The Rule Book (Rule Breakers #1) Page 17

  She shrugged. “Who knows, I blocked his ass and got a free dinner out of the deal. I wasn’t too heartbroken over it.”

  I tipped my beer bottle in her direction. “I want to be you when I grow up.”

  “It takes a lot of practice on bad kissers, but I think you can handle the job.” She winked.

  I took a sip of my beer and glanced at my phone again. My heart beat quickened when I saw another text.

  Brogan: Definitely flattered. I bought 7 boxes and none of them tasted as good as the ones you made.

  Lainey: I told you they’re out of this world.

  Brogan: Does that mean you’ll come over and bake for me this week?

  Lainey: Hmm…what’s in it for me?

  Baking cookies for Brogan? Um, where was the signup sheet?

  Zelda turned to me and asked, “How about you? Seeing anyone, Lainey?”

  I looked up from my phone and tapped out of my message app. Not that anyone could see while I typed out texts under the table, but no sense in being careless.

  “I don’t really know yet. It’s still in the early stages. Still waiting to see if it’s going to work out.”

  Zelda raised her brow and leaned in closer, leaning her chin on her hand. “Oh? Anyone I know? There are a few cuties in the office.”

  I felt myself go into deer in the headlights, “how do I answer this” mode. “You know that isn’t allowed. No, someone outside of work.” Technically this was the truth because I was seeing him out of the confines of work hours.

  She sipped her martini and said, “You’ll have to bring him around.”

  Oh, if she only knew. “We’ll see. He’s kind of shy about relationship stuff.”

  “I can still hook you up with my tattooed friend if this guy doesn’t work out. Not a shy bone in that dude’s body, if you know what I mean.” She arched a brow.

  “Sounds good.” Yeah, there was no chance in hell that was happening.

  Zoey smiled at me, and I was thankful we were on the same wavelength about keeping the Brogan news under wraps. Even though I liked Zelda, I respected Brogan enough to not say anything to anyone who worked in the office. The worst that could happen to me was being fired—well, and blacklisted from any media company on the west coast—but I had a feeling the consequences would be worse for Brogan, like headlines in the tabloids and lost clientele, especially when our firm had the utmost discretion for clients. If we couldn’t keep our private lives private, what did that say in terms of our services?

  My phone buzzed in my lap, and I picked it back up.

  Brogan: Hmm… You’ll get a happy boss?

  Lainey: I’ll think about it. Not really a good enough incentive as is.

  I put my phone back down and tried not to smile like a sap. Flirting with Brogan was like a good latte or bowl of ice cream—utterly satisfying, but with zero calorie guilt.

  “What about you, Zoey?” Zelda asked.

  Zoey had been uncharacteristically quiet about this shirtless dude from the other day. I was dying to know what was up with them because it’d been a while since she’d been in a relationship as well. But when it came to her personal life, Zoey didn’t like when people pried—she’d tell me when she was ready.

  She stirred the straw in her Tom Collins and stared absently at the drink. “It’s complicated.”

  “Does this have anything to do with Shirtless Dude?”

  “His name is Ryder,” she muttered, a note of annoyance in her voice.

  While Brogan had the lean build of a swimmer, Ryder had muscles on his muscles. The dude was a walking, talking Chippendales advertisement.

  “Ryder the Shirtless, that’s quite a name.” Zelda said.

  I couldn’t help it. Curiosity got the best of me, and I broke our sacred rule and started to pry. “How did you two meet, anyway?”

  She cast her gaze to her drink. “Through work.”

  “Work?” If interior designers looked like that, I obviously went into the wrong profession because, besides Brogan, everyone in the office had a severe case of pancake ass from sitting all day.

  Her eyes glazed over, and I could tell she was off in her own head, probably thinking about Ryder. As it was, it took every bit of restraint to stay present in our girl’s night and not check my phone every two seconds. “He works for a firm I’m contracted with. I’m redesigning their offices,” she said.

  “And I’m sure you were just doing a little bit of Feng Shui furniture rearrangement when he came over the other night?” I mused.

  She plunged her straw into her drink, and the ice rattled against the glass. “I’d rather not talk about it. Unless you want to share about your love life.” She leveled me with a look that said I’d gone too far.

  I swallowed hard and tried to catch her eye to say that I was sorry. “I’m good.”

  On cue, my phone buzzed again. I discreetly checked it while Zoey and Zelda were arguing over the difference between male dancers and strippers.

  Brogan: You drive a hard bargain. I could think of other things to give as payment.

  Suddenly parched, I reached for my beer, guzzling it down.

  Lainey: All I hear is your mouth running. Full of empty promises, Starr.

  Brogan: I’m sure my mouth could be of use.

  Um, yes, please and thank you.

  Lainey: Consider the cookies a done deal.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Starr Media Handbook Rule #7

  Change your password often to prevent security breaches.

  The office was in complete mayhem when I arrived at seven the next morning. Or to put it better, Brogan was in a complete frenzy, with everyone around him trying to accommodate. Jackson glanced over his computer monitor and let out a low whistle.

  “What?” I said, tossing my bag into the bottom drawer of my desk.

  “I heard you’re in a lot of trouble.”

  “Trouble?” My brows slid together. What the hell was he talking about? What could I have possibly done in the twelve hours I’d been away from work?

  “Didn’t you see what Craig Willington messaged out this morning?” Someone really needed to wipe that smug smirk off his face.

  Oh crap. My account? That just couldn’t be possible…could it? The hair rose on the back of my neck. “No.” I hadn’t even scheduled any posts. That was on my to-do list for this morning, in fact, because I hadn’t touched his account since Monday. I pulled up the social media site and clicked on Craig’s profile. My fingers froze on the mouse as I stared at his latest post.

  Craig_Willington: Hey, Gordy, I hope your momma enjoyed being bent over last night. Tell her to give me a call if she wants to ride on my big blue combine with her hayfield again anytime soon.

  A middle finger emoji concluded the spiteful message.

  I froze, my mouse hovering over the post. Holy crap buckets. Did Craig just call out one of country music’s biggest stars? Craig didn’t even know how to work anything past the camera function on his smart phone. No way could he navigate social media and use an emoji—so what the hell was going on? I looked at the time stamp—fifteen minutes before I’d arrived.

  Under his offensive message, where he actually tagged Gordy in the post (lord have mercy), hundreds of people commented things like:

  Ohhhh do you need some ice for that burn?

  LOLOLOLOL hella funny dude.

  Fuck you, Craig! Leave Gordy’s mama alone.

  U lost respect from me, buddy.

  Topping it off was a comment from Gordy himself saying, “What the hell, man?”

  To make it worse, a few celebrity gossip sites had made note of Craig’s dig at Gordy’s mother and speculated as to why. I quickly deleted the message, but the damage had already been done. The internet was forever, and even if Craig hadn’t written this, people would forever think he rammed his combine into Mama Gordy’s hayfield.

  Before I could say anything more to Jackson, my intercom buzzed.

  “In my office. Now.” Anger bubbled
over Brogan’s voice, and my pulse hummed against my temples as I tried to collect myself and decide what I was going to tell him. I didn’t even know what to say, not when I’d just found out about a mistake I wasn’t sure I made until two seconds ago.

  Something told me there would be no cookie making in the near future.

  Jackson’s brows rose, and a wicked smile played at his lips as I strode toward Brogan’s office. “Oh, how the mighty have fallen.”

  As I stood in front of the glass doors, I took a deep breath and steeled myself. How had I managed to mess up a post without even trying? Major damage control would be needed to fix this, starting with a few apology posts as soon as I left Brogan’s office.

  “Sit down.” Brogan’s gaze was focused on his computer as I walked into the room. Just the other night, we’d been doing the same thing, although when he’d previously asked me into his office, it was under much different circumstances. I much preferred those right about now.

  I made my way over to the swivel chair across from him and gingerly sat on the cushion, waiting for him to go off on me.

  I tapped my foot nervously as I waited for him to speak. After a few long moments of silence, he finally looked up, his angry gaze lighting a fire under my skin. Even under all that anger, his eyes softened the slightest bit when he regarded me. Keeping my feelings for him under lockdown was hard enough, and it looked like he was struggling with this as well. Sweat beaded at my hairline and behind my knees, and I shifted uncomfortably.

  “What was that post all about?” he demanded. He pointed to his computer. I didn’t need to look at the screen to know what he was talking about.

  Somehow I didn’t think um, I don’t remember writing this would fly in terms of an explanation. “I don’t know yet, but it shouldn’t have happened. I deleted it as soon as I got into the office.”

  He pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. “We never allow celebrities to humiliate other celebrities—especially when they are both our clients.” His tone was clipped and cold, devoid of any feeling.

  I took a deep breath and pushed away the urge to cower. I was a big girl, and I needed to handle this mess like one. “I know.”

  He tapped his fingers on his desk in a quick, staccato rhythm. His pained expression was a swift kick to my gut. “Give me one reason I shouldn’t fire you right this second,” he said. A war of anger and betrayal battled in his eyes. For all intents and purposes, my ass should have been kicked to the curb five minutes ago.

  My cheeks flamed, and I tugged at my shirt, trying to get cool airflow to my burning skin. What the heck was I supposed to do about this when I didn’t even know about it until a few minutes ago? I’d managed to screw up my client’s account without even trying.

  No. This wasn’t my fault. I’d earned this damn job, and I wasn’t about to lose it because of a rogue post I wasn’t even responsible for. I’d worked too hard, put up with so much, missed so many moments with my mom when she was at her worst. My pulse hammered in my temples, and the room blurred at the thought that all I’d built in these months of working my ass off, advancing my career, could crumble in a matter of seconds.

  Now was not the time to let emotions get the best of me. I pushed my hurt and anger at being wrongfully accused aside for a second to contemplate what had happened. Technology-inept Craig sure as hell didn’t write the post, which begged the question—who, then? “Because I didn’t write it.”

  He cocked his head. “Well, then who did?”

  My hands flew up as I said, “I don’t know.” I frowned. “Which bothers me. Obviously, Craig’s account got hacked. I don’t know why, but I don’t think it was random.” I caught his gaze and tried to convey how sincerely sorry I was that this happened, and to let him know that it hurt me that he’d even think I’d do something like this to a client. I didn’t have the tech savvy to find out who was responsible for this. The person sitting across the desk staring daggers at me did, though. “Can you look into it for me?”

  “Yes, I’ll have someone investigate.” He swallowed hard and I could tell he wanted to believe what I was saying. “Have you changed your password weekly?”

  “No.”

  His shoulders tensed, and he splayed his hands flat on the desk. “Lainey, that’s in the manual. I’ll do work on my end, but you need to find a way to fix this by the end of the day.” The or else at the end of the sentence was definitely implied, his voice as sharp as a broken glass.

  The anger I’d pushed aside tugged me under so quickly that I thought I might drown in it. Yes, I understood he was pissed the account got hacked, but if he believed me, he should direct that attitude somewhere else. I tamped down my temper and took a deep breath. There was no use making the situation worse by calling him out. “I will.”

  “And for God’s sake, change your password.” His eyes searched mine, and after a few moments he let out a deep breath and sat back in his chair. “Next time I can’t let it go. No matter how I feel about you. Are we clear?”

  I nodded. “Crystal.” But I didn’t even do it, I wanted to scream. How had all my strikes been used up when I hadn’t even made it to bat? The real world sucked ass.

  “Contact Craig’s agent and tell him to issue a formal apology. You clean up the social media mess in the meantime.”

  “Right. On it.” I stuck to simple words. Ones that wouldn’t allow me to elaborate or somehow get myself into more trouble. Ones that wouldn’t show how close to tears I was.

  By the time I got back to my desk, Jackson was nowhere in sight, and I’d formulated a plan to issue a public apology on Craig’s account. The best way to go about it, I figured, was to tell the truth. The account was hacked, and then hopefully all would be forgiven.

  I frowned and sat down in my chair, trying to not let what just happened rattle me. After changing my password, I pulled up Craig’s profile and tapped out a quick response to this morning’s events.

  @craig_willington: So sorry to Gordy and everyone who saw that horrible post this morning. My account was hacked. I have nothing but respect for Gordy and his family.

  Jackson strode through the elevator doors as I hit send on the message, and he swaggered over to my desk.

  “Figured I’d do you a favor and grab a box from the mail room. This should be enough for all your worldly possessions.” He shoved an empty one over my keyboard.

  I glared at him and pushed it back against his chest. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

  He tossed the box at the end of his desk and plopped down in his chair. “What the hell happened, anyway? You get a little text-happy with the social media?”

  I threw my hands in the air. Enough was enough. This guy had his lunch money stolen as a kid? I got it, it sucked, but I didn’t need to be brought down because of his insecurity issues. “You know what? I don’t have time for your crap today. Save it for someone who cares.”

  I really hoped Brogan found out who hacked Craig’s account, because I had a sinking feeling that I might already know who it was. And I’d love to see him kicked off his high horse.

  He hesitated for a second, sucking in his cheeks and staring off into space. “Funny, all the sudden I’m feeling very thirsty. I could really go for a soy latte.”

  I stared at him, blinking slowly, not quite believing what I was hearing. Oh, he really was just the icing on top of this shittastic day. Everything in me screamed to tell him just where he ought to shove his latte. Instead, I pushed back from my chair and stalked over to his desk. I leaned over his computer and whispered, “It wouldn’t hurt to be nice to someone for once. Maybe you’d actually make friends.”

  He looked up at me, his mouth gaping like a fish out of water before he finally fixed his face into his normal sneer. “Extra hot—”

  “Yes, ‘and don’t forget the soy or you’ll be fired.’ Got it.” This guy just didn’t let up. I wondered if the rod up his ass needed to be surgically removed and maybe he was irritable twenty-four-sev
en due to anal chaffing. I sped to the elevator and jammed my thumb on the down button.

  By the time I returned with Jackson’s pristine, untouched soy extra hot latte, I’d managed to cool off a bit about this morning. “Well, I guess I need to face the music,” I muttered. I’d seen people torn apart online for less, but I was hoping they’d spare Craig this once.

  I pulled up Craig’s social media account and stared. Thousands of new followers. Fans leaving supportive comments. Even Gordy responded with a “No worries, man.”

  Well, crap. This couldn’t have turned out any better if I’d tried. Not that I particularly liked being hacked. Hopefully Brogan found out who did it soon. But with Craig’s new followers, I might as well make the best out of the situation. It was time to post something to keep them reading.

  I opened a blank post, the cursor blinking over the text box. Think. Coming up with social media posts for someone I only knew through his iCloud was tougher than I’d have thought before being hired. I wanted him to come off warm, keeping his southern charm—which, as a Portland girl, I had none of. I’d pulled up a few other country stars’ accounts this past week and studied which posts were the most popular with viewers. Shirtless pics won by a landslide, followed by sweat-soaked shirts from performances. Definitely not posts involving the word moist. That would land me jobless in a matter of minutes at the rate I was going.

  If my life this week could be summed up by a hashtag, it’d be #headdesk or #epicfail. Fortunately, I had a chance to redeem myself in Brogan’s eyes, and I would do so by continuing to build Craig’s following this week.

  I spent the remainder of the morning and early afternoon creating posts for Craig and two of my other clients.

  By lunchtime, I’d pounded out four posts and had a migraine looming in the periphery of my frazzled brain. Zoey had called two times this morning, but my phone was on silent. I listened to my messages and fought the urge to let out a scream.

  Zelda stopped by my desk before going into the lunchroom. “You coming?”

  “Can’t. I have to make some calls. Apparently there was an emergency with my roommate.”