Shenanigans (Pretense and Promises Book 2)

by Jade C. Jamison

  Chapter Three

  HOLY SHIT. MORGAN had always considered Conor a good boss and a decent friend, but she hadn’t expected him to be quite this cool. Her story must have tugged on his heartstrings—if he had any. But she hadn’t questioned it at the time.

  Conor’s helpful idea had been for the two of them to change their Facebook statuses to engaged at the same time. In the heat of the moment, that had seemed like a brilliant idea. Now, though, with her mother pestering her on the phone—thanks to her little sister freaking out about the Facebook announcement—she was questioning how smart that move had been. Of course, had she been paying attention to her phone to see the frantic text messages, she might have been able to prevent her mom’s phone call. Instead, Dee hadn’t been able to reach Morgan and had talked to their mother before Morgan had been able to text Dee back to explain what was happening.

  It just reminded her why people still said a stitch in time saves nine.

  “That doesn’t make sense, Morgan. Even though you publicly announced it, you’re just pretending to be engaged?”

  “Yes, ma. My boss needs someone to play his fiancée at his high school reunion so all his old girlfriends or whatever don’t cozy up to him just ‘cause he has money now.”

  “And you had to do it on Facebook?”

  “I don’t expect you to understand.”

  “That’s why I quit Facebook. People use it to air all their dirty laundry.”

  “This isn’t dirty laundry, ma.”

  Her mother sighed before telling Morgan she loved her. Then they talked about more pleasant things, like how Morgan’s dad kept stacking his dirty socks next to his recliner. “I refuse to pick them up anymore. He wants them washed? He knows where the hamper is.” After a few seconds, she added, “Except the family room’s starting to stink.”

  “Let me know when he gets the clue.” Until then, Morgan was going to avoid going home. Still, her father was just shy of being perfect—so it made sense that he’d have to have just one flaw, right? When she’d chatted for half an hour, she told her mom she had to start packing for the trip and so she had to go.

  That wasn’t entirely true. She had to go shopping first.

  She’d managed to get some of her spending money out of Conor before leaving work for the day. “I need to look classy and sexy, right?” He’d rolled his eyes…but gave her his credit card and told her not to overdo it.

  She bought three sets of casual clothes and two semi-formal dresses, one white and the other black, because, even though she hadn’t gone to her own reunion, she remembered the schedule of events she’d avoided. His might be totally different, but she wanted to be prepared just the same. Either way, she was going to have an infusion of designer brands into her closet, thanks to the boss.

  And then she let herself remember an old dirty little secret.

  At one time, she’d had a huge crush on Conor.

  Huge.

  But the guy was truly married to his work—and loved casual, no-strings-attached hook ups. She knew now, though, that if she was ever going to have a chance at making him notice she was a woman, it was now. And, with that in mind, she shopped for a little lingerie and sexy underwear—after all, it was for him, right? A couple pair of shoes, some Obsession, and a little extra makeup, and she thought she was all set.

  She’d be the perfect girlfriend. Er, fiancée. She’d make his old friends and would-be girlfriends jealous—and she’d make Conor look at her like the woman she was. She knew she was awesome girlfriend material, no matter what stupid Rex thought. She only had to convince Conor that real life relationships were more fun—and what she bought should do it. She’d have him eating out of the palm of her hand before he ever saw the credit card bill…

  * * *

  As the attendant took a ruler to Morgan’s luggage, Conor turned his head and whispered, “You know we’re flying back Sunday night, right?”

  Her smile looked innocent, but he knew her better than that. “I’ve gotta look good, right?”

  “Do I even want to know how much you spent?”

  “Nope. You really don’t.”

  “That’s what I was afraid of.”

  “Ma’am,” the man measuring the bag stood, “you’re not going to be able to carry this luggage on.”

  “That’s fine,” Conor said. “We’ll pay.”

  Unfortunately, Morgan was going to prove to be as stubborn with this guy as she usually was with Conor. “Look, it’ll fit. I know it will. I just might have to squish it a little bit.”

  “I’m sorry, but that’s not acceptable.”

  “If the effing TSA people hadn’t needed me to take all my carefully packed stuff out and then—”

  “I’m sorry, ma’am.”

  Though he was thankful that she was suppressing her potty mouth, Conor was starting to feel the back of his neck grow hot because he knew the people behind them were getting impatient—and he knew Morgan would be pissed because the man had called her ma’am. He wasn’t sure which was worse—the crowd or his feisty employee.

  “I can take some of it out and put it in my purse.”

  “I’ll pay for it. Go ahead and take it.” Morgan started to argue again but he lifted an eyebrow. That usually worked.

  Fortunately, it did this time, too. She pinched her lips together as if a secret was trying to leap out. “Okay, sir. Thank you.”

  As the attendant waved them through, Morgan hissed, “I could have made it work.”

  “I’ll take it out of your bonus.” Keeping his eyes forward and hustling toward their seats, he made sure to avoid her face. Soon enough, though, he’d have to make eye contact. “Do you want the window or the aisle?”

  “I don’t care.” Her tone was snippy—and that was okay, so long as she remembered who was boss.

  Honestly, though, she was doing him a huge favor and he should be kissing her feet. “Then I’ll take the window.”

  “Fine.”

  They sat in silence once they’d finagled their way in while others trickled down the aisle. Morgan absorbed herself in her phone, scrolling her Facebook feed. He looked out the window, grateful for a little downtime. Once the plane began taxiing down the runway, he whispered, “Do you want a drink?”

  Her eyebrow arched, she asked without looking up from her phone. “You buying?”

  It was the only thing that would make the flight bearable. “Yeah, so get ready to drink up.”

  * * *

  With Morgan giggly, smiling, and undemanding—tipsy but not quite drunk—Conor noted that their flight was actually more than bearable. The time had seemed to, well, fly. And she wasn’t stumbling drunk as they stood waiting for her bag to appear on the carousel.

  As they walked through the airport and found a shuttle to take them to get their car rental, Morgan seemed to sober up—but Conor made a note to himself that if he needed her to chill just a little in the future, he would suggest a cocktail. But he didn’t know how loose her lips would get with alcohol—and he felt like that was something he should know. She’d been his employee how long and he didn’t know that about her?

  Soon, they were zipping down the asphalt in a shiny black SUV—and that was when Morgan started talking, sounding as sober as ever.

  “Dude…if you wanted to impress your classmates, you should’ve rented a Mercedes or a Corvette or something.” Leaning forward, she turned the radio on and started scanning for a channel. He got ready to tell her he didn’t feel the need to impress them but he didn’t have a chance to speak. “How far?”

  “Till we get there?” She nodded. “A little over an hour, give or take.”

  She frowned and leaned back after stopping on a station playing hip hop. Conor didn’t know what her mood was all about but he had traffic to contend with—and the drive up the mountain should help her relax. If not, it didn’t matter. He was paying her enough that she could pretend she was having the time of her life.

  * * *

  At first, Mor
gan had thought Colorado Springs, the city they were driving through, was where they were going to be spending the weekend but after twenty minutes or so, they were out of town, driving through the mountains. There was a house here and there and plenty of cars driving both ways, but they were most definitely leaving civilization.

  Where the hell had Conor gone to high school anyway?

  She adjusted the radio again, hoping it would keep her boss from talking. Her head was a little achy—nothing bad, but she figured it was due to a combination of one drink too many and the higher altitude. Why the hell had she allowed herself a couple of days ago to remember her one-time crush on Conor? What a stupid idea. They were friends—good friends, in fact—and the best way to maintain a friendly working relationship was to avoid having thoughts to the contrary. So she kept her eyes to the side of the road, looking at all the evergreen trees and other native vegetation and thought of the way Conor’s actual girlfriend/ fiancée might act. Would she be girlie and prissy, expecting him to hold the door for her, fetch things, bring her flowers, and wait on her hand and foot or would she instead be a tough-as-nails businesswoman, fierce and formidable?

  Aw, hell, who was Morgan kidding? She was no actress and, even if she were, she wouldn’t be able to maintain a ruse like that for two days straight. Opinionated and mouthy, five minutes and all bets would be off—especially if Conor did one of those things where he got under her skin like he liked to do. No, it was better to just be herself and, if she didn’t match people’s expectations, there was no reason to worry about it. Again, it just a long weekend. She only had to pretend like she was in love with him for a couple of days.

  A little while longer and Morgan began to see signs of civilization again. There were two small car dealerships and a shopping center before they hit the first stoplight. Conor said, “I think it’s too early to check into the hotel, but I thought I might go visit my folks if they’re home. Do you want to come with?”

  She figured they were nice enough people, but she didn’t know if Conor had told them he was engaged to her or if it was just a joke. Either way, she imagined it might put her in an uncomfortable position, one her headache didn’t want her to attempt. “Actually, if you wouldn’t mind, I think I need an iced tea and maybe some soup or French fries or something.”

  “One too many mojitos on the plane?”

  “Something like that.”

  “I can drop you off on Main Street. There are a lot of shops, touristy and otherwise, plus a few restaurants. When I leave my parents’ house, I’ll call or text you and pick you up wherever you are. Sound good?”

  “Yeah.” Except his town was looking pretty dullsville.

  “If you need me to get you before that, just call.”

  “Fair enough.” She picked her purse up off the floor of the vehicle and double checked that her phone and wallet were inside—because, you know, the alcohol.

  Conor turned off the highway and drove up one block before turning again and said, “This is Main Street.”

  There was nothing spectacular about it, not that she’d expected anything mind-blowing. She imagined she was in the heart of small town Colorado, that a good many Main Streets in this state looked like this one, but she thrived in the big city. She couldn’t imagine living in a tiny place like this. There was only one lane going each way in this downtown area, and she could probably even get away with jaywalking—without endangering her life. Looking at the cars parked along the curb at an angle (as well as noticing a few empty spots here and there) and observing that the tallest building here was three stories tops told her all she needed to know. She’d never say anything to Conor, but she was thoroughly underwhelmed.

  “Have fun,” she said as he drove off in the rental car. She made her way to the sidewalk and relished the feel of the sun on her shoulders. She’d walked only half a block when she realized she could smell flowers in the air, not an aroma she was used to in her neighborhood. Two blocks later, she was struck by the smell of fresh baking bread. Suddenly, she was ravenous—and calm.

  In spite of the few cute shops along the way that caught her eye, she was now on a mission. At the end of the block, she spotted a place called Betty’s Bakery and hoped that was the place whose bread she was smelling.

  Assaulted by the hints of yeast in the air as she opened the door, she knew this had to be the place. But it didn’t appear to just be a bakery. As she looked around, she noted that it was a full-blown restaurant. Maybe she could get a drink and snack here after all.

  A woman behind the counter said, “Sit wherever you like, honey. I’ll be right with you.” Glancing around, she saw that she was the only customer. Maybe this place wasn’t such a great idea after all—or maybe it was just because it was closing in on three, long before the dinner rush.

  The woman walked out from behind the counter a minute later holding a glass of ice water and a menu covered in plastic. Morgan had chosen to sit in a booth at the window facing the street, wanting to people watch. If she got bored, she could always Facebook on her phone. When the waitress reached her, Morgan said, “Actually, I know what I want. I’d love a glass of iced tea, and the bread you’re baking smells amazing.”

  “Those are rolls for dinner tonight, but I don’t see why I couldn’t give you one now. They’ll be ready in a few minutes.”

  Five minutes later, Morgan was slathering butter all over a warm roll (one of two) and enjoying a cool drink. Two guys walked in and up to the counter.

  Let the people watching begin.

  Both men looked like they were businessmen beginning their weekend a few hours early—and, since they were stopping in here, she figured they had to be locals. They had nice shoes and slacks, long sleeved shirts and ties, but no jackets—telling her they must have offices somewhere nearby. As she watched them order drinks at the counter, she wondered if they were lawyers or insurance agents. Bankers, maybe? What other kinds of guys would have to wear suits in a small town like this?

  Used car salesmen?

  One of the guys—the one with slicked back dark hair and dimples to die for—turned and caught Morgan looking at him. He smiled, thankful he didn’t seem to be offended, and she grinned back just as she heard a text notification ping on her phone. She glanced down and saw that it was Conor. If he was ready to pick her up, he hadn’t visited with his folks for long. Where are you?

  Betty’s Bakery.

  Nice. Be right there.

  Glancing at the time on her phone, she saw that it was after three, so maybe Conor wanted to check in to the hotel now. Up until the time those interesting men had entered the bakery, she would have even considered going to his parents’ house to meet them, because she wasn’t exactly impressed with his old hometown. Now, though, she was enjoying the scenery. These men looked to be about Conor’s age and not bad looking.

  But there would be no scamming for guys here. That didn’t mean she couldn’t flirt, though. Both men had beers in their hands as they turned. Morgan hadn’t even realized they served beer here—not that she would have taken it. Her headache was finally easing up from the alcohol she’d had on the plane. She needed to stay sober now.

  After a minute chatting amongst themselves, the men made a beeline for her booth and asked, “Anyone sitting here?”

  Morgan felt a smirk move her lips and she answered, “Yeah, the invisible man—and he won’t stop eating my rolls.”

  The second guy, a cutie with spiky blond hair, said, “Want me to get you another?”

  “I don’t want to wind up looking like those rolls…so thank you, but no.”

  The first man, the one with black hair and dark brown eyes, asked, “So it’s okay if we join you?”

  “Why not? It’s a free country.”

  The guy with black hair smiled and sat down, but he seemed reluctant to do so after acting eager moments earlier. The blond slid in the booth next to him and said, “Are you always so curt?”

  “Curt? Hmm…I’ve never been called that.
I’ve been called snarky, bitchy, short, snappy, plucky, funny, and even rude a time or two, but I’ve never been called curt.” After a moment, Morgan put down her phone to give them her full attention. “Maybe it’s ‘cause I’m a girl.”

  The guy with black hair smiled but the blond actually spoke. “Ah, clever.”

  “Yeah…my looks might attract but my personality pushes people away.”

  The dark-haired man had a confused look on his face, like he was sorry they’d sat there, but the blond seemed amused. Morgan had nothing better to do until Conor got there, but the exchange had no goal, really. Once she left Betty’s Bakery, she’d never see these guys again. Still, it could get awkward sitting here with nothing to do but stare at two decent-looking guys who didn’t seem to get her. So she said, “I’m kidding. It’s my version of West Coast charm. You like?” Both men smiled and nodded politely, no doubt considering leaving as soon as they downed their beers. Eh…easy come, easy go. She liked flirting but she didn’t see any way she could actually date someone during the reunion, especially while playing fiancée. “You from around here?”

  Blondie chose to answer again. “Kind of. You?”

  Kind of? What did that even mean? “No. I’m here with a friend. I’m actually a California native.”

  “Yeah? Whereabouts?”

  It was then that she heard the bell tinkle as the front door opened. Her back was to it, but she could tell from the guys’ faces that they knew the person walking in, but it was the black-haired guy who said, “Conor Hammond. How the hell have you been?”

  It was only a split second, but she saw the dark shadow cross her boss’ face when she turned around to look. Who the hell was she sitting with and should she have known Conor would not be amused?

  Chapter Four

  “WELL, IF IT isn’t Bill Bullock and Francis Mills. How the hell have you guys been?”

  Bill, the blond, said to Morgan, “Excuse us a moment.” Then he stood and said, “Great, never better. What about you?”

  “Kicking ass and taking names. I see you’ve met my fiancée.”