at least a small sense of satisfaction that he’d completed all his tasks for the day—so at least she wouldn’t have to nag him about that.

  As usual, he was on his phone. For some reason, Conor always thought his time was more valuable than his assistant’s. Technically, it was…but that didn’t change the fact that she thought it was ruder than hell. More than once, she’d asked him to call her in when he was ready, not five minutes before.

  Right now, though, she was replaying lunch in her head, so it really didn’t matter where she spent her non-productive time.

  “I’ll get to work on that this week. I’ll be in touch by Monday.” When Conor hung up the phone after saying goodbye, he didn’t even look at Morgan. Instead, he was tapping on his computer, possibly typing notes from the conversation he just had. As was his usual MO, he switched gears, assuming she’d keep up. Ordinarily, she could run circles around him. Today, though, he had no idea she was not in the right place emotionally. “So I have a bit of a dilemma—and a solution, but I need you to be in agreement with it.”