The Rule Book (Rule Breakers #1)(44)

“You’re here really late,” he said.

I leaned against the doorframe, not trusting myself to go in any further. “I wanted to get ahead on the project.”

He nodded. “I’m impressed with your work ethic.”

“Thank you, sir.” It felt odd addressing someone who was just a few years older than me so formally, but he hadn’t corrected me thus far.

He paused and tapped his pen against his desk, looking like he was choosing his words carefully. “I know you helped with the presentation last week.”

My breath caught in my throat. If he knew this whole time, why hadn’t he said anything—or put Jackson in his place? “You did?”

He gave his pen a couple of quick clicks and said, “Jackson has never come up with material like that. Plus, when I asked him about the numbers this morning, he fumbled through it.”

I nodded, not quite sure what to say to this.

“Why didn’t you say anything after the meeting?” he demanded. If I didn’t know any better, his expression held an air of disappointment.

“I didn’t want to humiliate him.” I could send mental eye-stabs from across the room to him all week, but I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I’d taken it too far.

His lips pursed, and he squinted his eyes at me, as if finding the right words to say. “This is a cutthroat business. You need to speak up if someone takes your idea.”

Somehow I decided that I would look like an ass if I’d done that in last week’s meeting, not Jackson. “You’d want me to humiliate your second in command in a company meeting?”

“If you didn’t feel comfortable saying something during the meeting, at least tell me afterward. You even had a chance to say something at my place.” He paused and swallowed hard, then looked up at me, his gaze pulling me under. “I didn’t get to where I am today by letting people stomp all over me.”

I’d never met a boss like him—not that I had the vast knowledge or network of CEOs, but to imagine Brogan raising his voice above a kind remark (other than when someone was touching his stuff) was a little hard to fathom. “But you’re so…”

He arched a brow. “Nice?” He smiled. “I’ve learned to pick my battles.”

I nodded. “Next time I’ll make sure to bring the cold hard hammer of Thor down on him.”

“You’ll take over the Alexander Freeland account tomorrow.”

“But that’s Jackson’s.” Anyone who was represented by Gizzara was automatically shoved in Jackson’s caseload, no questions asked.

“And he’ll learn the hard lesson of what happens when he takes what’s not his. I was waiting for him to come and tell me after the meeting, gave him a week even, but it never happened. So it’s yours.” He looked at me through long lashes. “Unless you don’t want it.”

“I want it,” I said a little too quickly. I was equal parts thrilled and terrified. How would Jackson handle this news? An eye for an eye didn’t seem to be a great idea in this scenario, but Brogan was the boss, and like hell I’d say no to getting more clients. “Thank you.”

“Great. I guess we can both get back to work then,” he said, frowning at his computer screen.

“What are you working on?” Like I could pass up this opportunity to be nosy.

“I’m stumped as to what to do with the Travers account. His social media growth has gone down since he’s been here and I don’t know what to make of it. Nothing seems offensive on his account, and yet fans are abandoning him.”

The heavy frosted glass door slid closed behind me as I walked over to his desk. Data sheets and graphs splattered his screen, and I scanned the information for any possible trend. I leaned against the edge of the desk and crossed my ankles. Inches away, Brogan’s shampoo was hard to ignore. The delicious scent tugged at something inside of me, and I had this desperate need to move closer to him. I gripped my fingers on his desk to keep myself planted here. A professional I would remain, even if it was becoming physically painful. “What happened in January of this year?” I took a look at the graph in the left-hand corner of his screen and spotted the mistake almost immediately.

“Why?”

“It seems his followers start leaving around then, and then they level off as the month continues.”

“Interesting.” His gaze shifted from his computer to my legs and slowly, much too slowly to be deemed appropriate or within his rules, worked his way up my body. “Good catch.”

I had a hard time believing that an MIT alum who graduated the top of his class couldn’t spot something this simple. Unless…

Our eyes met, and I stood frozen, clutching the desk for support. I finally understood what it meant when books said that anticipation hung heavy in the air. It meant a shaking that started so deep it rattled my bones. It meant internal organs mysteriously shifting to places they have no right being. It meant my skin burning up and turning to ice simultaneously. So, apparently my brand of anticipation felt like a fifty-year-old menopausal woman.

“Thank you,” I whispered.

He cleared his throat, and the moment came to a screeching halt.

Right. Rules. Job. Money. Stop thinking about his lips, Lainey.

“You heading out?” he asked.