The Rule Book (Rule Breakers #1)(19)

“How many years have you worked here?”

“Three.”

Wow. If she didn’t know anything, I doubted anyone else did—besides Jackson, and I definitely wasn’t going to pump him for information. How could a man hide everything about himself from people he saw every day? Then again, my dad did the same thing. I shuddered at the thought. Brogan was nothing like my dad. Probably.

“If you’re into the tattooed men, I have a few friends I can hook you up with. You should come out for drinks with us this weekend.”

Inside I was doing the happy dance at the fact that Zelda extended the invitation to hang out. Someone besides Zoey—because, let’s face it, after years of being best friends, she was obligated to hang out—wanted to spend time with me outside work. The initial high quickly deflated, though. Drinks meant money and money wasn’t something I was exactly rolling in at the moment. Fifteen dollar martinis added up pretty quickly in terms of what I could use toward Mom’s bills. “I’ll think about it,” I said.

Zelda nodded and took a bite of her tuna melt. “Just keep me posted. I’ll make sure Brent is there. He owns a tattoo shop downtown.” She wiggled her brows suggestively.

The thing was, I’d never really been into tattoos. In college, I’d dated clean-cut guys that most people would consider all-American, none of them lasting more than a couple months. In fact, I was pretty sure I was only into Brogan’s, which was both stupid and a tad bit problematic. Because how could I focus on work when I was lusting after my boss? Not that I was lusting after him.

If I had a penny for every time I’d lied to myself this week…

Maybe going out with Zelda’s friend would be a good thing.

I returned to my desk at twelve thirty on the dot. Jackson was nowhere to be found, so I assumed he was either making copies, filing, or off looking at comics on his phone. When I’d gone over to his desk to ask questions, the past few times he’d been so glued to his phone he didn’t see me come up.

At around three, the elevator opened, and a petite guy with a T-shirt that swallowed his thin frame came through the doors with something that I could only describe as a small horse pulling him on a leash. Sweat beaded his face as he tried to contain the animal, and his arms strained as he gripped the leather harness. Jackson was in a meeting with one of our clients, which meant I needed to do damage control ASAP.

I waived my arms, trying to get his attention, which was focused on the door at the end of the hallway—Brogan’s office.

“Excuse me,” I said to the kid. He couldn’t have been older than nineteen, and obviously hadn’t hit his growth spurt yet.

The kid ignored me and walked toward the office.

I stood from my desk and said louder, “Excuse me. Dogs aren’t allowed at Starr Media.”

The baby-faced dog walker continued to ignore my existence, and all my patience disappeared.

“Hey, *. I’m talking to you,” I shouted.

But I was too late, and the guy and miniature pony of a dog were through Brogan’s office door faster than I could get out from behind my desk.

The kid shot me a look and handed the leash to Brogan, then exited the office. I quickly recognized the dog as the one from this morning. Well, crap. I really wasn’t having much success with the whole “keeping stupid comments inside” today.

“For someone who says they studied the rule book, you have a knack for breaking them, Lainey,” said Brogan. There was a hint of a smile in his voice as he crouched down and the dog licked the side of Brogan’s cheek. Yuck. I was all for animals showing love, just not when it involved copious amounts of saliva. “Do that again, and I’ll be forced to write you up.” He looked up at me, this time his expression dead serious.

Again I wondered why he didn’t write me up right here and now, considering my predecessors would have surely been ushered off the premises with a small cardboard box of their belongings if they’d done half the stuff I’d managed to accomplish in the first couple of weeks. Whatever the reason, I considered myself lucky and wouldn’t try to push my luck any further.

Brogan’s sleeve slid up his arm as he petted the dog, revealing an ellipses tattoo on his wrist along with an intricate swirl of black ink. The fabric slid back down after each stroke, and I stood there, mesmerized. Static interference fuzzed over my coherent thoughts, and replaced them with things like mild jealousy over a canine and strong manicured hands.

It took me a second to process what he’d said, since I was still focused on his arms and there being a dog in an office. The dog’s tongue lolled out of his mouth, and drool pooled on the floor in front of him. His tail swished against the floor as Brogan scratched the top of his head.

I shook my head, trying to regain some semblance of higher brain function. He’d said something before I went into my tattoo hypnosis.

Right. Rules. No cussing. “It won’t happen again.” Yeah, because I really was doing so well at following them as is.

A little daydream scenario crossed my mind of Brogan punishing me for breaking a rule.

That’ll be five ass-smacks for your disobedience.

“Oh no, I’m so sorry, Mr. Starr. I’ve been such a very bad girl. Please punish me with those big, strong hands of yours.”

Then he’d bend me over his desk, pull up my skirt and his palm would smack my—