The Aubrey Rules (10 page)

Chapter 14

The Aubrey Rules To Live By, Rule #14:
When faced with a difficult situation at work and challenging people, the best thing to do is put your head down, work hard, and prove them wrong.

**Amendment**
This rule is SHIT, complete SHIT!

**Note**
I’m so pissed off I can hardly see straight, let alone put together a report that is going to take me
hours
to do.

**Note #2**
And this rule is costing me my date with Beckett, which makes me want to throw up. And cry. At the same time.

I sit down at my desk, furious. I’m so angry my hands are shaking. And I’m fighting every urge I have not to kick the hell out of my trash can. Scuffs be dammed.

I swallow hard. There’s no way I’ll finish this in an hour. Or even two.

“Aubrey?”

I look up and see Mallory standing at the edge of my desk.

“Yes?” I say, staring up at her.

“Have a wonderful evening. I so appreciate you taking the time to prepare this report. It will be good for you, so you can get a better grasp on how things work. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have an appointment to go see some Italian marble.”

Then she strides away, her perfume swirling around me in an expensive floral cloud.

Inside I scream. And resent the fact I still have to smell her after she’s left.

To look at fucking marble.

“Hey,” Charlotte says, getting up and moving over to me. “Are you okay?”

I see an expression of genuine concern on her delicate face. I want to trust her, but I have a rule about this. Never speak poorly about your coworkers or bosses to fellow employees. You never know when it will come back and bite you in the ass.

“Um, I’m fine, just have to change some plans,” I say, and as the words move past my lips, I feel sick to my stomach.

“I’m sorry,” she says softly. “Off the record, her last assistant got up and walked out after three weeks. But you didn’t hear that from me.”

So it’s not me. She’s just an epic bitch.

“Good to know,” I say, nodding. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Charlotte says, tucking a lock of her dark hair behind one ear. “And I have a stash of snacks in my cube, bottom left drawer. Help yourself if you get hungry.”

Hungry.

My throat swells as I realize I’m not going to have my date with Beckett tonight. I need to tell him not to bother getting the Belgian beer and fries.

“Um, thanks,” I say, distracted by thoughts of having to cancel this date.

“I’ll let you get at it,” Charlotte says. “See you tomorrow.”

“Thank you,” I say. “For everything, Charlotte.”

“You’re welcome,” she says. Then she gathers up her stuff and heads out for the night.

I can hear various people around the office, but not many. I swallow hard and reach for my cell phone. My heart feels like lead as I shoot him a text.

Beckett, I’m so sorry. A project was dumped on my desk at six. Going to take hours. I’ll need to take a rain check. I’m so sorry.

I hope he hasn’t headed out yet. I’d feel horrible if he was stuck in traffic to get food for me.

There’s a bit of a wait before I get a reply, but finally he does.

If you’ve changed your mind about dinner, I get it.

What? What?
He thinks I’m using work as an excuse to cancel? I type a message back.

The last thing on earth I want is to be stuck here when I could be with YOU, don’t you know that??????

I hit send without a second thought. Then I stare down at my phone, the realization of what I texted to him hitting me full force. Shit. Shit! I told him I liked him, for all intents and purposes, with that text, and what if he really only wants burgers and fries?

I toss my phone down on my desk in anger. I tap my foot underneath my desk to tamp down the urge to kick the living hell out of my trashcan.

I stare at my phone, willing him to respond.

But he doesn’t.

I swallow hard and realize he’s not going to answer. Either I freaked him out, or he thinks this is all a fib on my part to get out of the date because I’m not interested.

Oy.

I shift my attention to this report, which I know Mallory won’t even glance at. I’m half-tempted to copy and paste an article about the history of Lucky Charms to see if she even reads it.

But instead I begin putting information together. It will be a shitty report, no doubt about it, but if anyone asks I’ll happily provide the time constraints I was under and it is unrealistic to expect anything else.

And if they want to fire me for this, go for it.

I begin working, trying to ignore the heaviness that is in my heart. I check my phone about a half hour in—nope, not broken and half a battery charge on it—and realize Beckett isn’t going to answer.

I draw a breath and toggle over to my word document to copy in a link I found, and more people head out for the night. I see the cleaning people come around, and I figure I’ll soon be the last person here. You know, because ChicagoConnect is supposed to be about having work family balance.

I fume. Apparently another part of the employee handbook Mallory didn’t bother to read.

Buzz!

My heart stops. But now I’m almost afraid to look at it. If it’s not Beckett, I’ll be crushed. If it is Beckett, I’ll be afraid to read what he’s said.

Gah.

Okay. Okay. Answer it. It’s probably my mom or Livy anyway.

I screw up my face and flip the phone over.

It’s Beckett.

My heart explodes. I hold my breath as I glance down at his message.

Come downstairs to visitor parking in the garage. There will be a familiar Black Escalade waiting for you. Use password “Smart Ass” when asked and follow directions from there.

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh! He’s not mad. He believed me. And not only did he believe me, he wants to see me right now.

I grab my makeup bag out of my purse and quickly sweep some powder across my face. I swipe lipstick across my lips, blot with a tissue, and hurry to catch an elevator downstairs. Butterflies are dancing furiously in my stomach. My pulse is twinging. I push the down button on the wall again, willing an elevator to stop on my floor now so I can see Beckett.

The chime sounds. The doors open, so I step inside and wait for the elevator to descend to the garage level.

I watch anxiously as it descends each floor.
Come on, come on, come on.

Finally I hit the visitor parking level. I step outside, greeted by the frigid Chicago air, and my eyes dart around for Beckett’s SUV.

And there it is.

I approach his Escalade, and when I’m near it, Beckett lowers the driver’s side window a crack, so I can only see his eyes.

“Password?” he asks, cocking an eyebrow.

I’m so done for this man.

“Smart Ass,” I say, arching my own eyebrow back.

“Get in on the other side. Make it quick.”

Curious, I head around the back of the car, to the passenger side. I open the door.

And then my mouth drops open in shock.

Because right on the console in between the seats Beckett has set up dinner. There’s a cheeseburger and fries and a Belgian beer, all waiting for me.

My hands fly to my mouth. “Beckett!” I cry, delighted by his thoughtfulness.

My eyes meet his, and his gorgeous brown eyes are shining brightly at me.

“Hop in,” he says.

I know I’m beaming as I get inside the car. I shut the door behind me, and I still can’t believe what I’m seeing.

“You brought me dinner,” I say, amazed.

“Well, you couldn’t come to my place right now, but I could deliver to you,” Beckett says, reaching for a French fry and popping it into his mouth.

“Thank you. You’ve made a really shit day perfect,” I say truthfully.

Beckett is silent for a moment as I pick up my cheeseburger. “Did you mean what you said in your text?”

I stare back at him, seeing nothing but need in his deep-brown eyes. And as I gaze into them, I realize I can read him. I can read him like I’ve read no other man in my life.

I see a glimmer of doubt. That this sexy, professional athlete, the one who could have any girl in any city at any time, needs to be reassured that
I
like him. I’m the one he wants, and he wants me to like him back.

And I burst out laughing.

Beckett’s expression turns to one of confusion.

“What’s so funny?”

I turn toward him. “Beckett, do you remember those notes in school? Check yes or check no if you like me?”

“Um, yeah?”

“This conversation reminds me of this. But I check
yes.
”

“What?”

“I meant what I said in my text. Which translates to ‘I like you.’”

Beckett’s face lights up. “So you do.”

“I do.”

He grins at me. “Good. Because I check yes, too.”

Oh my God!

“Yeah?”

“No
doubt about
it,” Beckett says, winking at me.

Okay. I’m seriously done.

Because I’m completely falling for this Canadian.

“You need to eat,” Beckett says, interrupting my thoughts.

I nod and take a bite of my cheeseburger, as I’m starving. Oh, man. It’s cheesy and delicious.

“So good,” I mumble as I eat.

Beckett picks up his own burger and takes a bite. “They are, aren’t they?”

I put my burger down. “You know your car is going to smell like French fries now. Trust me, my car smells like a bag of fries on a regular basis.”

Then I mentally kick myself. Did I tell Beckett that my car smells like
fries?

Beckett selects another French fry to eat. “Small price to pay to have dinner with you.”

My heart melts.

“I’m sorry tonight got so messed up. Mallory threw this project on me because I pissed her off.”

“How did you do that?” he asks, pausing to dip his fry in truffle mayo.

“Because I told her there was no way you’d agree to going on Tinder, meet girls, and allow them to tape you going on dates.”

I glance at Beckett, who is staring at me as if I suddenly became a character from an alien sci-fi movie.

“
What?
” he asks.

“You heard me. I told her that was not the venue for you, and she basically told me to shut up and threw this report on my lap before walking out the door.”

Beckett sets his jaw. “I’d
never
agree to that. Is this what I’m paying for? Seriously?”

“You’re the client. Push back when it’s presented to you. Just play dumb when you hear it.”

“Shit.”

“I know.”

“If you weren’t here, I would have bailed last week.”

“Beckett, you still can,” I say. “I shouldn’t say this, but I’m not speaking as a person from ChicagoConnect. As the girl who checked yes, I’m saying don’t settle.”

Beckett studies me. “As the boy who checked yes, I only want to work with you, so they’re getting my business.”

Ooooooooooooh, I want to kiss him.

But since I’m eating a burger with onions this isn’t the best first kiss option.

“Anyway, I don’t want to think about it,” Beckett says. “I leave for Buffalo tomorrow afternoon. I have a game there on Saturday, and I’ll be back late on Saturday. So maybe we could have brunch on Sunday.”

My heart leaps inside my chest. “I’d like that.”

“But then I was thinking,” Beckett says slowly, reaching for my hand and entwining his fingers with mine, “that’s too far away.”

Every nerve I have explodes the second his large, strong hand wraps around mine. Now his thumb is moving gently back and forth across the top of my hand, and desire burns within me.

“It is?” I manage to ask.

“Yeah,” Beckett says softly. “So when you get done, why don’t you come over to my place? I want to spend time with you before I leave. More than the time we have now. So will you, Aubrey? Will you see me tonight?”

Chapter 15

The Aubrey Rules To Live By, Rule #15:
Okay, this rule is more for fun, but because I love getting ready for the “big date,” I have to write it. The three components to prepare for a hot date that must be followed without fail: lip stain that won’t smudge when kissing, perfume at the base of the neck to entice your date to kiss you there, and no jewelry that could catch in his hair, such as bracelets or cocktail rings.

**Note**
I can’t even imagine Beckett kissing me on the neck without imploding.

**Note #2**
I’ll never tell him that, though. He would be super embarrassed to know that.

**Note #3**
I hope he thinks I’m a good kisser.

**Note #4**
I’M GOING TO KISS BECKETT.

**Note #5**
I can’t get past Note #4.

I check my appearance one more time before heading up to Beckett’s place. I finished that stupid report around nine, and even though Beckett offered to pick me up, I refused. I didn’t want him to see me with smudged makeup and a shiny nose. So I took the bus home instead, which I think mystified him.

But come on now. I want to look good for the most important first date I’ll ever have.

I’ve changed out of my work clothes and slipped into my J Brand jeans and a black-and-white striped sweater. I’ve touched up my makeup, finishing by swiping my satin lip pencil across my lips, coating them a peachy-beige color. Perfect. I know this lip color will stay put the rest of the night and not end up on Beckett.

An electric feeling shoots through me as I think of that.

I’ll be kissing Beckett.

GAAAAAAAAAAAH, I don’t know if I can survive it. Beckett was very sexy merely touching my wrist and my hand. If those are indications of how he will kiss—

Butterflies shift wildly at the thought of his lips brushing against mine. I swear I’ve never had so many butterflies in all my life. I mean, of course, I’ve felt them before, but not with this intensity or frequency as I do with Beckett.

Buzz!

I glance down at the phone on the bathroom countertop and see it’s Captain Smart Ass himself.

Did you take a bus to Milwaukee? Where are you?

Before I can answer, another text comes across.

Hurry up. I can’t wait to see you.

Ahhh! I don’t even bother to text him back. I grab my phone and my keys, slip into my pointed Kate Spade flats, the ones with the cute black bows on them, and race out of my condo. I catch the elevator to go up and anxiously watch as each floor goes by. Finally it chimes on Beckett’s floor, and I eagerly get off.

And it’s all I can do not to run to his apartment.

I reach his door and take a moment to collect myself. I should be reviewing more rules in my head. Normally I’d be thinking of what to say, what to ask him, what non-verbal signals I should send if I’m interested, all that crap.

But that’s the thing. With Beckett, it’s all
crap.
I’ve been nothing but myself with him, and it’s liberating. Best of all, the
real me
is the girl Beckett can’t wait to see tonight.

I press my finger against the doorbell. I practically hold my breath as I wait for him to answer. Finally I hear the lock being turned on the other side.

Beckett opens the door, and I’m momentarily distracted by how he looks tonight. His brown hair is tousled, and a lock of it deliciously sweeps down across his forehead. He’s wearing a dark-green V-necked sweater, one that reveals a gray T-shirt underneath. Distressed jeans and rich brown leather boots finish his outfit. It’s masculine and rugged and he is insanely hot tonight.

“So you didn’t go to Milwaukee,” he says, his eyes sparkling at me.

Oh, I
love
his eyes. They’re so expressive and gorgeous. I swear I could get lost in them.

“Milwaukee would be a
roundabout
way of getting to you,” I say, teasing him by putting on a Canadian accent.

His face lights up the second I mimic his accent, and happiness fills me.

“I’m going to let your horrible Canadian accent slide,” Beckett says, opening the door to let me in. “
For now.
”

I giggle. “Oh, Captain, are you going to make me pay for that?”

He grins at me as he steps aside to let me in. “It’s Captain Smart Ass to you.”

I flash him a wicked smile. “Perhaps I need to write it on my hand.”

I enter his foyer, and as I move past him I inhale his sexy cologne, the scent of spice and pine and citrus enveloping me as I do. That’s now the scent of him in my mind, and an electric feeling surges through me as a result.

Beckett shuts the door and turns to me, reaching for my hand. He flips it over and studies my palm, gently tracing his index finger over it and sending heat searing through me.

“Let’s see, can I spell Captain Smart Ass here?” he teases, pulling me closer to him. He slowly traces his finger over my palm, acting as if he’s spelling out the words.

My body is on fire from the way he’s touching my hand. It’s teasing and sexy and, oh, I can’t
imagine
what kissing him will be like.

“Might be a tough fit,” Beckett says, lifting his sparkling eyes to mine.

“Perhaps I should work on my memory skills,” I manage to say.

“Speaking of memory sills,” Beckett says slowly, now lacing his fingers through mine to hold my hand, “Let’s see how good I did on remembering things you’ve told me.”

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“Come on,” Beckett says, leading me down the hallway.

Excitement shoots through me as he brings me to the cozy seating area off the kitchen, the one that has the gorgeous view of Lake Shore Drive.

And I stop as I see Beckett has it set up for a perfect date night.

There’s a bottle of wine on the coffee table and two wineglasses next to it. I see a cheese board with a selection of cheeses and rustic bread and an assortment of charcuterie meats. The lights are set down low, and I see a few candles flickering in spots around the room, perfuming the room with the scent of lavender and vanilla. And the sounds of Mumford & Sons can be heard in the background.

It’s the perfect date.

My
perfect date.

In one of our many conversations, I described my ideal date. It would be at home, with food and wine and candles. Music. Talking and being together. I said that sounded like the ideal evening to me, yet I’d never had a date like that in my life.

Until now.

I step forward, taking everything in, and I swallow down the lump in my throat.

“You remembered,” I manage to say. “You listened to me.”

Beckett slides his arms around my waist and draws me back against his massive, rock hard chest. He dips his head down so he can speak into my ear.

“Is it what you wanted?” he murmurs. “Is this the perfect date for you?”

Every nerve I have jumps in response to his soft voice. I slowly lift my hands to wrap over his massive forearms, the powerful and athletic arms that I’m lucky enough to be held in tonight.

“Yes,” I say. “It is.”

Then I turn around so I’m facing him, his arms still around me and holding me close. I gaze up at him, and my heart melts from the gentleness expressed in his brown eyes.

“But more than all of this, it’s the perfect date because you’re here,” I say, meaning that with all my heart. “This doesn’t work without
you.
”

His eyes remain intently on mine. “I haven’t created a date like this for any other girl.”

With those words, I know. I know my heart is going to belong to Beckett. I haven’t kissed him. I don’t know where this story is going to end as it’s only beginning, but I know he’s going to own all of my heart.

Which is against every rule I’ve ever written.

But I don’t want rules. Not anymore. Not since I met this amazing man.

The rules don’t matter.

Beckett does.

“You look beautiful tonight,” Beckett murmurs.

I see nothing but heat in his eyes now, and my body burns in response to his gaze.

“I’m glad you think so,” I say, sliding my hands up his broad chest. “That’s why I took the bus back. I wanted to get ready for you.”

He smiles at me. “Yeah?”

I nod happily. “Of course.”

“I still would have thought you were beautiful, Aubrey.”

My face grows warm from his words, and Beckett clears his throat.

“I should offer you a glass of wine,” Beckett says.

“You should,” I say, my heart hammering.

“Or something to eat.”

“Hmmm-mmmm.”

“That would be the gentlemanly thing to do.”

“Yes.”

We’re silent for a moment, the sexual tension between us almost unbearable. I’ve never needed a kiss as much as I need Beckett’s at this moment.

Beckett slides his hands up to my hair, raking his fingers through my waves, and a wild shiver shoots down my spine in response. He lowers his head toward mine, our lips now inches apart. I draw a breath of air, inhaling the sensual cologne on his skin, absolutely desperate to feel his kiss.

“Beckett,” I plead, instinctively licking my lips.

“I have to kiss you first,” he breathes sexily. “Your mouth, your lips, every gorgeous part of them. I can’t, I can’t do anything until I kiss you.
Now.
”

And then Beckett lowers his head. His lips are teasingly in front of my own. My heart is racing. I’m aching for his kiss, his mouth, his tongue, all of it right here, right now, and I can’t wait a second longer to taste him.

His hands are in my hair, down my face, and he’s discovering me with his fingertips. Beckett then brushes them over my lips, grazing them teasingly with his touch.

I can’t take any more of this. He must kiss me.
Now.

Beckett takes his fingertips and slowly moves them down my jawline, to my chin, and gently tilts my face toward his.

“Now I’m going to kiss you,” he whispers sexily, his lips pressing against mine.