Home > The Rule Book (The Rule Breakers #1)(14)

The Rule Book (The Rule Breakers #1)(14)
Jennifer Blackwood

A completely irrational, unfair thought process since he was really the only person I was not allowed to go for. Besides the thirty other men that worked for Starr Media. As the old adage went, the person you embarrass yourself in front of the worst is the person you want the most. And Mr. (anti)Antichrist was looking particularly appealing today.

He shifted and took his hands out of his pockets as I stared straight ahead, trying not to make eye contact in the mirrored doors. Oh, this was going to be a very long ride in silence.

I stared at the little red numbers climbing, each one taking its time. Should I say something else? It’d be rude not to, but then again, I was the one that made an ass out of myself and insulted him. Maybe I should just keep my mouth shut like Jackson instructed.

“Nice day, huh?” Okay, so I failed at taking my own advice. Awkward silence gave me hives, and I always felt the need to fill it.

He clasped his hands in front of him and looked down at me. “Yep. Enjoy it while it lasts—supposed to be a rough winter.”

“I don’t mind rough,” popped out of my mouth even as Noooooo don’t you dare say that! tried to lasso my tongue. If I wasn’t carrying coffee, I’d be pulling the hood of my cardigan over my head and pretending I’d melted into the elevator.

The dimples made an appearance, and I could tell he was using every bit of restraint not to laugh. “Is that so?”

“That was way too far down the ‘that’s what she said’ rabbit hole to even begin to redeem myself. Can we let that slide?”

“My duty as CEO entails letting comments like that go.”

I didn’t get it. He seemed friendly enough, social, so why did this guy have so many rules to abide by? I’d expect it from someone who hated people, enjoyed making them sweat—not a guy who was still kind to a person who insulted their character. Then again, my dad had thousands of rules in our household and was well-liked by the community, and look how he turned out.

“About the other day…” I started and trailed off. Somehow “I’m sorry for calling you the Antichrist to your face” didn’t feel appropriate here.


Ugh. It’d be so much easier if he’d say, “Don’t worry about it. Let’s start over.” But this was real life. Of course he wouldn’t let me off the hook that easily. The edges of the to-go container dug into my palms as I gripped it for dear life. “I’m sorry for calling you”—I swallowed hard and managed to look him straight in the eye—“the devil.”

His lips mashed together, and it looked like he was holding back a laugh. “Technically, you called me the Antichrist.”


“The devil’s in the detail.” A smug smirk etched across his lips. Damn him and those glorious dimples.

I groaned, and my feet ached to run anywhere far, far away, out of this damn elevator. “Okay, if I apologize another five times can we never mention anything involving Satan again?”

He chuckled and raised a hand, seeming to brush our previous interaction off, like it hadn’t been a big deal. “It’s refreshing to be insulted every once in a while. Everyone is a little too nice to me when they know I’m around.”

“I’m still really sorry. You’re not at all what I pictured.”

“No? And what did you picture?” His voice deepened, the question a challenge. If he weren’t my boss, I’d almost believe this brushed on the side of flirting.

A stick figure with an even larger stick deeply rooted up their ass. Someone with premature male pattern baldness. Someone that didn’t have delicious dimples or full sleeve tattoos.

This time I kept my thoughts to myself. “Just not you.”

Instead of the casual attire he’d worn the first time we met, a tailored black suit with a light blue button-up fit snug on his body, like a rich, Italian glove. There was a lot to be said for a man in a well-fitted suit. Such as yum, and I’d tap that like a friggin’ maple tree. Nothing quite got my salivary glands going like a hot guy dressed up. My gaze inconspicuously traveled to his arms, working down to where his hands were tucked into his pockets. Which then got me thinking about the man bulge threads on Pinterest, and how Brogan should really wear his pants a little tighter.

He cleared his throat.

Warning bells blared between my ears. Abort mission. Move your eyes up before he thinks you’re staring at his package. Which, let’s face it, I totally was.

This thought process should not be happening because, yeah, he happened to be my boss. A boss that I’d already made a crap first impression with, and an equally shitty second one by the way this was going. That was enough reason to stay the hell away from inserting him into my solo shower time entertainment.

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