Just Pretend Read online

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Yes, Boss: A Bad Boy Office Romance (Always, Boss Book # 1)

  Please, Boss: A Bad Boy Office Romance (Always, Boss Book # 2)

  More, Boss: A Bad Boy Office Romance (Always, Boss Book # 3)

  Babies, Boss: A Bad Boy Office Romance Bonus Novella (Always, Boss Book # 4)

  Just Pretend

  A Navy SEAL Fake Fiancé Romance

  Copyright 2017 by Juliana Conners; All Rights Reserved.

  Published by Swann Song Books.

  To Matt,

  without whom this story would not be complete,

  and neither would I.

  ***

  This book is a work of fiction and any similarities to real places, people or events are entirely coincidental. This book may not be reproduced or distributed in any format except for short quotes for review purposes, without the express written consent of the author.

  Table of Contents

  Just Pretend

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Yes, Boss: A Bad Boy Office Romance (Always, Boss Book # 1)

  Please, Boss: A Bad Boy Office Romance (Always, Boss Book # 2)

  More, Boss: A Bad Boy Office Romance (Always, Boss Book # 3)

  Babies, Boss: A Bad Boy Office Romance Bonus Novella (Always, Boss Book # 4)

  Sold on St. Patrick’s Day: A Virgin and a Billionaire Romance

  Sold as a Fake Fiancée: A Virgin and a Billionaire Romance

  Hot Single Daddy: A Second Chance, First Time Bad Boy Romance

  Out of Bounds: A Bad Boy Sports Romance

  Twice the Fun: A Bad Boy MFM Menage Romance

  Whitney’s Slip and Slide SEAL –Never Been Published Super Steamy Story

  Super Steamy Sneak Peek of

  Newsletter Signup

  Sign up to Jules’ News and Sizzling Hot Reads and receive a newsletter exclusive bonus standalone but related super steamy short story featuring Whitney and Harlow, called SEAL’s Last Time in Whitney’s Office. Click here to sign up and get the super steamy SEAL story sent to you

  A Note About this Edition

  Just Pretend was previously published in a different form as Harlow. It contains a rewritten and expanded plot line of approximately 65,000 words, and extended bonus scenes, many of which are super steamy. Bonus content is included for your continued reading enjoyment, including the exclusive, never before published super steamy story Whitney’s Slip and Slide SEAL. Enjoy.

  Just Pretend

  Chapter 1

  8 Months Ago

  Our Boeing CH-47 Chinook is barely off the ground before all of us within it begin celebrating.

  “Yeah buddy!” My brother Jensen shouts, high- fiving everyone around before swooping me up in an exuberant hug.

  “We did it!” shouts my other brother Ramsey, but the smoke that still fills his lungs forces him to cough out the last part of the exclamation.

  We’ve just successfully extracted eight downed servicemen from behind enemy lines in southeastern Afghanistan. Their plane had been shot down by a surface- to- air missile. Without us rescuing them from hostile territory they’d likely have been captured and taken as prisoners as war.

  “And this is why we do the things we do!” shouts Brian, a team member who isn’t my literal, blood brother like Jensen and Ramsey are, but one who has become a figurative brother— just as all the men in my unit have become.

  Then Brian yelled out: “Leave no man behind!”

  Several other men began chanting one of our mantras along with him and then calling out others.

  “Failure is not an option!”

  “The only easy day was yesterday!”

  As Navy SEALs, we spend years training for rescue missions such as these. We’re stealth and covert; we sneak in when there’s danger and fucking clean up the place and rescue anyone left behind.

  We do whatever it takes to rescue even one service member who may be at risk. It’s nice to know that our hard work and perseverance have paid off, and that once again we’ve rescued American lives.

  And yet…

  As my brothers in arms continue to celebrate, and I chant along with them, I can’t help but feel a sense of foreboding. I hear shots being fired in the distance, and think of how we’ve been warned that rescue helicopters and their crews often come under fire during or immediately after their rescue efforts.

  “Are we completely in the clear yet?” I ask Jensen, looking out the window at the smoldering scene below us.

  It’s only getting more dangerous out here: insurgents lay ambushes and place bombs or other devices that specifically target our missions and those of search and rescue teams who also help rescue downed servicemembers. We call these “SAR traps”: Search and Rescue traps.

  “Lighten up, little brother,” Jensen, jokingly punching me on the shoulder.

  He’s always been the playful one out of the three of us. As the middle brother, although
to the outside world he’s had his share of drama and problems—as all of us Bradford boys have— within our family he’s lived up to the stereotypical reputation of a peacekeeper, a “fixer,” a friendly face who is always eager to make us smile, a listening ear when we’re going through anything. And we love him for it.

  “Shut up, spoil sport!” Brian shouts, and a few other people chant, “Shut up Harlow! Shut up Harlow!” in a teasing manner.

  “Seriously, Harlow,” says Ramsey, always the voice of reason. “You did well, and it’s time to celebrate.”

  As the oldest of us three brothers, he’s always Mr. Non-Nonsense, dispensing advice even when it’s unsolicited and sometimes downright unwelcome, but always being the firm yet somehow still gentle hand that guides us.

  Fuck it. If everyone else is in good spirits, I might as well make sure to shift my own mood to match theirs. If even Ramsey says it’s okay to cut back and have a little fun for once, I’d better listen. As the youngest brother, I have the reputation for being the prankster, the fun-loving free spirit among us— even if this external demeanor is only a mask for the internal worries and constant anxiety I keep shoved deep down within myself.

  “Leave no man behind! Failure is not an option!” I shout, beginning some of the chants anew that they had all been stuck on before they started telling me to shut up.

  They soon join me but my voice is louder and stronger than the others, since they had been repeating the phrases for quite a while now, while I had only been quietly brooding. I’m on a roll, swept up by the momentum and exhilaration we’re all feeling.

  I’m giving into my brothers’ and team members’ advice. I’m celebrating our victory instead of worrying about what will happen next, as I too often do. I’m going with the flow, feeling great for once.

  And then it happens.

  Our helicopter is spinning out of control, being downed just as certainly as the one from which we just rescued the eight other men.

  “We’ve been shot down!” someone yells.

  This obvious statement is the last thing I hear for a while. As I drift into unconsciousness, I’m wondering if it will be the last thing I ever hear.

  I come to in the aircraft that is now flaming and downed. I see an uncountable number of unconscious people in the helicopter, so I spring to action, extricating them from the burning wreckage.

  Where’s Jensen?

  Where’s Ramsey?

  Where are my other team members?

  There are many limp bodies, but I don’t see Jensen or Ramsey among them. Although amidst the flames I can barely make out who’s who, I’m certain I could recognize my own brothers, whom I’ve known since I was born. I can only hope the fact that I don’t see them in this pile of wreckage means that they’re among the men helping to rescue others, as I myself begin doing.

  Those of us who are conscious work to remove those who are unconscious, without looking at or talking to each other. We’re simply determined to save lives before we run out of time. Time until the aircraft explodes. Time until the enemy shows up…

  In the back of my mind I fear captivity and torture, and I can’t help but hope that someone just like me is on the way to save us. A backup team of SEALs, although I know that those of us assigned to this mission were all contained in the downed helicopter. There’s not much time for fear, though, and pure adrenaline keeps me working like a madmen to scoop up the bodies out of the plane before…

  … boom.

  Our helicopter explodes.

  I’m trapped, I can feel that my flesh is on fire, and I’m certain I’m headed to hell. Guys like me aren’t likely to be welcome in heaven. Sure, I’m a hero for what I do professionally, but the same can’t be said about my personal life.

  I blink and call out my brothers’ names, desperately searching for them in the hopes that I can find them before I lose consciousness… perhaps before I lose my very life…

  Chapter 2

  Present Day

  My patient stretches length- wise across the ballet barre in the physical therapy session room. He’s a young Airman Basic who was injured when an IED blew up his caravan. Normally he wears a uniform or fatigues, but for our sessions he changes into gym clothes.

  “You can do it, Jim,” I assure him, feeling more like a cheerleader than a physical therapist intern.

  He stretches a bit further, and now he’s supposed to remove his foot from the barre, but his position looks so precarious that I doubt he can make it. I glance nervously at Lance, who is lingering in the corner of the room, politely pretending not to be observing me as closely as I know he actually is.

  He’s the proctor for my internship— and therefore technically my boss— but ever since we’ve worked closely together during my internship, he’s become my friend as well. I’m so grateful for a good working relationship between us, which makes my job a lot easier.

  He nods at me, so I know I have to continue to encourage the patient, even though I myself feel a bit doubtful.

  “Just a little further,” I tell Jim. “Now let go.”

  He lifts his foot off the barre and plunges downward, about to fall face- first onto the floor.

  Great, I think, doing my best to try to catch him or at least break his fall.

  “It’s okay,” Lance says, as he somehow miraculously appears by my side.

  He holds onto Jim while I steady his arms.

  He doesn’t fall. But it was close.

  “You told me I could do it,” Jim says, glaring at me accusingly. “She told me—” he begins to complain to my superior, switching his glare to Lance’s direction now.

  “You can do it,” Lance tells Jim, easing the knot that had gathered in my stomach. “If not today, then tomorrow. You just have to keep trying. It’s part of your treatment.”

  Whew.

  I’m glad that Lance always has my back.

  Jim doesn’t look convinced, but he gathers his things and begins to leave.

  “See you at this same time on Monday!” I call out after him, but he just scowls.

  Most of our patients hate us for the work that we do, even though it’s for their own good.

  Once he’s gone, I head to the computer to clock out, since Jim was my last client for the day. I also turn on my cell phone.

  While there’s no official rule that I can’t have my phone on or with me at work, I don’t want to take any chances. I was so happy when I scored this rather prestigious internship, and I would hate to screw up such a good opportunity. I don’t want to take advantage of Lance and I being friends, and think that I’m above the rules due to that fact.

  Many of my co-workers have already left for the day, and the weekend. Like Lance, they’re in the Air Force. But I’m only doing an unpaid internship here.

  Most of my classmates had to look for paid internships but I receive a non- profit grant that pays for a portion of my college credits, which include this internship. So, in that way I’m lucky I’m able to do this internship without additional financial hardship, although money is already tight.

  “Thank you for helping me catch him!” I say to Lance.

  “No worries. Although you did look a bit worried, Girl!” He chuckles.

  “I knew I was doing the right thing, and following the protocol you taught me, and I could tell you were backing me by the look on your face. Yet I also knew he was going to fall. I could just tell he wasn’t quite there yet.”

  I look down at my cell phone, expecting a text from my boyfriend Tony, but there isn’t one.

  “Sometimes it has to do with the patient’s own level of self- confidence,” Lance says. “It’s our job to push them as much as we think they’re capable of handling, and their job to figure out if they can handle it. Kind of like a metaphor for life in general, right?”

  He laughs, but I’m preoccupied.

  “What’s wrong?” he asks. “You always laugh at my jokes. Because they’re so damn funny, of course.”

  “Ha. I’m
sorry, Lance. I have to admit I’d kind of stopped listening, so I didn’t really get the joke.”

  I’m staring in annoyance at my cell phone, which is devoid of text messages from Tony.

  “What did Mr. Moochie McMoocherson do now?” Lance asks.

  That’s his “nickname” for my boyfriend.

  “He just… completely ignored me, I guess,” I say. “Before my shift started, I’d texted him asking if he wants to go out tonight.”

  “Sure,” he agrees. “I mean, it is Friday night.”

  “Right. So I was expecting him to text me back. Maybe he’d decline, like he usually does, but at least he should get back to me, right?”

  “Right again.”

  “But he didn’t. There’s nothing. No texts at all.”

  I sit down at the computer chair, feeling defeated.

  “Further proving my theory…” Lance begins.

  “Stop it!”

  “Oh, come on, you need to hear it again. You need to believe it. Just like Jim needs to believe he can stretch that far and still take his foot off the barre. Or he’ll be stuck there, upset at you for supposedly making him fall, forever. You don’t want to be like Jim, do you?”

  I laugh, but I can’t take my mind off my current predicament.

  “You really think Tony just uses me?” I ask Lance, with a pout.

  It’s an often- repeated theory of Lance’s, which I don’t want to believe. But it’s becoming increasingly difficult to ignore.

  “Whitney. He only talks to you when he needs money. He’s probably sitting at home in his boxer- briefs, too busy playing video games to look at your text message, let alone respond.”

  “He wears boxers!” I protest.

  But otherwise his description of what Tony is probably doing right now sounds entirely too realistic.

  “Even worse,” he says in disgust. “Sounds like the perfect stereotype of every lazy heterosexual man mooching off his girlfriend that I’ve ever heard of.”

  I have no idea how Lance accurately knows what my boyfriend does— or doesn’t do— all day. I suppose I’ve complained about him one too many times.

  “Well, I guess I have nothing else to do now except go home and hear about his progress in Call of Duty,” I say, with a sigh.