Shenanigans (Pretense and Promises Book 2)

by Jade C. Jamison

  Most of the women here competing for him now that he had money and no ring on his finger were the ones he wanted to scare off. Raquel, though? He might not mind getting to know the lovely woman she’d become.

  “I’ve had my ups and downs,” she said as she let the hug end, leaving her hand on his arm. “You’re the one person I’d hoped to see here now.”

  He questioned it, though, knowing he had to be cautious. After all, his teenage self had been turned down by this woman not once, not twice, but three times. And Raquel had been “happily married” at their ten-year reunion. So she was thrilled to see him now. Really? “Why is that?”

  She squeezed his arm, licking her lips as if ready to devour him. “Because I think you’re the yummiest man here.”

  Morgan arrived on his other side, wrapping her arm through his before getting on her tiptoes and kissing his cheek. “Hi!” she chirped, sounding more cheerful than was her norm. “My name’s Morgan. I’m Conor’s fiancée. And you are?”

  Suddenly, the temperature of Raquel’s hand through Conor’s jacket felt as if it were covered in ice—but she kept it in place. After introducing herself, she said, “Conor and I had a few classes together back in the day.”

  “That’s nice.” The way Morgan gripped his arm possessively almost made him believe they were truly engaged. “Conor and I have a honeymoon planned for Hawaii.”

  “Oh…which island?”

  This was the point where he expected Morgan to falter, but she didn’t miss a beat. “We talked about the main island, but I’d love to spend time on Maui.”

  “You really need to check out Lanai. It’s my favorite.”

  Morgan arched a dark eyebrow. “We might…but I suspect we’re going to be spending a lot of time in the hotel room. We won’t have time to see everything.”

  What the hell was that vicious purr coming out of Morgan’s mouth? It was kind of a turn on…almost made him want to be her fiancé. Crazy.

  Raquel cleared her throat—her neck was still lovely after all these years. “Well, it was nice to meet you, Maureen.”

  “Morgan.”

  “Oh, yes, Morgan. Sorry. Conor, really good to see you again.” The corners of her lips twitched up. “Maybe I’ll see you around over the weekend.”

  “I’ll be here.”

  As Raquel walked away, he recognized the way she sashayed her hips like she used to, emphasizing her gorgeous ass, and Conor couldn’t help himself—but why should he? It wasn’t like he was really engaged. “You still look amazing, Raquel.”

  She turned around, a devious grin eating up her entire face. “Thank you, Conor. I think you look even better.”

  No ego boost was needed, but Conor would be lying to himself if he said he hadn’t enjoyed it. As Raquel touched another man’s arm nearby, Conor felt Morgan’s fingers gripping his like a vice. “You seriously like that dumb bimbo?”

  He could feel a scowl wrinkling his brow. “Careful, Morgan. There are plenty of people around here with great hearing.”

  “And I don’t care who hears. She was trying to steal my man. That makes her a stupid fucking bimbo.”

  Conor could have felt embarrassed about her language, the volume of her voice, the cattiness of her tone—but, instead, it somehow made him feel masculine and proud. Two beautiful women were almost fighting over him.

  He could get used to this shit.

  * * *

  Morgan had just about had all the fun she could stand. These folks weren’t that much older than she, but they had nothing in common. Most of them were nice enough, introducing themselves, asking about how she and Conor had met, regaling her with the occasional story from their high school days, but she was starting to feel out of her element—and bored.

  Fortunately, the alcohol helped, even if too much.

  After a cup of coffee, she’d discovered that her buzz was short-lasting and the ennui set in again. She chatted with the bartender and asked him for something with less alcohol. He suggested one of his specialties, a drink he called Hawaiian Sunset. Immediately, she was drawn to the name, imagining sitting on the beach somewhere on one of the islands, relaxing with a refreshing beverage while the sun slowly dropped below the horizon to the west.

  On Maui, Raquel. Fuck Lanai.

  The bartender had told her the beverage had pineapple rum and a bunch of other stuff, and she was sold. Conor was paying for the drinks—and, as the night had worn down and the crowd had thinned out, a couple of staff made rounds a few times—and they had no issues with fetching her glass to bring back a full one.

  Once she got back to buzzed—without feeling full-on drunk—she again found the situation easy to justify…because she wouldn’t have been here to begin with if not for Conor. Once in a while, new folks would breeze by and he’d introduce them, but she knew she’d never remember their names. After two hours of standing with him while plastering on a rubbery smile, she was done playing…especially because she was sick and fucking tired of hearing from his comedic classmates how he’d “robbed the cradle.”

  Like she was a little kid or something.

  Fuck those old farts.

  That thought made her giggle so hard, she couldn’t stop.

  Hmm. Maybe the alcohol was having an effect again.

  And Conor was closer than she’d thought. “You okay, honey?”

  They were standing next to two men but Morgan had wandered away a few feet, apparently still within hearing distance. “Never better, stud muffin.” Calling her boss something bordering on inappropriate sent her into another gale of laughter.

  “Maybe I need to get you back to our room.”

  “I’m fine,” she said, realizing she probably needed to cut herself off once more. One more drink could cause her to lose control of her tongue and brain muscles—and that could ruin this whole plan. She didn’t need another spilling-the-beans Amber-type moment. “I just need to go to the ladies’ room.”

  Her feet weren’t as steady as they should have been on those heels, but she sucked down a deep breath and smoothed out her skirt before smiling at her fake fiancé and his friends. Conor asked, “You sure you don’t need any help, honey?”

  Honey? That was almost funny. “Yeah, I got it, babe.” He had a concerned expression, which almost made her start cackling again—but she managed to make it to the hallway without wobbling or giggling maniacally. She wandered down the hall, ready to begin cursing because she just wanted to fucking pee, for Christ’s sake, and then she found the door. She wandered in and took the free stall down the way next to the one that accommodated wheelchairs. After locking the door, she took a deep breath and then sat down on the toilet.

  There was a flush, followed by another, and, as Morgan heard water begin running into the sink, she relaxed enough to do her business.

  “So, Brenda, how many guys here are still hot enough to bang, you think?”

  “Oh, God. Not enough.”

  “I know, right?” Morgan could hear the rhythmic chug of someone cranking on the paper towel dispenser, working out a length long enough to dry the woman’s hands.

  “How many of these guys have gone bald, for God’s sake?”

  The other woman—not Brenda—let out a cackle worthy of the Wicked Witch of the West. “And don’t get me started on their beer bellies and pasty skin.” Both women let out a peal of laughter. “They probably have corns on their feet.”

  Holy shit. Morgan recognized that catty fucking voice.

  “And limp dicks. They probably have prescriptions for Viagra.”

  “I know, right?”

  Yeah, that had to be Raquel.

  “Did you see Randy? I promise you, girlfriend, all the Viagra in the world couldn’t help that man out.”

  Another howl of laughter.

  God, they were bitches. Morgan had long since finished peeing, but no way was she coming out of there. She wouldn’t be able to contain the look of disgust on her face. Maybe she had a potty mouth—and maybe she’d been thin
king similar thoughts—but she hoped she wasn’t as catty as these two.

  “I hate this lipstick.”

  “It looks good on you.”

  “The color’s great, but it won’t stay on.”

  “Here, use this.” Morgan heard the clink of plastic rolling around the ceramic bowl of the sink, followed by giggles. Maybe those two had had too much to drink as well. “This is a twenty-four hour stain. Lasts through multiple blow jobs.”

  More cackles.

  Oh, Jesus. Now she wouldn’t be able to even look at Raquel without picturing a limp dick in her mouth. At the thought, Morgan felt her mouth start to widen, ready to burst into giggles herself, and she clapped her hands over her lips.

  Cum-guzzling cow.

  Fuck. She pressed her hands even harder against her mouth.

  “What do you think?”

  “Looks good, especially against the ocean blue of your dress.”

  After a few moments of silence, Morgan began to wonder if they’d snuck out and she simply hadn’t heard them leave. Just as she got ready to pull some tissue off the toilet paper roll, she heard Raquel’s voice pitched lower than it had been. “So have you run into Conor Hammond yet?”

  “No. He’s here?”

  “God, girl. You have got to find him. Hot…not like high school or even last reunion. Swear to God I’d do him in a minute.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Oh, yeah.” Their voices began to fade as their heels clicked on the tile. “Except for he’s engaged now and the fiancée’s with him.”

  “Like that’s ever stopped you before.”

  More squawking as the door settled back into its closed position.

  Why the fuck was Morgan starting to feel jealous for real? Was she such a great actress that she was starting to think like a real fiancée?

  Flush.

  * * *

  By the time they walked in the door to their hotel room, Morgan was feeling sober. Through the entire last half hour of the evening, she’d sat at a table, struggling to keep her head up and eyes open, but now she leaned her head on the wall of the elevator, ready to sleep. After getting to their floor, though, she found her second wind.

  She wasn’t going to tell Conor about the conversation between faceless Brenda and phony Raquel, but she had plenty of questions. “So tell me about Rachel.” The bitch would never know she’d decimated her name like she’d done to Morgan’s face about her own, but it made her feel better anyway.

  “I see what you did there.” Conor slid the card in the lock. “Long story, Morgan.”

  As the door clicked closed and Conor flipped the metal lock at the top, she pulled off her heels. “Well, I’m glad you cleared that up. After all, we’re so busy, I don’t know how the fuck we could ever find time to chat.”

  Conor chuckled but Morgan couldn’t tell if he was actually amused or just putting up with her as he often did. All these years of working for him, and while she didn’t give a flying fuck, it would be nice at this moment to know he really liked her.

  But that wasn’t Morgan’s schtick. She didn’t give a shit.

  So why did she now?

  “You really want to hear this?”

  “I asked, didn’t I?”

  She flopped down in the overstuffed beige chair and rubbed her feet. When was the last time she’d worn heels like these? Sure, her legs looked awesome in them, but she hadn’t realized till she’d removed them that they’d been pure torture on her toes.

  Conor took off his jacket and unbuttoned his cuffs. Damn…those stupid fucking women had helped her remember the truth. Morgan’s boss really was hot, even if he was quite a bit older than she. And holding onto him, she realized he had a rock-hard body and smelled delicious.

  Not like her stupid dipshit ex who smelled like patchouli and pot…Conor smelled like sandalwood and money.

  For fuck’s sake—she had to stop this.

  Right. Now.

  “Raquel Bettis…she was in every single English class I had. She wasn’t the smartest cookie, but she was sassy, and I liked that about her. Like when we were having a class discussion about the Sherlock Holmes story, ‘The Red-Headed League.’ You ever read that one?”

  “Maybe? I don’t remember.”

  “So these criminals are digging through one shop into a bank vault next door to steal some coins, if I recall correctly, but the teacher was pissed because none of us had much to say about it in class the next day. She asked if any of us wondered where they took all the dirt they’d dug from the tunnel. I hadn’t thought much about it, even though it was a logical question. Raquel, though.” Conor’s lopsided smile made Morgan think he’d probably been a good-looking boy back in the day. “‘Who cares?’ she said. ‘It was just dirt. If it was important to the story, wouldn’t this esteemed author have included it?’ Mrs. Kramer was so frustrated with her—but Raquel was well-loved by everyone, the principal included, so the teacher dropped the textbook on the desk and gave us more reading homework that night and threatened us, saying if we weren’t ready for a real discussion the next day, she was going to fail us all.”

  Morgan was not impressed. Granted, she might have said something similar in class, but she was no Raquel fan.

  “Then, when Mrs. Kramer turned to the board, Raquel rolled her eyes and flipped her off half-heartedly—and that made everyone laugh. When Mrs. K. turned around and assigned more homework without raising her voice, Raquel rolled her eyes again and didn’t say anything else—but she winked at me, and I fell in love.”

  “You fell in love with her? She’s a bitch.”

  “Maybe, but I hadn’t had a girl give me the time of day. That was the first time a female had even flirted with me.”

  “I doubt that, Conor.”

  “You didn’t know me back then. I was the epitome of a nerd. Girls didn’t just ignore me—they avoided me like the plague. Probably afraid I’d get science fiction cooties on them.”

  “Maybe they didn’t know that accounting pays.”

  “Seriously, Morgan…even the geeky girls didn’t pay any attention to me.” She couldn’t help but cock her eyebrow. Were they completely blind? “Have you not seen any pictures of me in high school? Guess I’m gonna have to take you back to my parents’ house.” Conor hung his jacket in the closet by the door before sitting in a chair. “I was the stereotype—glasses, zits, wimpy arms.”

  “You’re full of shit.”

  “I’m dead serious. And Raquel winking at me gave me the confidence to talk to her at the beginning of class each day after that. Then she started asking me every morning about the reading assignments.”

  “So you helped that twit pass English class?”

  Nodding, he said, “Yeah, but she was capable.”

  Remembering her comment in the bathroom about blow jobs, Morgan said, “I highly doubt that.”

  As if he hadn’t heard a word, he added, “I was smitten after that. I helped one of the fab four in the pom-pom squad graduate high school.”

  “And she didn’t give you the time of day.”

  Conor nodded. “Yeah, not back then. None of the girls did. It was almost like I didn’t exist—unless someone needed homework help. And I didn’t complain. Any attention is better than nothing, right?”

  Morgan shrugged. “I think I’d rather be a wallflower than be anywhere near those cum-guzzling bitches.”

  “Bitches?” Conor asked, emphasizing the plural while completely ignoring the nasty description.

  “Gal named Brenda?”

  “Oh, Brenda. Yeah, she was part of Raquel’s four-pack.”

  “You only had four cheerleaders for your whole school?”

  “No…there were probably twenty or thirty divided among all the squads. But there were three girls who were Raquel wannabes and followed her around like lapdogs. They even talked to me, thanks to her.”

  “Because you were giving her what she wanted, Conor. I’m no rocket scientist and even I know that shit.”

>   Conor shook his head and sat on the couch. “You’re pretty and snappy, Morgan. You’d never understand what a nerd like me had to go through back in the day.”

  The laughter roared out of her mouth. “Back in the day? Like you’re an old grandpa now.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  And then it dawned on her—he’d called her pretty.

  Did he really mean that?

  Her brain couldn’t even ponder the concept when he’d begun talking again. “When I went off to college, I found myself. I found my confidence, because for the first time I was judged for my brains and not my looks or who I hung out with. After being ignored all through high school, I became comfortable in my own skin and never looked back.”

  Still shell-shocked, Morgan tried to keep her words neutral. “The way it should be.”

  “But my ten-year reunion reminded me of all those old emotions. You’d understand if you’d gone to your reunion.”

  “Yeah, we already went through all that. It’s bullshit, Conor.”

  “I’m paying you to say otherwise.” Morgan rolled her eyes but said nothing, because he was technically right. As he unbuttoned the top of his shirt, he continued. “Raquel was married at that reunion, to a guy in oil who made millions of dollars and she was his trophy wife. I think they had one kid maybe. Doesn’t matter, though. She hung on his arm like the diamonds hung on her neck, and I figured she was set for life. Just like high school, she barely talked to me—but she gave me a quick wink across the room.”

  “Just like the bitch she is.” Why the hell was there some green-eyed monster stirring in her belly?

  “Doesn’t matter, Mo. The teenage boy in me is feeling like David against Goliath. All the star football players look like old men and it’s not like our ten-year, where I felt like the women were just attracted to my money. Now I feel like they like me for me.”

  Bitches. Fucking cunty bitches. I have always liked Conor for his insides. She was loyal and starting to look at him through a new lens, but she realized she had no claim to him in that regard. Instead, she had a duty to him. She was there to help him, to be his right-hand woman, just like she always was at the office. “So do you want me to make Raquel and all the other women jealous as hell?”