The Rule Book (Rule Breakers #1)(17)

“I think I like this view even better.” She nodded toward Brogan’s retreating figure. His calf muscles strained against his skin, and the fabric of his shorts molded against his ass on every step.

For a few seconds I let myself consider what the routine of Mr. Starr looked like. If he was up this early and stayed at the office until nearly midnight during the week, I doubted the man got more than a few hours of sleep a night.

This was my first real clue to what he liked to do outside of work. He ran. And he was a Seahawks fan. I was two steps closer to writing his biography. Something about him made me want to know more—okay, maybe it was the fact that I was a snoop, but still, his ability to be so nice and yet so powerful intrigued me. My guess, he was a freak in the bedroom and unleashed some of that pent-up boardroom aggression on whoever was lucky enough to be tangled up in his sheets. That sounded deliciously amazing right about now.

Hello, your boss is literally the worst person to fantasize about.

I shook it off and chocked it up to being severely dehydrated. Yes, I was incredibly thirsty, and Brogan was definitely not my brand of Gatorade.

Boss: check

Already made a bad impression. Twice: check

Needed money more than sex: hesitant check

Plus, there was no ignoring the whole 300-page manual filled with insane rules that were better left for a SNL skit. Past experience had taught me that a person with that many rules came with a lot of baggage. And his did not need to take a layover in my thoughts (okay, brain, this is the part where you take a hint).

By the time we’d made our two-mile trek back to the apartment, I only had time for a quick rinse off. No time to wash my hair, so I’d pulled it back and hoped for the best.

I was almost functioning at full capacity when I took the light rail to work. I wiped the last of the sleep out of my eyes and entered the building.

Just as I pushed the button for the elevator, Brogan walked up beside me.

“Ah, it’s my second assistant.” He made a grand gesture of checking his watch and said, “I see your middle name precedes you.”

Brogan Starr: CEO and comedian, ladies and gentleman.

A hot flush started in my neck and worked its way up to my cheeks. Of course he would remember the one—okay, he had quite a few to choose from at this point—stupid thing I’d said yesterday. “Would hate to disappoint.”

“Consider me impressed.” Brogan was wearing a charcoal-colored suit today, with an immaculately assembled black tie. His chin and cheeks were covered in stubble, and his lips appeared to be a couple shades darker than the past couple times I’d run into him. As if he’d read my mind, his tongue slid over his bottom lip, and I watched, completely transfixed.

My own mouth dried up faster than my bank account at a Sephora sale. Focus, Taylor. You do not want him. You like the idea of him. Yes, the idea of a powerful man with amazingly broad shoulders pushing you up against the wall of this elevator and pounding you harder than your head after six glasses of wine.

Okay, brain, so not helpful.

“I think you have a little something in your hair.” He reached to the back of my head and extracted a leaf.

The little glimmer of hope that I’d make it out of the elevator without humiliating myself died a slow and torturous death. I stared at the leaf in his hand and contemplated the possibility that somewhere in the world there was a contest for Most Awkward Girl Ever. I’d hands down win the shit out of that. My acceptance speech would consist of a faceplant on my way to the stage, and end with the contest judge announcing they’d called the wrong name just after I’d finished thanking my mother.

“Thanks. Must have fallen on me on my way to work.”

“Of course.” He smiled.

There was absolutely no way he could know I was at the park. And I’d play ignorant about that morning until the day I died.

He was merciful enough to steer the conversation in a different direction. “Any big plans for the weekend?” he asked.

“Hanging out with my roommate. We’re still getting situated in our apartment.” Not to mention I was still living out of boxes. I couldn’t help but think this was temporary. Something deep down was preventing me from unpacking, because I knew the second I cozied up to the idea that this was permanent, something would happen with my mom and I’d have to move back at a moment’s notice. “You?”

“I’ll be here.” He sighed and gave a conspiratorial grin. “Sometimes I feel like I’m here more than my own apartment.”

“You are.”

He quirked a brow.

Err…that didn’t sound creepy whatsoever.

Lainey Taylor, your friendly neighborhood stalker.

“Not that I track your every move. That would be slightly disturbing.”

He turned to me, a look of concern painted across his face for a quick second. It quickly faded as he resumed his typical easy-going smile. Only a little tenser. “Just slightly?” he asked.

Crap. He thought I was serious. I really wasn’t racking up any brownie points with the guy who signed my paychecks.

“Okay, very. And I was kidding. I’m in charge of your schedule, so it’s only right I know where you are during business hours.”

His look said it all: Riiiiight. “Tell me again how you passed the background check?” Even though I assumed he was most likely joking, there held a hint of unease in his voice.