The Rule Book (Rule Breakers #1)(42)

I stared at his bottom lip and the stubble that ran across his chin. My tongue ran across my lips. If I leaned over a few inches, my lips would sweep across his. I gripped the counter, not trusting my hands to keep to themselves.

Before I made a complete fool out of myself, I pushed back from the counter and began piling dishes into his sink. “I’d better clean up.”

Looking around the high-end kitchen, the thought of me and Brogan existing together in the house was a joke.

I hadn’t grown up wealthy. Everything I needed, I had, but there were no extraneous gadgets, definitely not a dishwasher or a fridge that talked to me. Brogan and I came from two opposite ends of the spectrum. He had a maid that did his laundry and dusted his immaculate house. I had week-old soda cans scattered on my nightstand and managed to throw a load of clothes in the washer when the bra and panty situation was at Code Red. The thought of him setting foot in my mom’s nineteen-fifties bungalow was almost laughable. Two people from two separate worlds had no place being together. Not that I was even considering this. I was there as his dog walker and second assistant, purely in a professional capacity.

That didn’t derail the incessant crash of my heart against my ribs. Or the fact that I had the worst case of sweaty palms I’d ever experienced in my life. And that was saying something, because teenage Lainey had palms sweaty enough for it to be considered a chronic disease.

“I was just about to sit down and watch some Netflix after I finished up my paperwork. Do you want to join?” He motioned toward the couch where Bruce was currently belly-up, snoring.

I hesitated. Everything in me yelled, Yes! I want to Netflix and chill with you so hard. But I had the proposal to work on for the Gizarra account and the slime of a twelve-hour work day to wash off. “I should really be going.”

“Oh.” His lips turned into a pout which was almost as adorable as his dimples. “Well, at least let my driver take you home.”

I waved him off. “It’s no big deal. I can take the light rail.”

“Listen, I’m not in charge of you—” A devious smile twisted his lips, and his eyes brightened. “Wait, yes I am.” He scrubbed his chin and regarded me. “And as your boss, I’m giving you direct orders to use my driver.”

I rolled my eyes. “Anything else I can do for you, boss?” I made an exaggerated curtsy.

“Take some cookies with you. I can’t possibly eat this many.” He motioned toward the dozens of cookies spread on cooling racks along the counter.

Now that was something that I could get behind. “Okay. I’m sure my roommate will appreciate that.” No way was Zoey getting any of these.

We stood in the doorway for a few moments. I made the mistake of glancing up at Brogan’s face. More specific, his eyes. Those brown eyes raked down my body with a heat I wasn’t prepared for.

Play it cool. This is your boss, and he just wants you to get home safe.

Bull-freaking-crap. I clenched the cookies, definitely trying to push away thoughts of him in a flimsy, bulge-showcasing towel, of that broad chest that would crush me if he were on top, pinning me into his bed. Heat licked up the inside of my legs, and a smattering of goose bumps crept down my arms. To say I was affected by him was the understatement of the twenty-first century. In fact, affected didn’t even seem like a strong enough word. I doubted there was one in the English language that could completely encompass what I was feeling. I bet there was an obscure Russian word for this emotion. One that screamed: I want to jump my boss’s bones, but that’s a really bad idea to even be considering it in the first place. Yes, a seventeen syllable Russian word for that. Something like I-vanna-hump-my-bosses-leg-cshvogh.

“I hope you enjoy your cookies.” I held up the container of my portion, which I would be stress eating in T-minus thirty minutes.

“It was a pleasure eating your cookies.” His lips twitched in amusement.

I giggled. “Is that what I should put on the sexual harassment report that’s going on my boss’s desk in the morning?”

“Yes. Right under breaking into his condo and dognapping.”

“Hey, I always bring him back. That has to count for something, right?”

Bruce showed his assent by letting out a loud fart.

I bent down to scratch behind Bruce’s ears and said, “This is why you don’t have a girlfriend, Bruce. We’ll work on the bodily functions, and maybe I’ll let you near the poodle in Twenty-Seven A.”

Brogan chuckled, and a smile broke out across his face. My heart stuttered in response. “Don’t get the poor guy’s hopes up. He has a long way to go.”

I said, “You’re right. Maybe you should sign him up for etiquette classes.”

Bruce huffed in response and rolled on his back, snorting while rubbing his back on the rug.

“Maybe not. I think he’s a lost cause,” I mused.

“Never too late to teach an old dog new tricks, is it, boy?” Brogan bent down to where I was crouched and gave Bruce’s belly a rubdown. Lucky dog. Bruce let out an even louder fart in response.

I stood and plugged my nose. “On that note, I’ll go meet your driver in the garage.”

We walked down the hallway toward the elevator, and I jammed my finger onto the down button with a little more force than intended, anything to not feel this need pulsing through my body.