The Aubrey Rules (5 page)

Chapter 8

The Aubrey Rules To Live By, Rule #8
:
When a man you’re interested in calls, you must maintain poise, confidence, and an easy-going nature during the call.

**Note**
GAWWWWWWWWWWWWWD IT’S BECKETT!!!

**Note #2**
Wait. It’s Beckett. My potential client Beckett. Who is no doubt calling about business. No need to get butterflies in the stomach. Maintaining my rule will be easy.

**Note #3**
SCREW THAT. CAPTAIN SMART ASS IS CALLING ME.

I freeze as soon as I hear his voice. My stomach tingles. And my throat goes dry, making it hard to speak.

“Um, hi,” I manage to get out.

Hi?

I just said
hi?

I should hang up now before this gets any worse.

“I know you can’t talk now,” Beckett says. “Can you give me your cell number? So I can text you?”

Okay, he wants to text me. Does that mean this isn’t business?

I rattle off my number.

“I’ll text you right now,” Beckett says. “Can you hold on to make sure you get it?”

“Yes, of course,” I say, unlocking the drawer where I stashed my purse. I fumble through it and retrieve my phone. And within seconds it buzzes with a text notification.

I glance down at the text:

Hi back.

I blush furiously at his message.

“I can confirm receipt of your message,” I say, glancing at the girl at the desk across from me. But then I see ear buds in her ears, so she’s not listening to me anyway.

Beckett laughs. “Is your boss nearby?”

“No,” I say. “Is your agent?” I counter, as I really don’t think he should know I’m talking to Beckett.

“Nope. I’m in a cab, heading to practice.” Beckett clears his voice. “So about—”

I laugh the second he says
about.
“Canadian.”

“American,” he retaliates. “So . . .” He pauses, and I know he’s trying to find another word for about.

“In regards to?” I supply helpfully.

He laughs. “Yeah. I’m going to text you ab . . . in regards to the meeting I just left.”

“Okay,” I say, my heart screeching to a full-stop as I realize this is indeed a business call.

“I’m going to hang up now. You’ll get my text in a second.”

“Okay,” I say. “Thank you for calling.”

Then I place my phone on my desk. I rub my fingers against my temples, trying to wake up my brain. Of course it’s a business call. He’s probably got a fabulous date with some hot girl named Mandee with incredible boobs and perfect spray tan tonight.

And I shouldn’t
want
a personal call from Beckett. He’s a potential client. I can’t go out with a client. Nor do I date athletes. Two big rules right there.

Gah, why am I thinking of this? Why, why, why? Beckett is comfortable with me. Lord knows he should be after everything I unveiled to him. He probably has some questions, and he wants to talk things over with someone he knows. I shouldn’t even do this, to be honest. It could blow up in my face if anyone here knew I was talking to him.

But then I see his eyes and his smile in my head, and I
know
he’d never do anything to hurt me professionally.

“Hey, are you okay?”

I glance up. The girl across the way with the ear buds is standing before me, a look of concern etched across her pretty face.

“What?”

“I noticed you were rubbing your temples,” she says. “Do you need Advil? Oh, and I’m Charlotte, by the way. I work in content strategy and production.”

I study her for a moment. She’s in her early twenties, like me. She has gorgeous long, black hair and creamy pale skin. I also detect a kindness about her.

I stand up and extend my hand to her. “Hi, Charlotte. I’m Aubrey. And I’m fine, it’s a mild tension headache. Thank you for asking.”

“Oh, okay,” she says, nodding. “So you’re Mallory’s new assistant.”

I study her face for a clue. There’s no excitement in her eyes, as if this is going to be a good thing for me. In fact, I’m alarmed by the blank expression she has right now.

“Yes,” I say, nodding.

My phone buzzes on my desk. It takes all my willpower not to instinctively grab it to see what Beckett texted me.

“Well, it will be nice to have someone to share this space with,” Charlotte says, smiling at me. “Maybe we can do lunch tomorrow, if you can?”

“I’d like that,” I say honestly, thinking it would be nice to make an office friend in Charlotte.

“Great,” she says. “Well, I’ve got to grab some copies. And I wear my earbuds a lot, so if you want to talk IM me. I promise I’m not ignoring you, but it’s been so quiet here I play music to fill the dead space.”

I smile. “Okay. Thank you for the welcome, Charlotte.”

“Good luck,” Charlotte says, smiling back. Then she heads down the hall.

The second she’s out of sight I reach for my phone.

And see that Beckett has indeed texted me back.

I didn’t want to get you in trouble by talking. I don’t have a game tonight, but I want to talk about this social media crap. You and me. Not Evan. Not the agency people. And not your boss, who looks pissed off when she doesn’t have that fake PR smile slapped on her face. I’m asking a lot of you, I know that. I understand if you won’t do it. But I trust you. Only you.

Beckett reads the situation the same as I do. And while I know I should say no, I can’t. I want to say yes. Yes because I want to help him. Yes because I like him. Yes because I trust him more than I do the people who just hired me.

Before I can reply, another text drops in.

I don’t mean to put you in an awkward spot. If I’ve overstepped my bounds, I’m sorry. You can forget I asked.

I know what rule I should follow. I know what I should do.

I should tell him a polite
no
.

But I’m making an amendment to that rule for Beckett.

I’m not going to tell him no.

I text him back.

You aren’t an official client yet, Captain Smart Ass. I’ll talk to you.

Then, before I regain my senses, I hit ‘send.’

Beckett replies momentarily.

LOL. At practice now, can’t be late or I can’t play. Can you come up for dinner around seven? I can order us something. I’m in 25D.

Oh.my.God.

He asked me to dinner.

At his place.

But since he sees this as a work discussion with a friend, and we want to keep it on the down low, it makes sense.

I text him back.

Okay. Your consulting fee is a cheese thin-crust pizza. With a side of fries. And ranch dressing for dipping.

I wait to see how he responds to that. And, of course, he does.

Wow. Wasn’t anticipating a consulting fee but I will have it paid in full upon your arrival. As disgusting as it is. Because who eats just cheese pizza? See you tonight.

And with his funny response, I feel a blush radiating across my cheeks. Happiness floats down my spine. I know I’m in trouble. Big, big, trouble. He’s sexy, he’s funny, he’s kind, and he will be the death of me.

Okay, that’s perhaps a wee bit dramatic, but that’s how I feel.

Even though I know I shouldn’t be meeting with him, although I know he is seeking me out for advice, although I know this is probably a stupid thing to do and against all my rules I’ve carefully thought of and handwritten in my journal, I don’t care. I find myself rewriting the rules when it comes to Beckett.

And tonight I’ll see if anything needs to be rewritten next.

"I still can’t believe you are having dinner with
Beckett Riley,
” Livy says. “Chicago hockey God. Superstar. And incredibly
hot.
”

I finish putting on my mascara as I hold my phone against my ear. “Livy, I told you. It’s
business.
”

“Okay. Then why did you send me pictures of not one, not two, but
three
different outfits to choose from for dinner tonight?”

“I want to look appropriate,” I counter, but even as I say the words, I know it’s a pathetic lie.

I want to look good for Beckett.

“Well, I think you look fantastic in the skinny jeans and sweater.”

I screw up my nose as I stare at my reflection. With Livy’s help, I’ve decided on the J Brand dark wash skinny jeans, my suede Vince over the knee boots, and a fitted cream sweater. My hair is loose and wavy, and I put on some more mascara to make my hazel eyes really pop.

“Well, we’re going over social media strategy so I could have probably come over in my pajamas for all he cares,” I say, sliding the mascara wand back into the bottle.

“Well, if you stopped off at Nordstrom on the way home and got something sheer, lacy, and with a G-string to sleep in, your business meeting with
The Captain
might take a more interesting turn.
Oh Captain,
” Livy breathes. “Oh,
My Captain
, take me now.”

“Livy!” I yell, embarrassment sweeping through me as I toss the mascara back into my makeup bag, “that’s not even on his radar screen.”

“How do you know what’s on his radar screen?”

“Argh.”

“Hey, we haven’t even talked about your first day,” Livy says aloud. “Well, of course your first day included being asked out by Beck—”

“No. Not asked out. Asked for a consultation,” I interrupt. “And I’ll sum up my day because I need to get going. My boss is threatened by younger women and marked her territory. I’m not a coordinator but
staff
to her as I actually had to bring her breakfast today. And lunch. And a snack. I’m sure I’ll be picking up her prescriptions and dry cleaning within days. Charlotte is the girl across from me and she’s nice. The HR guy, Stuart, was helpful with forms. The end.”

“Okay I’ll take that for now but call me when you get back from Beckett’s,” Livy pleads. “I’m
dying
to hear what happens.”

“Um,
nothing
but I’ll call you all the same,” I promise.

We hang up. I slide a cuff bracelet onto my wrist, a metal one that Livy made for me last year that has the geometric design of folded ribbon.

Then I reach for my Miss Dior Eau Fraiche and spritz some on the base of my throat. I adore this perfume, it’s fresh and floral and smells so good on my skin. Not that I need perfume for a business discussion, but I always wear perfume when going out—it’s one of my rules, after all—and this is no exception.

I place the bottle back down on my silver tray and then head out, grabbing my tote off the hall table and slinging it over my shoulder. I pause to lock up, and then I head to the elevators.

I’m about to hit the button when I stop myself. Nerves take over. Am I doing the right thing? I step back from the elevator, my brain challenging my emotions. I shouldn’t do this. I can’t. I could blow up my career. I could get a shit reputation in the social media circles if this ever got out. I’ve worked long hours and studied hard for
years
for this chance, to build this dream in Chicago, and I could lose everything by getting involved with Beckett.

I’ve never, ever had a conflict like this before. Work is work. Personal is personal. I’m friendly with people in the office, I’m good at going to company team building events, but I always kept my personal life out of it.

But Beckett became a part of your personal life before ChicagoConnect became a part of your work life,
my heart challenges.

Damn it. I’m overanalyzing this. Yes, it’s wrong what I’m about to do. But Beckett saved my interview, I
owe
him this. I know he won’t let anyone know we met.

And maybe sometimes as an adult it’s okay to bend rules when you need to.

So before I change my mind and cancel, I punch the up button.

The doors chime open, and I nervously step inside. I would bite my lip, but I don’t want red lipstick on my teeth, so I pace the elevator instead as it climbs toward the 25
th
floor.

Okay. I can be poised and professional about this. Well, calling him Captain Smart Ass isn’t professional, but I called him that before I knew him as a potential client so I’ll bend another rule on that.

Jeez. I really will need a whole new notebook to write rules in for Beckett.

The elevator chimes and the doors open to the 25
th
floor.

Emotions swirl within me. Part panic. Part excitement. I’m tingling from head to toe as I move toward his unit. I take a deep breath, trying to feel some form of calm before I ring his doorbell. Damn it, I wish I took yoga with Livy. She would know some kind of calming breathing technique.