The Rule Book (Rule Breakers #1)(45)

 

I stared from her retreating figure to my laptop and knocked my head back against the couch. I swallowed past the tightness in my throat and mashed my quivering lips together. Damn, I really hoped this presentation was worth souring what could have been an awesome weekend with my mom.

 

…

 

On Sunday, I drove home in the early misty morning. The feeling of disappointing my mom and the unpleasantness of getting in a fight for the first time since ninth grade when she wouldn’t let me shave the side of my head—Thank you, Mom, you were so right—hung heavy over me like the blanketing fog on I-5.

 

A little past ten, I pulled into the parking garage of my apartment and rested my head against the back of my seat. Was it possible to have more than two places to call home? This was the first time since I’d moved to Seattle that I felt overwhelming relief to be at the apartment—a refuge in the chaotic whirlwind of work, dog walking, boss fantasizing, and mother disappointing.

 

Zoey’s door was closed when I walked in. I lightened my tread, not wanting to wake her if she was still asleep, and when I got to my room, I dropped my duffel bag and flopped on my bed. Rarely was she still asleep at this hour, but maybe she had a late night with paperwork. I scrubbed my hands over my eyes, willing my aching body to find some energy so I could do a few last minute tweaks to Jackson’s presentation before I sent it off.

 

I frowned, thinking about the weekend that was supposed to be filled with horrible movies and junk food. Instead, I’d ignored my mom, solidifying my standing as douchiest daughter on the west coast. The only plus side was that I’d had zero time to focus on Brogan.

 

A knock came from my door a few seconds later, and it took every ounce of strength to pry my eyes open. Zoey stood in the doorway in a set of matching pink pajamas, her hair pulled back into a messy bun.

 

“Never thought I’d see the day where I was up hours before you,” I said.

 

“Yeah, well…” She wrung her hands together, and for the first time since she dropped my flatiron in the toilet in college, looked a little nervous.

 

I sat up on my elbows, and a chill ran down my spine. “Is everything okay?”

 

“Yes.” She moved over to my bed and sat down. “If I tell you something, you have to promise not freak out, okay?”

 

“Of course.” Few things could possibly freak me out, just clowns, walking over a wet spot on the floor while wearing socks, and fetal pig dissection (still scarred from tenth grade. Thanks a lot, Mr. Ellington). Doubtful she’d be doing any of these things in the next few minutes.

 

“There’s a guy.”

 

I lifted my brows. “I like the start of this story.”

 

“And he’s kind of here right now.”

 

As if her words summoned him, a tall guy with a square jaw, mussed hair, wearing sweatpants slung low on his hips and no shirt—for good reasons, because holy abs—appeared in my doorway. “Zoey, I’m gonna take off.” He shook his hair off his forehead in a way that rivaled Sean Hunter from Boy Meets World, and if there weren’t Zoey’s feelings to consider, I’d stand up and break into a slow clap for that perfect little move.

 

She sucked in her bottom lip and shot a sheepish look in my direction.

 

“Please, take it off,” I muttered. Okay, so I couldn’t fully hold back.

 

She smacked my leg and turned to me, “I’ll be right back.”

 

“Take all the time you need. Bye, Shirtless Dude,” I called to the retreating guy.

 

He smiled. “Bye, Roommate Whose Name I Don’t Know.” His deep voice rattled down my chest, and I had zero questions as to why Zoey had picked this guy. He was a walking, talking lady boner on a stick.

 

She walked over to him, and he put his arm around her as they made their way across the hall, disappearing into her room.

 

At least someone in this apartment was getting some.

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Thirteen

 

Starr Media Handbook Rule #26

 

Coworkers can be assholes.

 

So that rule wasn’t in the rulebook, but I had every intention of adding it to the comments and suggestions box. If we actually had one, anyway. It wasn’t so much that I was mad Jackson assigned me work on my one weekend off. Oh, no. It was what tiny dictator grinch did afterward that reinforced the sentiment of my newly minted rule.

 

Brogan had called an all-employee meeting Monday morning.

 

After everyone took their seats at the boardroom table, Jackson set up the projector and pulled up the presentation we’d made. I should have known something was off when I glanced over to his computer and noticed my name had been left off the title page, with only Jackson’s name appearing in bold black letters.