Shenanigans (Pretense and Promises Book 2) Read online

  “For the school district nowadays. It pays benefits.”

  “Yeah? What do you do?”

  “I’m a custodian. Doesn’t sound glamorous, but somebody’s gotta do it.”

  “Indeed.”

  “So,” Amber said, getting a little closer and touching Conor’s arm with two fingers, “are you still the perpetual bachelor?”

  “Actually, no. I’m engaged to be married.” Conor looked up from Amber’s face and looked around the room. “Morgan’s around here somewhere.” Making eye contact with her again, he said, “I’d love for you to meet her.”

  The smile plastered on her face was now saccharine sweet. “Yes, I’d love that.”

  As if on cue, Morgan showed up at his side and wound an arm around his. “Hey, babe. Sorry I was gone so long.” Then, politely and yet with a tinge of possessiveness (she played her part so well), she turned to Amber. “Hi. I’m Morgan Tredway, Conor’s fiancée.” She even put out her hand for a friendly shake.

  Amber seemed reluctant to take her hand but did it anyway—and, after introducing herself, she skedaddled on to greener pastures, saying it was nice to catch up.

  Morgan muttered, “Sorry I was slow getting over here.”

  “Worked out fine.”

  “But I’m as dry as an ancient whore’s panties. Can I get some cash for another drink?”

  She’d earned it. Pulling out his wallet, he handed her a credit card. “Go for it.”

  “You want anything?”

  He tilted his glass to draw attention to it. “I’m still working on this one.”

  “Be right back.”

  Morgan was doing a great job as his fiancée, so his plan was going off without a hitch. But why was he actually looking at her ass as she made her way to the bar?

  It was that damned dress. And she did look sexy as hell in it.

  If she wasn’t his assistant…

  “Conor!” He turned to see another old female classmate. He hadn’t remembered her name at the last reunion, but he wouldn’t forget it now.

  “Hey, Kyra.” Although, he realized in retrospect, it would have been off-putting if he’d “forgotten” again. He couldn’t help but remember the last reunion, though. She’d twirled a lock of hair in her fingers and said, “Red,” because her hair was a deep shade of red only chemicals could properly achieve. “Red equals fire. Fyra equals Kyra.” And then she’d jutted out her hip and placed her hand on it, making her look like she was posing for a magazine. He hadn’t recalled her from high school, and she’d shown him her small class photo in the yearbook—her hair had been a mousy brown and she even looked painfully shy…but she swore the red brought out her true devilish nature.

  She’d probably been the most insistent of all the women vying for his attention then, even inviting Conor to her room that night—but he’d made some lame excuse of staying with his parents and not wanting to worry them.

  “You remembered this time, you gorgeous hunk of man meat.” She sauntered up to him and not only gave him a hug, making sure her breasts pushed into him, but she also kissed him on the cheek. The outfit she wore showed off those ample breasts, and he could tell she was quite proud of them, based on the way she displayed them like prize pumpkins at the county fair. Only instead of Miracle-Gro, she’d likely invested in augmentation surgery. “So I have to assume you’re just as successful as you were the last time I saw you—or maybe more?”

  Conor wasn’t just humble; he also didn’t want to encourage this woman when his backup was off filling up her drink. “Doing pretty well. What about you? What have you been up to since the last time we saw each other?”

  “After leaving my first husband,” she said, leaning in close and lowering her voice, “I started stripping.” She began laughing raucously and then added, “Can you believe that?”

  Shit. Where the hell was Morgan when he needed her? He didn’t want to search her out obviously, thinking that might seem rude, but he was getting desperate. Then he heard another female voice to the side.

  “Kyra, you can’t go stealing all the available men!”

  Conor turned. First, his nose was assaulted by the heavy scent of orchids—too much body spray and too many bodies in a space that became tighter as more drinks were guzzled. Then his eyes took in a woman that filled him with horror deep in his heart. This woman—Patti, he believed he remembered her name was—had black eyebrows obviously filled in with a pencil and lips lined in burgundy but filled in with red.

  In short, she looked a hot mess—but it appeared that she wanted to look that way.

  “Conor!” she screamed. “So damn good to see you. I was afraid you wouldn’t be here.”

  Before he could do a thing, she grabbed him around the waist and hugged him hard, the scent of fake orchids clinging to his shirt. Off in the distance at the bar stood Morgan looking over at him, and he bugged out his eyes at her, hoping she’d get the signal that if he needed her help, now was the time. She shrugged and mouthed something, but then the bartender distracted her and she turned around.

  He wanted to dock her pay for that.

  But he needed to be polite to his new friends. “Wouldn’t want to miss this, would I?”

  “Is Kyra boring you with her stripping stories?” As if it were confidential, she said in a low voice, “Mine are better.” Then she cackled and Kyra joined in with her.

  Conor was praying that someone—anyone—would rescue him, because he was uncomfortable to the core, but he didn’t want to hurt any feelings…the whole reason Morgan was supposed to accompany him in the first place.

  But he didn’t actually need her with him to play that card, did he?

  “Well…I’m not sure how my fiancée would feel about you ladies telling me dirty stories.”

  “Fiancée?” Kyra managed to say the word, and Conor struggled to keep a straight face then, because both women’s guilty expressions gave away their true intentions. Had they really thought fighting over him would be worth it, that he’d surely choose one of them?

  Patti recovered first. “So where is this fiancée of yours? I can’t speak for Kyra but I know I’d like to meet her.”

  “Oh, yes. Me, too.”

  “Here’s your card, honey,” Morgan said, her timing almost impeccable. She got on her tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek, and he hoped to God his expression didn’t give away that this wasn’t normal. She was playing the role beautifully and here he was on the verge of blowing it.

  While pulling the wallet out of his pocket, he asked, “What did you get?”

  “A pineapple daquiri. Want a taste?”

  He held up his Jack and Coke and, on a whim, drained the glass. If the evening was going to continue going this way, he was going to need the drink. “No, thanks. But let me introduce you to some of my old classmates. This is Kyra,” he said, nodding at the lady with fiery hair, “and Patti, right?”

  “Yes!” Patti beamed—strange that she cared if Conor remembered her, because he was pretty sure their paths hadn’t crossed much back in the day. The overly made up woman leaned over and touched Morgan’s hand as if they’d been best friends forever and said, “We were over here tryin’ to steal your man.” She’d said it as a joke, but Conor knew the humor resided in the fact that her statement was completely true.

  Conor had no idea how Morgan would react. Would she act like a jealous girlfriend or a cold bitch?

  Full of surprises, she wrapped her arm around Conor’s waist and grinned. “I can’t blame you there. He’s the best.”

  Patti sighed as if she completely agreed, which made Conor almost laugh again, because she really didn’t know him. Kyra, though, looked miffed, like she couldn’t understand why Conor didn’t wait for this reunion to hook up with an available classmate who barely remembered him anyway.

  “I’m the lucky one,” Conor said. And he meant it.

  * * *

  Liquor made everything better.

  Morgan had readjusted her attitude after the fir
st couple of drinks. For some reason, she’d been feeling pissed off at Conor, but she needed to remind herself that she was there for him. He was fucking paying her to be here—and he was buying the free-flowing drinks on top of it, even though they were outrageously priced. She’d only had three, but her buzz was on hardcore—and if she didn’t ease up, she was going to be drunk.

  And obnoxious.

  He hadn’t been kidding, though. The single and newly divorced gals had sniffed him out and were clawing and pawing for a piece of him. And as silly as this whole plan had seemed, she had to admit to herself that it was working. She must have been playing her part well, because the women were rolling away like rain on a freshly waxed car.

  But the alcohol was starting to get to her. Maybe that was thanks to the higher altitude.

  Conor and five other friends were chatting, talking about their jobs. Boring. This was a great excuse to try to sober up a bit. She whispered to Conor that she’d be back—after all, he was with three other guys and two gals, all seemingly taken, so he’d be safe while she asked for a glass of water from the bartender. Maybe even a straight Coke just to try to dilute the liquor she’d consumed.

  For supposedly being watered down drinks, the effects were potent, so switching right now was a good idea.

  There was a hell of a crowd around the bartender, though. Apparently, everyone here felt like good times were better with a little buzz. Morgan hadn’t been much of a drinker since she’d begun working for Conor, but once in a while didn’t hurt, right?

  A woman with chin-length blonde hair stood next in line (although it was more a fan of people rather than an unorganized queue). She looked familiar to Morgan, but she’d met so many people over the course of the evening that she wouldn’t have been able to remember their names, even if she’d written them down—and subtly reading their nametags wasn’t working, either.

  But, as she stood there, it came to her—this was the first woman who’d hit on Conor this evening.

  After the woman got her fresh drink, she turned to scan the room and made eye contact with Morgan. Morgan couldn’t tell if her own gaze would look cold or neutral, but even though she was here to keep women from sinking their talons into her boss, she didn’t have to be a bitch. “Hi again,” she said, trying to keep it friendly.

  “You’re Conor’s fiancée, right?”

  “Yes. Morgan. And I’m sorry. What’s your name again?”

  “Amber.”

  “Amber. Nice to meet you, Amber. Again.” God…she couldn’t feel her teeth. That was always the first sign that she’d probably been drinking way too much. And the need to talk a lot was another sign—but that couldn’t really be helped. “Are you having fun?”

  “Oh, yes. It’s always great catching up with people. I see some of these guys on a regular basis, but most of them I haven’t seen since our last reunion—unless you count Facebook.”

  Morgan snort-laughed. “Yeah, but how well do you know what’s up with people if you’re keeping in touch with them on Facebook really? You’ll see pictures of their animals and kids and what they ate for dinner, and you tell them happy birthday and happy anniversary and celebrate fake anniversaries of your online friendship, but how much do you really share with each other there?”

  “Lots actually. I message one of my best friends at least once a week—and I don’t know what I’d do without her. Plus my mom does a lot of traveling nowadays and it’s a good way for me to keep in touch with her. And I keep an eye on my kids, too, and they don’t even know it.”

  “I hadn’t thought of that.”

  An eyebrow arched, Amber replied, “You will when you have kids.”

  Brr. Morgan forced another smile and looked ahead at the bartender, wondering when the hell he’d take Amber’s order. Funny, though, Morgan wasn’t feeling as uncomfortable as she might have.

  “So how did you and Conor meet anyway?”

  Shit. The two of them hadn’t discussed any kind of cover story. But maybe the truth was the best way. For all she knew, Conor had already told that to people. “He hired me as his assistant.”

  “For his accounting business?”

  “Yes. I’ve been there…five years now.” A pleasant feeling washed over Morgan, reminding her that the alcohol was still flowing through her veins unimpeded. Anything she drank now wouldn’t help that, but at least it would stop her from maybe getting worse.

  “What do you do?”

  “Keep him organized.” No way would she tell this woman her sordid past, that of not actually knowing a thing about being an assistant. “I schedule appointments, gather information and stuff. I meet with clients, too, when it’s just a matter of giving them reports and collecting money.”

  “Will you keep your job after you get married?”

  All of a sudden, this gal was her best friend—but Morgan appreciated that, because it passed the time…and it was better than the cattiness that had been going on earlier.

  “I don’t see why not.” Giggling like the drunken crazy woman she was becoming, she added, “You think he could do it without me?”

  Amber took a slow sip of her drink. “Well…what did he do before he hired you?”

  “He survived—but I’m talking the bare minimum, you know? The man was going in twenty different directions and working eighteen-hour days. He needed me to help him get his shit together and take a load off his shoulders.”

  “Okay, I got that. But I recommend you stay there, no matter what. Even if you decide to have kids later…‘cause the second you turn your back, he’ll be cheating on you, just like all cheating bastard men.”

  Umm…issues much?

  “Yes, lots,” Amber said.

  “Oh, shit. I said that out loud?”

  The other woman started laughing. “That’s okay, honey. You’re just being honest. I like that. And I bet Conor does, too. But I’m sure you gathered there’s a reason why I have those issues. A woman can only take being cheated on for so long before she loses it.”

  “I got one that’ll beat that.” Amber raised her eyebrows while taking another sip of her almost-empty drink, giving Morgan the floor. “My boyfriend just told me he wanted to break up with me because I wear too much red. And then, the very next day, he was in a—”

  “Your boyfriend? As in right now?” Amber shook her head slowly. “And you’re worried about Conor cheating on you?”

  Oh, fuck. She’d just done that, hadn’t she? Spilled the beans?!

  Fuck, fuck, fuckity fuck.

  Chapter Eight

  WHAT THE FUCK was Morgan’s goddamn damage? Seriously.

  She had to think fast—but, fortunately, that was one of her skills, even tipsy.

  Would she be able to wriggle out of this one? More importantly, were her lying skills up to par?

  “Oh, no. Did I say that happened now?” She laughed—a little too hard, but she was inebriated, after all. “No…this happened…way in the past. Before Conor and I got together. It was the thing that made me look at Conor differently.”

  God…had she pulled it off? Talk about a remedy for drunkenness. She felt a hell of a lot more sober than the effect two cups of coffee would have had.

  “Oh, okay. Yeah, I can see why.”

  Morgan knew the time for talking was over. There was too much potential for her to say far more incriminating things with her loose lips. Drinking might have made this shindig a little more fun—but now it was dangerous as hell.

  “Ma’am? Ma’am?!” the bartender asked. When Morgan turned to face him, he asked, “What can I get you?’

  She put on as sweet a smile as she could muster before she asked, “Do you have any coffee back there?”

  * * *

  All in all, the evening had gone well. Not only had Conor caught up with a lot of old classmates who reminded him of nothing but good times, all swaddled in nostalgia, but Morgan’s presence had managed to (finally) keep the gals at bay. Figuratively, of course. He was still chatting with a good m
any of them, but he didn’t have available females pawing and clawing at him, trying to sink their teeth into his flesh while attempting to assess his net worth based on his suit and business description.

  Unfortunately, Patti’s horrid perfume had lingered on his jacket all night long. That, and there was no sign of his buddy Steve.

  But he had to give Morgan credit. Her presence—and acting abilities—deflected a lot of unwanted attention. He also needed to take a little credit, because the whole thing had been his brilliant idea in the first place. It worked! Now he could enjoy the rest of the time just visiting and having fun.

  Morgan excused herself to go to the restroom (making him think she was probably drinking a little too much), and Conor swirled the ice in his drink, downing the last of watered down alcohol. As he set the glass down on a table, the most beautiful girl—now woman—from high school appeared straight ahead.

  Raquel Bettis.

  She took up his entire frame, looking good enough to eat. Long, flowing blonde hair, just like back then, high cheekbones, exotic eyes—and he bet her legs were still sexy as hell, but she had them hidden underneath a long skirt, and just her hot pink toenails peeked out. She still looked like a million bucks, but, if he wasn’t mistaken, her breasts were bigger than before.

  Not a bad thing.

  Now why didn’t a woman like her want him? Why didn’t he have a smoking hot Raquel trying to tempt him instead of cringeworthy Kyras and Pattis?

  Raquel’s smile could just about kill him. White teeth framed by luscious pink lips had his complete attention. “Conor…it’s been too long. How have you been?”

  Conor took a step toward her, ready to shake her hand. Instead, she wrapped her arms around him, pulling him close. The scent of her musky perfume filled his nostrils, making his blood swirl and replacing the cheap stuff Patti had smothered him with. Raquel’s body pressed against his was firm in the right places but soft and feminine in others.

  She was the one who got away.

  Instead of answering her question, he asked his own. “Raquel, how are you?”

  “Better now that I found you.”