The Rules
Authors: Becca Jameson
THE RULES
Becca Jameson
Copyright © 2015 Becca Jameson
Cover Art by Aimee Benson
All rights reserved.
ISBN-13: 978-0-9863360-0-3
Acknowledgements
I’d like to thank my beta reader extraordinaire, Kellie, for all her help in the middle of the night making sure I didn’t have any plot holes in this story. I’d also like to thank my editor, Aimee, for all her hard work fixing my craziness under a very tight deadline. Love you both!
Part One: His Rules
Chapter One
His gaze penetrated me from behind the moment I settled myself on the bar stool. It defied all logic, but I was very familiar with Mr. Alexander’s stare by now.
He was approaching me, another bit of unreasonable knowledge I couldn’t explain.
Cheyenne and Meagan sat across from me at the high-top table, completely oblivious to my plight. They’d arrived before me and were already sipping cosmos.
What I wanted to do was flee the room, get back in my car, drive away from Sky, and pretend I’d never decided to darken the doors of this particular exclusive nightclub. But that wasn’t what I did. First of all, I was frozen to the seat, my legs crossed and squeezed together, my hands in fists in my lap. Stressful situations always drew that stance from me.
Second of all, I was intrigued.
I watched Cheyenne’s face closely, knowing she would be the first to spot my boss and thus inform me through her facial expressions when he was on me. Meagan wasn’t as quick. And she was currently chatting away about some crazy woman from her office who made her life miserable. I’d heard all that before. In fact, Meagan had been complaining to Cheyenne before I arrived. She hadn’t paused except to nod at me and continue, flipping her long brown curls over her shoulder. Her deep brown eyes danced with the excitement of her tale.
Cheyenne leaned on one hand, her elbow poised on top of the table in a way that looked incredibly sexy. Cheyenne always looked sexy. She would look sexy wearing a trash bag after a week camping without shower facilities. That was Cheyenne. Her gorgeous blonde bob always looked like she’d had it cut and styled that very afternoon. And tonight was no exception. Everyone I knew envied her natural blonde hair and the gorgeous blue eyes that went with it. Meagan and I had met her the first week of college, and the three of us had been inseparable since then.
I kept my gaze on Cheyenne and didn’t miss the second her brows lifted and her eyes drifted above my head. She didn’t move a single other muscle, not even her face, just as I’d expected. What surprised me was Meagan. Suddenly, she stopped midsentence. That couldn’t be good.
I felt Mr. Alexander’s gaze. I even sensed his approach. I expected him to be coincidentally heading past my table to the bar, but there was the obscure possibility he would recognize me and greet me. I only had moments to consider the options.
What I did
not
expect was for a warm hand to land on my lower back—right in the oval cutout of my dress exposing my bare skin.
I sucked in a deep breath and tried not to flinch at this unexpected contact.
And then my boss of two weeks leaned into my space. His lips were only inches from my ear when he spoke. “Ms. Kensington.”
I turned toward him, completely flustered, only to find his attention now focused on my best friends.
“Ladies.” He nodded at them. “Would you mind if I borrowed Amelia for a moment?”
At this, Cheyenne sat up straight, her chin lifting off her palm, her eyes wide, her mouth open. It took her about two seconds to recover, and then she smiled demurely. “Of course.”
Meagan didn’t say a word. For a woman who could talk as much as my oldest friend in the world, the second a sexy man approached, she was always at a loss. Her face flushed instantly, and she blinked at my boss as though he were a ghost.
They would both be taken aback since no one had called me Amelia in years. Only my mother ever called me Amelia. I’d gone by Amy since childhood.
Mr. Alexander was the sexiest man I’d ever seen in my life. I’d noticed him the second I started working in his building and hadn’t been able to keep from shaking in his presence in the two weeks I’d been there. Every single time I was near him, I developed a twitch in every muscle. It was absurd and ridiculous, and totally unavoidable.
The man was my idea of perfection—tall, thick dark brown hair in need of a trim, a build that indicated he took care of his body, and green eyes that bore into a person and made them forget to blink. This was the first time I’d been out with my posse since starting my new job at Alexander Technologies, so I had yet to inform them of my boss’s attributes. That conversation had been on the docket for tonight. But judging from the reactions of my friends, I’d say I wasn’t alone in my assessment that Mr. Alexander was indeed perfection on legs.
Mr. Alexander wrapped his fingers around my biceps and helped me down from the stool.
It took me a moment, considering my legs were crossed and wouldn’t cooperate in untangling themselves, for me to stand. Plus, at five foot four, getting down from that stool required a small hop.
He didn’t release me, however, and I managed not to fall on my face. When I glanced at him, I swear a small smirk spread across his lips as though my plight were somewhat humorous and he was well aware of my height disadvantage.
He was patient as he guided me away from my friends toward the bar. He didn’t release my arm until we arrived, and then only to let his hand slide down to the small of my back once again. He managed to somehow control everything about my stance with that simple touch.
Granted, his fingers were long and spread wide, so they did keep me angled in the direction he desired as well as seeming to have the ability to actually hold me up should my knees decide to stop functioning properly. The tips of his fingers reached inside the open oval of my dress, both higher up my back and dipping low toward my ass. Another inch and his touch would be inappropriate.
Hell, another inch and I might have fainted, forget inappropriate.
Mr. Cade Alexander, owner and CEO of Alexander Technologies, had his hand splayed on my bare skin as he leaned against the bar with his opposite hip to speak to the bartender. What the hell universe had I fallen into?
My gaze landed on the bartender. For one thing, I would have melted into the floor if I looked at my boss and absorbed what I knew he was wearing from the glance I’d taken on the way toward the bar, the glance I’d snuck in when not worrying about tripping over my high heels and finding myself flat on the floor.
I’d only seen his profile, enough to make any woman’s panties wet. He wore a suit. The man was always in a suit. I’d considered that he might even sleep in suits. His tie wasn’t loosened like the majority of the evening’s patrons. Although, on second thought, I was sure he’d changed clothes since I’d seen him earlier in the day. He’d been in a gray suit at work, a matching gray tie and shirt. Now, he was wearing a black suit with a shocking maroon shirt and black tie. I’d never seen him in anything colored as boldly as that shirt.
In addition, I would bet my last dollar he’d shaved again this evening. His face, at least what I’d seen of it, was perfectly smooth as it always was. So unless he was one of those rare individuals born with very little, slow-growing facial hair, I had to assume he’d re-groomed before arriving at Sky.
The bartender was very attentive. He was tall and slim with dark messy hair. His gaze never left Mr. Alexander’s, and he leaned close to him, nodding as my boss gave him instructions I couldn’t make out over the din of the bar.
My face flushed when the bartender glanced in my direction, but he was unaffected. Finally, he righted himself, turned around, and headed to grab several items from behind the bar. Strange. At no point did my boss ask me what I might like to drink, and yet he’d apparently ordered me something. In moments, the bartender returned and handed Mr. Alexander a glass of white wine and a tumbler of something dark on the rocks.
My boss turned toward me, nodded at his arm, and lifted his elbow out from his body. He held a drink in each hand and wanted me to grab his bicep for our next journey.
I knew the moment the redness climbing up my cheeks increased. It wasn’t difficult to discern.
Mr. Alexander’s arm was solid. He didn’t have an ounce of fat anywhere on his body, and I gripped him as tightly as I dared while he escorted me to a table in the corner of the room.
I had the sense to twist my neck and glance back at my friends, both of whom were staring wide-eyed, their mouths hanging open, a giggle primed on the corners.
This was so far from funny, I would have slapped them both if I’d been closer.
The corner was darker than the rest of the bar, and Mr. Alexander set both glasses on the high round table before assisting me onto a stool. And by assist, I mean he held my hand at first, lifting it while I teetered forward, and then when that didn’t seem good enough, fast enough, or perhaps likely enough to occur without incident, he set his hands on my waist and settled me on the stool, not releasing me until he was satisfied I was in no danger of falling.
I still hadn’t spoken a word as he pulled the other stool around until it was almost too close to mine and set his own fine ass on it, his legs so much longer than mine it took no effort at all. He hooked one shoe over the bottom rung and then smiled at me before nodding toward the glass of wine and leaning it my direction. “It’s a 2007 Carneros Chardonnay. I think you’ll like it. I prefer the ’08 myself, but they’re out of it.”
My eyebrows rose. He thought I would like it? How did my boss have any idea what I drank, let alone what kind of wine? As the case would have it, I knew very little about wine, nothing about Chardonnay, and not an inkling about whatever brand he’d rattled off. I did, however, presume it cost a fortune.
I was young. Twenty-four. So far, the only wine I had consumed had come from very cheap packaging, usually with a screw top instead of a cork. I’d been in college for the last six years on a thin budget. Wine hadn’t factored into my monthly expenses at any point. And since I’d graduated, I’d delegated every resource to securing a better apartment and scrounging around for appropriate clothing to wear to an office full of the most stylish people I’d ever seen in my life. Again, not wine.
I picked up the glass and took a sip. To do otherwise would have been rude.
My eyes closed as I swallowed. He wasn’t kidding. It was crisp, fruity, and delicious. I took another sip before I set the glass down. After all, if I was going to face off with the hunk of testosterone on the seat next to me, I needed fortification.
“Is there something you needed, sir?” I finally asked.
Mr. Alexander had done nothing but stare at me, and his brow was furrowed. I was close to developing a complex. Finally, he grabbed his tie with one hand and adjusted it. He took a sip of his own drink and then faced me, clearing his throat. “I’ve never seen you here before.” He completely ignored my question.
I shook my head. “I’ve never been here before.” This was true. At no point in my short adult life had I had the funds, the clothes, or the wherewithal to enter Sky. But the girls and I were celebrating. We had all received our master’s degrees in the last few weeks and landed jobs. As a way to mark this monumental event in our lives, we’d decided to act like grownups tonight, splurge beyond our means, and hit the hottest nightclub in the Atlanta area.
I had not for one second expected to encounter anyone I knew. After all, my friend set included other young twenty-somethings also fresh out of school with a pile of debts and an emergent need for better housing and clothing. Such was the way with recent graduates.
A renewed flush crept up my neck and cheeks when it occurred to me that perhaps my boss didn’t like the idea of my being in this club.
His gaze flicked to my lips, and I realized I was chewing on the lower one, a bad habit I’d always had when I was nervous. I’d never been as nervous as I was at that moment, and my lip was in imminent danger of bleeding if I didn’t stop.
Mr. Alexander must have thought the same thing because he lifted his hand to my face, gently set his fingers on my cheek, and tugged my lip out from between my teeth with his thumb.