The Rule Book (Rule Breakers #1)(47)

 

3. Mildew on my shower wall

 

2. Uber rides with sketch drivers

 

1. Jackson friggin’ Wells

 

I shot him a look and rolled my shoulders back. Maybe if I stared hard enough I might actually burn a hole through his skull.

 

“We’ll start implementing those ideas tomorrow.” Brogan turned to me. “Lainey.”

 

My heart floated in my chest. Maybe he’d realize that this was my work. Not that he had any reason to, because he’d never seen a project from me cross his desk, but one could hope.

 

I stopped grimacing at Jackson and turned to our boss. “Yes?”

 

“Do you think you can set all this up? I’ll have Jackson walk you through the steps.”

 

My eye twitched. “I think I can handle that,” I said, slow and measured.

 

What was that about a side order of spit to go along with Jackson’s next soy latte?

 

Unlike some people, I wasn’t about to be a rat in front of the whole office. My hands curled into fists, and I chewed on the inside of my lip until I was sure a WWE style death fight wouldn’t ensue in the conference room, complete with spandex and death metal music.

 

What reality was I living in where I assumed my name would be on that presentation? Wake up and smell the coffee, Lainey Taylor. You’re not in the goodie gumdrop forest, you’re in the big leagues. And big leagues meant bigger pricks. There’d be no making this mistake again.

 

Brogan adjourned the meeting, and everyone filed out into the lobby. The only people left were Brogan, the Grinch, and me.

 

“You didn’t have anything you wanted to add?” Brogan prompted me, expectant.

 

Um, yeah, your second in command is a fink who deserves a million paper cuts on his tongue as penance. “I agreed with the presentation. I didn’t really have anything to add to it.”

 

Brogan turned to me and frowned, a look of true disappointment etched on his face. “You can really learn a lot from him. I suggest spending more time together on projects so you can see what it takes to get ahead in this company.”

 

I nodded. “Oh, yes, I’m learning so much.” I turned my gaze to Jackson, and he looked away, much like a dog who’d disobeyed his owner and gotten caught. Then again, Bruce had the decency to look me in the eye when he peed on my shoes. Bottom of the barrel in terms of the pecking order in the company or not, my name deserved to be on that presentation and Jackson knew it.

 

Brogan joined the rest of the staff in the lobby to celebrate Tonya’s birthday. I sat back down at the conference table and laid my palms on the surface, staring at the grain in the cherry wood. I didn’t trust myself not to climb over the table and hit Jackson over the head with his damn laptop. I stared him down, not moving from my position.

 

The silence that spanned between us was charged with the anger that was now freely flowing from every inch of my skin.

 

“Listen, I’m sorry about that, but Brogan’s really been breathing down my neck lately.”

 

I blinked at him. “You’re sorry.” That was the first time he’d ever uttered that word in my direction. I laughed because a) the apology fit him as well as a cheap Men’s Warehouse suit and b) it was much better than the alternative—throwing my chair at him, or worse, giving him any clue that it had, in fact, hurt me. My gaze narrowed into a glare. “Save it for someone who cares.”

 

I packed up my laptop and brushed past him, and as soon as I crossed the threshold into the main office, I let it go. No good could come from holding a grudge. As my mom always said, While you’re carrying a grudge, the other guy’s out dancing. Jackson was doing the frickin’ Mambo Number Five, and I wasn’t going to spend another minute sulking. Time to come up with a plan.

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Fourteen

 

Lainey Taylor Rule of Life #98

 

Cookies do solve all problems.

 

Brogan was sitting on the couch, his feet propped on the coffee table, when I brought Bruce back from his walk on Wednesday. It had been two days since the infamous Meeting of Betrayal and I’d had time to cool down.

 

“I thought you had a meeting until nine?”

 

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he grumbled and continued to sift through the paperwork spread across the cushions.

 

“That good, huh?”

 

He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the couch, his arms behind his head for support. The fabric of his shirt stretched over his chest, and for a split second my breath hitched. Even when he wasn’t trying, it was like his body pulled me under a spell. A brain power outage spell. “Worse,” he said. “So, so much worse,” he muttered to himself.