The Rule Book (Rule Breakers #1) Page 19

  I cut my gaze to Brogan, this man who wouldn’t share a damn thing with me, who’d already made it clear he didn’t have time for commitment. “This is what people in relationships do, Brogan. They get to know each other. You know what they don’t do? Pretend everything’s great on the surface while keeping their whole life a secret.”

  His fork clattered against his plate, and he looked up at me with unfamiliar eyes. Cold, unforgiving. Similar to when he’d chewed me out this morning. “You think I like keeping everything inside? Try having your life splattered over the front page of every tabloid.” He shook his head, defeat flashing in his gaze. “People break trust, Lainey. If I’ve learned one thing, it’s easier just keeping everyone else out. Living by my rules has gotten me this far, and I don’t plan to change that anytime soon.”

  I sucked in my cheeks and swallowed past the tightness in my throat. Okay. This was not the way to go about getting to know Brogan better. If anything, he’d shut down even more. I should have let it go. I should have steered the conversation to something pleasant, something that didn’t involve opening up whatsoever. But I couldn’t. I deserved better than that. Hell, I liked Brogan. Really liked him. But what was the use of being with someone who would never let me in?

  I frowned at him. “If we’re getting into technicalities, you’re doing a shitty job following your own rules when it comes to me.”

  His jaw ticked and he blinked hard. “You’re right.” He shoved a hand through his hair and let out a loud sigh. “I’ve lost my damn mind when it’s come to you. This whole thing is insane.”

  “I mean, it’s not that insane,” I muttered. Unexpected, yes. But crazier matches have happened. Like Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes.

  “No, it really is. I made these rules for a reason. Why would I break them? They’ve kept this company functioning.”

  He stared at his plate, then closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When he finally looked at me, a completely different person sat across the table. Someone who I could imagine fighting tooth and nail to get to where he was today. Someone cold. “My judgment is clouded. Obviously I haven’t been thinking clearly for weeks.” His voice took on an eerily calm quality. “If I hadn’t been so unfocused, we might have prevented the hacking problem.”

  Low blow.

  The jab at my work performance cut deeper than I expected, and my pulse jackhammered against my skull, an unease building in my chest. “I thought we weren’t bringing up the office at home.”

  “You’re right. But maybe I was too hasty in my decision to invite you here in the first place. It was simpler before I met you.” The muscle in his jaw ticked, and he stared down at his plate.

  Simpler? Why not just punch me in the face? There’d be less sting with a bloody nose.

  I put my napkin on the table and crossed my arms over my chest, no longer hungry. “I don’t know who hurt you in the past to make you this way, but I’m not some jerk looking for an edge on you. I’m interested in you as a person, Brogan, and I can’t be in a relationship with you if you can’t give a little.”

  His cold gaze sent a shiver through me. “I can’t.” Only two words. Two words that spoke volumes more than anything else he’d said tonight. They said “done,” and, “you shall not pass.”

  My cheeks heated, and my eyes stung as I fought away unexpected tears. The tiny bit of hope that I’d clung on to deflated faster than a popped balloon. How did I go from an open invitation to stay at Brogan’s house, and laughing about vegan cheese, to ruining the mood in two seconds flat? There must be some Guinness World Record for this. If not, I was phoning it in tomorrow.

  Lainey Taylor: Fastest person to ruin a good time. 1.2 milliseconds.

  “I need some time to clear my head. We need to have a little space.” He pointed between us. “I think that it’d be best if you relinquish Bruce walking duties back to Jackson for a while.”

  I sucked in a shaky breath and cut my gaze to the dog, who was belly up, snoring on his pillow. “Okay.” That news alone should have made my night. Bruce was nothing but a pesky, slobbery dog who ruined my clothes. And also had the cutest button nose, and did an awesome impression of a pig when he was happy. But what did this “space” and “time to clear his head” thing mean? I thought we were making a breakthrough, that I was really getting to know him, and yet I ended up pushing him away. My appetite suddenly vanished, the mac and cheese rolling around, threatening to make a repeat appearance.

  There had to be a positive spin on this, right? Without dog walking duties, it freed up my evenings to…sit at home and watch TV and mope. Oh, man, I was worse off than I thought. My mom had been right. Work had taken over my life. I was wasting my early twenties in an office rather than indulging in bad choices. Yep, this totally sucked.

  He blotted his face with his napkin and threw it down on the table. His chair groaned against the tile as he stood and adjusted his tie. “I need to get back to the office.”

  “Right.” His schedule for the night was clear. I’d made sure of it before I left, because if tonight had gone well, I was planning on taking him up on his cookie-making offer.

  Well, whatever I thought was obviously a moot point as of thirty seconds ago. “I should probably walk Bruce anyway. I’ll have him back in a little bit and then head home.”

  He stared at me, his expression unreadable.

  I always picked the most opportune times to babble. He’d made it clear the position we were in. Boss. Employee. Benefits currently terminated. Because even if he did want to start something, I couldn’t do it, good cooking or not.

  A few tears tracked down my cheek.

  He lifted his hand, like he might wipe my cheek, but then he swallowed hard and dropped it to his side. He grabbed his coat from the rack and walked out the door.

  Bruce got up from his spot in the living room and padded over to my chair. He nuzzled my hand, and I scratched him behind the ears, his favorite spot. He let out the snorting noise and I smiled.

  “At least someone enjoys my company.” My voice shook and pitched up at the end. I quickly cleared my throat and swallowed past the thick knot. Nope. Not going there. If Brogan could barricade his feelings behind a Berlin-size wall, so could I.

  He licked my hand in response.

  Another onslaught of tears pricked at my eyes, but I pushed them back. I would not cry over something that was so silly to begin with. No one knew Brogan, and I was deluding myself to think I could get close to him. It was much better this way. I could focus on my work and my mom. Shudders wracked me as I sat hunched over, rubbing my arms in an attempt to fight the chills overtaking my body. I glanced around the empty condo. Barren, skin-deep, a shallow shell. This was what Brogan chose, what I had hoped he’d change once we spent more time together. Tears streamed down my face, and I pulled Bruce closer, nuzzling into his fur. At least we ended things before he could break my heart.

  Jackson shook Bruce’s leash, and the vein in his forehead throbbed double-time. “I can’t believe I’m stuck walking that damn dog again. He destroys everything good in this world.”

  “He likes being scratched behind the ears when you first come in,” I said, quietly. Tears pricked my eyes the instant I’d tossed his leash on Jackson’s desk this morning.

  “What?” he snapped.

  “If you show him affection, he’s less likely to eat your clothes,” I offered. Although really, why would I want to stop Bruce from destroying the Italian loafers Jackson had been bragging about for the past three weeks?

  “The only thing I’ll show him is the door if he ruins my new loafers.” Even I knew this was an empty threat, because Jackson would never do anything to purposefully piss off Brogan.

  Both elbows were propped on my desk as I rested my chin in my hands, staring at my computer. I’d been reading the same email for twenty minutes.

  To: Lainey Taylor

  From: Brogan Starr

  Subject: Leash

  Please promptly return the leash an
d key to Jackson. He will take care of everything else. I expect files on the Anderson account on my desk first thing Monday morning.

  Best,

  Brogan Starr, CEO Starr Media

  I’d pushed him too hard and lost him. But did I ever really have him to begin with?

  I’d once had a membership to a purse website that rented out high-end bags for a great price. I’d gotten this cream Michael Kors bag that really was the mecca of all purses. When I’d mailed it back, I felt like a piece of myself had left with that bag. This was worse. So much worse, because purses didn’t give me butterflies or make me smile even if I was having a horrible day. They also didn’t look nearly as good in a towel.

  Then again, how could I possibly be with someone I knew nothing about? The answer was simple: I couldn’t. So, it was time to put on my big girl panties and devise a plan to get Brogan off my mind for good.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Lainey Taylor Rule of Life #17

  A jealous boy can be a good thing.

  “I think we should go out,” Zoey said, staring at me from across the living room.

  I grunted, continuing to devour rocky road ice cream from the half-pint carton in my lap. The whole plan to get Brogan off my mind had tanked the second I’d stepped out of work. A person passed by with a dog that looked like Bruce, and I’d effectively lost all interest in doing anything but sulking on the couch. I’d been doing a fantastic job at this task for the past week.

  She eyed me. “You’re starting to scare me, cave girl. Use your words.”

  I glanced up at her, the spoon still in my mouth. “Me no want go out.”

  “Much better. We’ll work on correct pronoun usage another day.”

  I shot her a look. I was completely fine binging on ice cream and Netflix. Definitely not gummy worms, though, because that would make me think of Brogan and how he hated anything with ingredients that couldn’t be pronounced.

  “Seriously, whatever happened, you just need to shake it off. It’s Friday. Scientifically speaking, we are never going to be as hot as we are now, and we need to use that to our advantage to get free drinks while we can.”

  “This is supposed to make me feel better?” I said.

  “No, it’s supposed to get you off the couch.” She took the ice cream off my lap and placed it on the coffee table, and then grabbed my wrists and pulled me to my feet.

  “Hey, I was just about to watch the swan episode on Gilmore Girls.”

  “Jess’s black eye can wait. Let’s go to Dean’s. We don’t even have to drink if you don’t want to, but you have to stay out for at least forty minutes.”

  “Can I go in this?”

  She smirked and gave my ratty OSU sweatshirt and stained sweatpants a once-over. “Only if you want to prevent us from getting hit on.”

  “Then I’m good to go.” The last thing I wanted to think about tonight was impressing men.

  She gave me a playful shove toward my bedroom. “Go get dressed. It’ll be good to be hit on by men who are emotionally available and vulnerable in their drunken state.”

  I huffed out a laugh. “Because that doesn’t sound predatory or anything.”

  “Put some real pants on,” she shouted as I walked into my room.

  A few minutes later, I walked out in skinny jeans, purple chucks, and my favorite AC/DC T-shirt. Zoey smiled and nodded. “Much better. Now we at least have a chance at not paying for drinks tonight.”

  “I thought you said I didn’t have to drink.”

  She shrugged. “You don’t have to, but I wouldn’t mind one.”

  Before we locked up the apartment, I grabbed my coat and phone, my credit card and ID, opting to forgo a purse in case I got drunk enough to decide to dance.

  A line wrapped along the side of Dean’s as we strode up to the building. Rock music boomed out of the open door, blocked by a black velvet rope and a stacked bouncer talking to an equally muscular guy in a very nice fitting suit.

  “Good thing I brought my coat.” At the rate Mr. Muscles was letting people into the bar, I’d be a Popsicle by the time we were admitted into the place.

  “You won’t need it for long.” She grabbed my arm and led me to the front of the line.

  Closer up, the neon lights from the window shone on the man in the suit. He had extraordinarily high cheekbones and muscles stacked on his muscles. I’d have recognized him sooner if he’d had his shirt off, because it was none other than Shirtless Dude—er, Ryder.

  His sullen look changed to a megawatt smile the second he spotted my best friend. “Zoey!” He beamed, and heck if I didn’t hear her let out a soft sigh in response.

  Apparently we had a lot of catching up to do, because this was the same look Bruce got when we passed the neighbor’s poodle.

  He nodded to the bouncer, and he opened one side of the velvet rope and motioned us in. “Have a good time tonight. If you need anything, I’ll be around.” He winked down at her, and it was my turn to sigh.

  I bumped her with my elbow. “I see things are going well with Ryder?”

  Her smile vanished the moment I mentioned his name. “It’s purely professional. We work together, that’s it.”

  “Please tell me by ‘work’ you mean ‘in his pants.’”

  Her shoulders tensed, and a line creased the skin between her eyes. “No. We’re just friends. Barely.”

  I looked at her. “Oh, girl. You obviously don’t see the way he’s looking at you.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Just because he’s flirty does not mean he’s interested. He acts that way around everyone.”

  “And he winds up shirtless at ten in the morning at people’s houses, too?”

  She flushed.

  Ha. I got your number, Zoey Reynolds.

  Yeah, no. I wasn’t convinced, but wasn’t going to push it any further. She’d been nice enough not to get into my business—because I certainly didn’t want to admit I was on the losing end of this whole fling deal. Nope, tonight was about hitting the reset button on life. We were here to hang out, just like we did in college, and that beer was sounding pretty good right about now. Who cared if Brogan’s wine beat a Blue Moon, hands down? Certainly not me.

  We managed to find two spots at the bar and plunked down our coats on the back of our stools. The bartender bustled over to us almost immediately and placed two napkins on the granite.

  We ordered a beer and Tom Collins and swiveled to look out at the dance floor. People a few years younger than us were grinding, already drunk, hours before last call.

  Dean’s had been a regular spot for us the past couple months. It had a nice variety of country dancing, karaoke, pool, and an upstairs that was quieter for when you wanted a calmer atmosphere.

  “That used to be us last year.” I pointed to the drunk girls on the dance floor, gyrating their hips to the beat of the music.

  She pursed her lips as if to say ohh, girl. “Please. We looked way better than that.”

  I smiled and sipped my beer. “True.” Or at least the alcohol made it seem that way. “Remember that one time you danced on the bar at Malone’s like you were in Coyote Ugly?” I giggled and pressed my lips to the top of the beer bottle.

  “No. I really did that?” Tequila was Zoey’s kryptonite. Two shots and the girl went from southern belle to Pretty Woman in the span of an hour.

  “It was the night you broke our toilet seat and then wore it around like a necklace.”

  She shuddered. “Yeah, I’m so glad we’re over that phase.” She lifted her Tom Collins as a salute to our younger, alcohol-hazed college years.

  “Me, too. I was one hangover away from giving up drinking until I turned forty.”

  “Thank God it didn’t come to that.” We clinked glasses, and I settled into the bar stool.

  I grabbed Zoey’s arm and bit my lip. “Thanks, Zoey.” If she wasn’t around, I’d be home, sulking. Which sounded really pathetic, seeing as I didn’t have anything to really sulk about. I refused to pity mys
elf. If my mom was strong enough to make it through chemo, I should be able to make it through the night without thinking about my boss. And his dimples. And his cooking skills. And his complete inability to play vintage video games. And his way of making me smile even if I was having a crappy day.

  Yeah, I was doing a fine job putting all that behind me.

  My completely unwanted fantasy about my boss was ruined when a guy in need of a good shower and deodorant sauntered over to us at the bar.

  “How’s it going, ladies?” As he put both hands on our bar stools and stood between us, the odor of his pits was enough to turn my wavy hair into corkscrew curls.

  “Good.” Even if I did want Pepé Le Pew to take a hike, preferably to the nearest shower, I didn’t have it in me to tell him off.

  “What are you drinking?”

  I held up my beer and breathed through my mouth.

  He leered at both of us, and I had a sudden urge to expel the contents of my stomach onto his shoes. “Need a refill?” he asked.

  “We just sat down. Listen. This was very nice of you, but we’re just trying to enjoy a girl’s night.” I gave a weak smile and turned back to Zoey, trying to politely give him the hint to screw off.

  “Oh.” The tiny little hamster wheel in his head spun for a moment, and his eyes brightened. “I get it. I’m all for the lesbian movement.” He lifted his fist and said, “Right on.”

  Zoey spit out the contents of her Tom Collins in a spray across the bar top. “What?”

  “If you ever want to expand your horizons, I’ll show you what a real man feels like.” He wriggled his eyebrows and cupped his crotch. That, paired with the BO, was enough to get my gag reflex going.

  A hand gripped the guy’s shoulder, and he was pulled away from us. “Take a hike, buddy, I think if she wants a real man, she knows where to go.”

  My beer bottle froze midway to my mouth as I took in my boss in a grungy bar, with his hands on Pepé. Brogan postured, his chest puffed out, a very primal display of fuck off.