Shenanigans (Pretense and Promises Book 2) Page 6

  “Good idea.”

  Once downstairs, they headed outside with his dad in tow. Morgan hugged them both and said she was glad to meet them, and his dad said, “Thanks for keeping Conor’s head on straight.”

  “Somebody’s gotta do it. Nice to meet you both.” She jumped in the rental car and started playing on her phone. Probably checking emails, if Conor guessed right.

  “Come see us Sunday before you leave if you can, son.”

  “Will do, dad.” After hugging his father, he embraced his mother and kissed her on the cheek.

  “I like her, Conor.”

  Agreeing, he said, “She’s great.”

  “Actually, I love her. I think she’s a keeper, son. If nothing else, she’s a heck of an assistant. Figured all that out before I could even pull out the phone book.”

  As Conor began driving down the road toward Wash and Go, a thought embraced his brain. Mom had hated every last one of his girlfriends…and yet she loved Morgan, his fake girlfriend. What did that even mean?

  And why could he not stop thinking about her that way?

  Chapter Six

  CONOR WAS ADJUSTING a bowtie inside the dressing room, but he could hear Morgan’s voice just outside. “So why the hell did you have a tux if you never went to prom, Conor?”

  “I didn’t say I didn’t go to prom.”

  “But—”

  Opening the dressing room door, he stopped Morgan in her train of thought. “I took one of my gaming friends.” Morgan squinted an eye at him. “A girl gaming friend.”

  She continued scrutinizing him, but she was now looking at the suit instead of his face—and she didn’t appear impressed.

  “Sir, I think that looks perfect,” the tailor said as he walked over to join them, looking Conor over from head to toe.

  “Fuckballs. Are you and I looking at the same guy?” Morgan interrupted. “Sorry, Conor, but your ugly high school tux would have looked better than this.”

  The tailor, an eyebrow arched, countered, “We don’t have a big selection left.”

  “Bullshit. You have that rack right there. You said those weren’t rented out.”

  “Yes, but they’re the wrong size.”

  “Can’t you adjust them?”

  The man’s nostrils flared, the only indication Conor had that the man was growing angry—but he wasn’t going to say a word. He’d had these sort of skirmishes with Morgan before, and there was no winning them. Once she got it in her mind that she was right, only a miracle could alter her perception. “You said you needed the tux today.”

  “Ah, good, you understand basic English.”

  And how many times had he told her she’d get more with honey than with vinegar? “Morgan, why don’t you let me handle this?” Moving over so the man turned in order to take Morgan out of his direct line of vision, Conor asked, “Do you have anything else maybe? I think I agree that this one isn’t my style.”

  “As I said, sir, for your height, this is all we have left.”

  “What’s wrong with these ones my assistant pointed out?

  “They’d all need alterations. Didn’t you say you needed this tonight?”

  “Technically, no. I need it by tomorrow night—but we’re going to be busy all day tomorrow and possibly unable to get back here.”

  Conor could practically see the man making mental calculations in his brain but he didn’t have a chance to counter before Morgan jumped in again. “What if we gave you five-hundred dollars to get it done in an hour?”

  The man’s caterpillar eyebrows gave away his shock but that quickly melted into slick subservience.

  And what the hell was Morgan thinking? Just because he had money didn’t mean he wanted to spend that much on alterations. He could have probably bought a tux for that price. The tailor walked over to the rack that, moments earlier, he’d said he couldn’t rent to them, and Conor took the time to look at her with widened eyes, hoping he communicated the sense of incredulity he felt. She whispered, “Do you want to look like a goofy little shithead kid—or do you want to look like a successful businessman?”

  She had a point—but, dammit, why did she always have to be right?

  The man turned around, hanger in hand, and said, “This one would only need—”

  “No, that one won’t do.”

  Conor asked, “What’s wrong with it?”

  “Pinstripes. That’s a hard nope. Next.”

  One thing Morgan had nailed on the head, though, was the man’s willingness to work with them when money was on the table.

  The man had barely touched another hanger when she said, “Absolutely not. The jacket and pants need to be solid black.”

  “I don’t see—”

  Morgan interrupted Conor as well. “Do you want to look good?”

  “Of course.”

  “And like you didn’t spend twenty-five dollars at a yard sale?” Conor could only let out a frustrated breath of air before she continued. “Then trust me.” She walked over to the rack and pointed to a couple of them. Then she and the tailor began haggling back and forth, with only a few expletives from Morgan’s mouth.

  At that moment, he decided to let it go. Morgan was not only handling it, she seemed to be enjoying the process. Yes, it meant he was spending more than double what he’d planned for the rental, but this kind of bullshit was what he’d always paid her for. He took care of the numbers, making money by keeping his clients’ financial affairs in order, and Morgan kept him organized and, for the most part, kept the clients happy, too.

  She was worth her weight in gold—but he wouldn’t say so, because that could easily go to her head.

  “Yes, this one would be easy enough, I think, and I could have it done by closing.”

  Morgan, a large grin plastered on her face, held the tux up so Conor could see it. “What do you think?”

  Before he could even shrug, the tailor said, “I’ll need you to try it on first, sir.”

  In just a few minutes, Conor joined them outside the dressing room while the tailor fussed, taking measurements. Even though Conor had never sewed before, it didn’t look like it would require too much. The man was talking about letting out the hem on the pants and arms, but Conor was only half listening. Instead, he was looking at Morgan. She kept a close eye on the tailor and asked a question or two, but it was clear that she had Conor’s best interests at heart. What would he ever do without her?

  He hoped he’d never find out.

  * * *

  Morgan had pulled the bottom of her skirt down, trying to make it ride lower. Sitting in the chair in their room, she’d thought it would look better when she stood, but damned if it wasn’t a little too snug and a little too short. It wasn’t until they were standing in front of the elevator waiting for the doors to open when she asked, “Conor, if I promise to hurry, could we go back to our room so I can change really quick?”

  “Why? It looks great.”

  “I look like a slut.”

  “No, you don’t.” He glanced at her knees before returning his eyes to the elevator.

  “Yeah, I do. My fucking hem is just inches away from my ass. But the worst part is how my boobs stand out.”

  “Nah. The black fabric makes them less noticeable.”

  And what the hell was that even supposed to mean?

  “Whatever. Just don’t be surprised when a lot of your classmates hit on me.”

  She could have sworn she heard some guttural noise rumble in his throat, but even if not, she was certain she could sense it. Good. She wanted him jealous. It could lead to a few fun things between them.

  To add a little more fuel to that fire, she added, “At least that’ll give me something to do.”

  This time, Conor said, “Hmm,” and left it at that.

  “It’ll also help solidify how serious you are about your business. I mean seriously. Even your fiancée can’t keep your attention for long.”

  “You seem to be having a lot of fun with this.”
/>
  “Shouldn’t I be? I seem to remember my boss saying work doesn’t feel hard when you enjoy yourself.”

  “Using my words against me. Typical.”

  Soon, they were riding the elevator to the ground floor. Morgan had been thinking this two-horse town with a population of about two-hundred was as backwoods as it could get, but this hotel could have easily fit into any of a number of gorgeous downtown urban settings.

  Morgan paused, arched an eyebrow at Conor, and shook her head, but he dropped his phone in his jacket pocket, an eyebrow raised as if mirroring her face, and he held out his arm to lead her inside.

  “You’re gonna make me do this.”

  “I’m telling you you look fantastic, Morgan.”

  She wasn’t going to argue it any longer. As they walked down the hall, Morgan couldn’t keep her snarkiness contained any longer. “Obsequious much?”

  “I gotta tell ya, Mo, that’s one of the things I love about you.”

  “What?”

  “Ya know big wurds,” he said with a phony backwoods drawl.

  She giggled. “You implying we’re walking into a den of not-so-smart?”

  “No, not at all. In fact, I’m looking forward to catching up with some of my old buddies.”

  “Well, that’s good. Isn’t that why we’re here?”

  He nodded but didn’t look at her or say a word. Soon, they found the signs leading the way to the reunion, which was apparently being held in a ballroom. For some stupid reason, Morgan suddenly felt intimidated, something she hadn’t felt since childhood.

  A ballroom?

  It was silly, though. Yes, she would have felt more comfortable in a business-type suit like Conor wore. Business casual. He wore the suit but no tie, and he looked relaxed but professional. She, on the other hand, looked like she was getting ready to hover on a street corner, waiting for a date.

  But if anyone could pull it off, it was Morgan—and because she was a little younger than these folks and her clothes showed off her body, she was sending the signal that Conor needed her to—so she chose to chill out.

  They walked up to a table just outside the large room, meant for registration. The beautiful brunette tilted her head and first examined Morgan’s face before realizing she was probably too young to have graduated with them—either that, or she had a killer skincare routine. She assessed Conor next and said, “Don’t tell me. Let me guess.” She continued to scan his face. “Don’t tell!” Then she picked up a bundle of papers and began reading them, flipping a page every few seconds. “You’re not Brian Bush.” Tapping her upper lip with her perfectly manicured russet fingernail, she put her nose back in the papers before she let out a squeal moments later. “Oh, my gosh! You’re Conor Hammond!” Jumping up, the woman ran around the desk, arms spread wide for a hug.

  Conor said, “Hello. How have you been?” but that wasn’t enough for the girl.

  “You don’t remember me, do you?”

  He examined her face once more and said, “You look kind of familiar but I’m sorry. You’re right. I can’t place your name.”

  Giggling, she leaned over as if telling a secret. That she whispered helped. “I had a nose job three years ago. Best thing I ever did.”

  Morgan, tired of playing third wheel, said, “It looks great.”

  “Thank you so much. And you are…?”

  “Morgan Tredway. Conor’s fiancée.”

  “Ooh, fiancée, huh?” She giggled again, an obnoxious sound that was going to drive Morgan crazy if she had to be around it much longer. “I hope you don’t find the stories about our high school days too boring.” She didn’t even give Morgan a chance to answer before she turned and started flipping through more sheets. “Here’s your nametags.” She handed Conor a nametag covered in plastic, attached to a lanyard, and then she handed another to Morgan. “Hang on to those, because they’ll get you in to all our functions this weekend.”

  Morgan glanced down at hers. It had her first name only—below that, it had Conor’s name in parentheses. She thought about making a smart-ass comment about being treated like a second-class citizen or some shit, but she understood. This wasn’t her high school reunion, after all, and she didn’t need a red-carpet welcome.

  But the chatty woman wasn’t done. She handed them both little red ticket stubs. “Cash bar tonight, but the first one’s free. Just present this to the bartender and he’ll hook you up.”

  Conor took a guess. “Cheerleader?”

  “Oh, you are a sweet one. Thank you, but no. I was on the dance team and in choir.”

  “So are you going to leave me in the dark all night?”

  Cackling, the woman pushed her hair back over her left shoulder before pulling her lanyard out from her jacket, revealing the nametag. “Kendra.”

  “Kendra. I think we had biology together.”

  “Yes, exactly. Anyway…the name was Johnson for a while, but my divorce was finalized last month, so I’m once again Kendra King.”

  “You look fantastic, Kendra.”

  “So do you, Conor.”

  Morgan was ready to puke. “Let’s go hit the bar, babe.” A fiancée would call him that, right?

  Blinking as if breaking a spell, Conor looked down at Morgan, nodding. “Catch you around, Kendra.”

  The perky classmate tittered and then greeted another couple walking in the door. Morgan said, “Are they all like that?”

  The smirk on his face made him look kissable, damn him. “You jealous?”

  “Only because I’m your fiancée. I should be upset, shouldn’t I?”

  His laughter followed them through the doorway. “I love it when you’re angry, so why not?”

  Frowning, she got ready to come back with a curse-laden bite, but Conor was practically tackled by a balding guy with a pot belly and gray strands in the hair he had left. “Conor Hammond. How the hell are you?”

  Conor smiled, allowing himself to be pulled into the embrace of the burly, jovial man. “Dave? Dave Shivers?”

  “That’s me. What you been up to, smart guy?”

  “Same old, same old.”

  The man looked at Morgan. “I see he’s humble as ever. Who’s your date, Hammond?”

  Morgan flashed a bright smile; this time, it came easily. “I’m Conor’s fiancée, Morgan Tredway.”

  “Oh, my. He’s a lucky man, Morgan. I can tell from your handshake that you’re a little feisty. A man like Conor needs a woman like you to keep him on his toes.”

  “Ha. He needs a woman like me to keep his shit organized.”

  Dave turned his attention to Conor. “I love this gal already. I think she’s a keeper.”

  “Thanks. I think so, too.”

  “Just me, though, or are you robbing the cradle a little bit?”

  “He’s not that much older than me.”

  “Besides, she’s wise beyond her years.”

  Morgan laughed so hard she snorted. “That’s just the smart ass in me.”

  The way Dave assessed them made Morgan certain the jig was up. If he figured out the engagement was just a ruse, Conor might hold that against her—not that she was up against anyone else for an Employee of the Year award. But Dave said, “If this guy doesn’t treat you right, you come see ol’ Uncle Dave. I know your boy here has lots of money, but I think I’ve got him beat in that department.”

  “Oh, really?” Jokingly, Morgan took his arm, pretending to cozy up next to him. She hoped it would distract him from the truth that she and her boss weren’t really a couple.

  “How many times have you been married, Dave?”

  “Counting the divorce I’m going through now?”

  “You made my point for me, you scoundrel. I think Kendra back there is looking for a new man.”

  “Yeah? Lemme at ‘er.”

  Conor’s eyebrows were raised once Dave walked away. “What am I gonna do with you, Morgan? You’re here to make my life easier.”

  “I tried to warn you, boss. I can’t help it
if all these old men think I’m hot.”

  “Oh, I’m an old man now?”

  “If the shoe fits.” Keeping her ire in check, she snatched the drink coupons out of Conor’s hand and began marching toward the bar across the room. “You coming?”

  She only hoped there was enough alcohol to make this fucking night bearable…

  Chapter Seven

  CONOR HELD IN his hand a Jack and Coke. While he hadn’t given it too much thought, he’d considered what his drink would signal to his old classmates. A beer didn’t seem too bad a choice, but it also lacked the air of sophistication he hoped to communicate. The drink he sipped told them all that he was manly and no nonsense.

  At least, he hoped so.

  Just like at his ten-year reunion, the women sniffed him out like a bloodhound might track a rabbit. He found it odd, because he knew some of his other classmates had become successful, and they were single and good looking.

  Maybe the gold diggers scoped all those men out, hoping to find a winner.

  First there was Amber. Morgan had excused herself, whispering in his ear first, and he got the feeling she just needed a breather. He’d been talking to a couple of male classmates when those guys decided they needed more beer—and, in that short second that he found himself alone, Amber approached him. “Well, well, well. If it isn’t Conor Hammond. I swear you look even better than our last reunion.”

  “Hi, Amber.” Maybe she was just being friendly, right? He didn’t want to be rude, but he couldn’t say the same thing about her. She didn’t look bad, but she looked her age—and, based on past experience, he thought it best not to encourage her. “How have you been?”

  She insisted on hugging him and she held on a little longer than she should have.

  Was she sniffing his cologne?

  “Oh, you know. My kids are in high school now. Well, not all of them. My youngest is in middle school. But I’m just plugging away.”

  This was okay. Nothing too strange, so he could continue being polite. “Where are you working?”