The Rule Book (Rule Breakers #1)(23)

Well, for one, he made eye contact when we spoke, and had the ability to flip the good old hot and bothered switch with one look from those deep, soulful brown eyes.

Oh boy. Not the best idea to fantasize about the boss’s eyes while technically trespassing on his property. Then again, since I was here, I might as well take advantage of getting to know the boss on a deeper level than his Wiki page, right?

Ever since I was a little girl, I had this fascination with Nancy Drew. My earlier years were spent honing my sleuthing skills—though Mom would argue that I was a snoop and just liked going through people’s shit. Technicalities aside, I liked knowing more about people, what they chose to keep as opposed to trash. It would annoy my mom to no end when I went through her stuff, but after a while she came to terms with my snooping.

My Nancy Drew itch got the best of me, and I slyly made my way to the fridge for a better look. Just like a man’s hair, you could learn a lot about a person by what they kept in their fridge. Organic milk, an industrial size bag of chocolate chips, microbrew beer, and a container of leftovers wrapped in foil made up most of the contents of the fridge. In other words: boring.

Instinct told me I was pushing my luck, that I should close the fridge, but I couldn’t help prying a little more and lifting the foil to his leftovers. I realized then this was an all-time low if I was in someone’s apartment digging through their food, but the Nancy Drew gene was a force to be reckoned with.

As soon as the foil lifted, the comforting aroma of garlic chicken with a pesto sauce wafted out of the fridge. Aha! Garlic! What a hypocrite. For one second, where I claimed total insanity, I contemplated taking a bite.

Girl, you are not Goldilocks. Drop the garlic and move away while you still have your dignity.

The voice of reason had spoken, and I quickly tucked the foil on the container and backed away from the fridge. Bruce had finished his chow and sat next to my feet, judgment in those devil eyes.

“What? I didn’t eat it.”

He let out a huff.

“Like you’ve never thought about eating his food.” I scowled.

Not like my sleuthing even worked because besides the fact that Brogan liked chocolate (which, seriously, I’d start to worry about the guy if he didn’t) and had quite possibly the grossest dog in the city, I was no closer to finding out anything about him.





Chapter Eight


Lainey Taylor Rule of Life #46

Never get in-between a girl and Bachelor night.

I snuggled into the recliner with my bowl of rocky road ice cream with exactly two minutes to spare. After stripping out of my ripped shirt and exchanging it for a comfy old tee, I made sure to call my mom for our weekly ritual: Bachelor co-watching.

“Are you ready? It’s almost starting.”

I reached for the remote and clicked through until I found the channel. The preview for this week’s Bachelor was just finishing up. “Rodger that.”

“Do you think he’s going to let that airhead Vanessa go this week?” Mom asked.

Zoey rushed into the room, toting a bag of microwave popcorn and a bowl. “Did I miss anything?”

“Mom thinks Vanessa is going to get voted off this week.”

Zoey had been an addition to our house ever since she lost her mom to a car accident in middle school. Soon after we started weekly rituals, movie nights, pajama parties, and it’d stuck even ten years later.

“No, he likes her boobs too much. I’m guessing it’s Jill,” said Zoey.

Mom let out a loud sigh that blasted through the speaker in my phone. “But Jill is so sweet.”

I eyed the phone while Zoey smirked. “Mom. Since when did that earn points with Derek?”

The line went silent for a moment, then she added, “Good point.”

“Okay, shh, it’s starting!” Zoey whisper-yelled.

The most sacred of all Taylor family traditions was Bachelor night. I’d only missed it once, and that was when I’d been in the ER with appendicitis. And even then, my mom had DVRed it, and we watched it as soon as I got home from the surgery.

“How was Dictator Jackson today?”

I shot Zoey a look. I hadn’t told my mom about the incidents at work because I didn’t want her to worry. She had enough on her plate. She didn’t need to hear about another man with control issues. She’d already had enough of that with Dad. When he wasn’t off, you know, having a secret life on the side. Although Jackson had one up on my dad because I highly doubted Mr. Comb Over was living a double life with two separate families. The guy probably didn’t even have a girlfriend.

In some ways, though, Brogan (barring the obvious attraction) reminded me a lot of my father. He had all the rules and hardcore policies. He was charismatic, just like my father had been…to one too many women, apparently. I’d just like to understand what made a person like that tick. Then again, if he really was anything like my dad, I should stay far, far away. Nothing but pain could come from that type of man.

My mom chuckled. “Who’s Dictator Jackson? Does he have a handlebar mustache?”

I eyed Zoey, signaling to keep her mouth shut. “My coworker. Complete d-bag.”

“Eh, screw him. If he’s that much of a jerk, he probably won’t last long in the company,” said Mom.

Yeah, not so sure about that. Jackson seemed so far up Brogan’s ass, he could be medically diagnosed as a polyp. “Mm-hmm.”