The Rule Maker
by Jennifer Blackwood
The Rule Breakers #2
Publication Date: January 16, 2017
Genres: Adult, Entangled: Embrace, Contemporary Romance
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Synopsis:
Ten Steps to Surviving a New Job:
1. Don’t sleep with the client. It’ll get you fired. (Sounds easy enough.)
2. Don’t blink when new client turns out to be former one-night stand.
3. Don’t call same client a jerk for never texting you back.
4. Don’t believe client when he says he really, really wanted to call.
5. Remember, the client is always right—so you can’t junk punch him when he demands new design after new design.
6. Ignore accelerated heartbeat every time sexy client walks into room.
7. Definitely ignore client’s large hands. They just mean he wears big gloves.
8. Don’t let client’s charm wear you down. Be strong.
9. Whatever you do, don’t fall for the client. You’ll lose more than your job—maybe even your heart
10. If all else fails, see rule number one again.
Ten Steps to Surviving a New Job:
1. Don’t sleep with the client. It’ll get you fired. (Sounds easy enough.)
2. Don’t blink when new client turns out to be former one-night stand.
3. Don’t call same client a jerk for never texting you back.
4. Don’t believe client when he says he really, really wanted to call.
5. Remember, the client is always right—so you can’t junk punch him when he demands new design after new design.
6. Ignore accelerated heartbeat every time sexy client walks into room.
7. Definitely ignore client’s large hands. They just mean he wears big gloves.
8. Don’t let client’s charm wear you down. Be strong.
9. Whatever you do, don’t fall for the client. You’ll lose more than your job—maybe even your heart
10. If all else fails, see rule number one again.
EXCERPT
Chapter One
Rule #1:
Never eat while driving.
There was
nothing quite like indulging in pity I’m-single-on-Valentine’s-Day chocolate.
No man candy? No problem. Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups would surely fill the
chasm that was my love life.
“Siri, read
my emails.” I unwrapped the candy I’d stashed on my dash, plopped it in my
mouth, and put my car into drive.
“You have one
new email,” Siri replied. I loved my car for the sole reason that it had become
my command station, my badass Batmobile that could answer emails, texts, and
memos at a voice command. Okay, it was a Prius, but still. “Sender—Jason
Covington.”
I jerked back
in my seat and sucked in a breath, the chocolate hitting the back of my throat.
No. For the love of all that was holy, why was this man emailing me? Anyone but
him. I went to clear my throat, and the candy didn’t budge.
Crap.
“Ms.
Reynolds, it was a pleasure doing business with you on the Culver Cove Inn late
last year. I have recently purchased a new resort on Mount Rainier and would
like to hire your services again,” she said in her monotone voice.
Goose bumps
flecked my arms as I attempted to cough, to get some air into my burning lungs.
I mean, if I had to choose a way to pass on to an afterlife filled with
never-ending reruns of my favorite shows, self-filling coffee cup, and
unlimited free wifi, death by chocolate was decidedly the best way to go.
Chocolate fountain, satin pie, éclair…hell, I’d even settle for a Snickers.
And, as fate would have it, I’d be taking a visit to the white pearly gates
with a Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup lodged in the back of my throat. But I still
had seven episodes until I was caught up on Supernatural, and I hadn’t made it
to the highest level in Candy Crush. I didn’t have time for dying yet.
My eyes
filled with tears as I fought to extricate the candy from my mouth, attempting
to give myself the Heimlich maneuver. And, if my burning lungs were any
indication, failing miserably. I looked out at the sidewalk, and of course, at
this time of day, there was no one in sight.
“I’ll need
you to take measurements today so we can discuss the design on Monday. Keys
will be sent to you within the hour. Best, Jason Covington.” There was a pause
and then Siri asked, “Do you wish to respond to the email?”
No! I wanted
to scream. Instead, salt and pepper particles invaded my vision. This was it,
I’d die sitting in the spot outside my apartment, listening to an email from a
stupid Covington. Even if this particular one wasn’t the target of my wrath,
blood relation was enough to taint my opinion.
“I’m sorry, I
didn’t catch that. Would you like to respond to the email?” Siri repeated.
All I could
do was keep pounding my stomach, cursing him seven ways to Sunday. I somehow
managed a garbled noise that could possibly pass as a no.
“I’m sorry, I
didn’t catch that.”
Screw you,
Siri. For what I paid my phone carrier, she should be able to give me a damn
Heimlich herself.
My vision
continued to fade and the clock was ticking as I choked my way into
unconsciousness. This was it. My last meal had been screw-this-Hallmark-holiday
candy and a friggin’ ex-fling was going to be seared into my final fleeting
thoughts. What a way to go.
In a last
ditch effort, I took hold of the steering wheel with shaking hands and rammed
my stomach into it. The piece of chocolate shot out of my mouth and hit the
windshield with a splat. It slid down the glass and left a brown slug trail
behind it. Sweet, delicious air rushed through my now-clear windpipe and the
particles swarming my vision dissipated.
I held my
head in my hands, taking deep, shuddering breaths, and cursed the day I decided
to take my client’s brother, Ryder Covington, to bed.
…
Three
hours—and much-needed gulping of air—later, I parked my car, facing the
snow-capped mountaintop that lay as a backdrop to one of the many ski resorts
on Mt. Rainier. This one just happened to be closed for renovations. My
renovations. And nothing made me happier than having my mind busy with plans
for a new project. It even overshadowed the whole choking incident earlier.
I pulled my
windblown hair into a messy bun, smoothed my black eyelet lace skirt, and
glanced down at my list of specs I needed to acquire. Room layouts, size,
supporting structures, the basics. Then, I had the simple task of creating
mock-ups that blew the mind of Jason Covington, the most uptight, eccentric
billionaire on the West Coast. He earned that title during our last job
together. If I hurried, I could make it back to my apartment in time to
implement my original plan for tonight: catch up on Supernatural while gorging
on microwave popcorn. Maybe if I was feeling really wild, I’d go for the good
stuff. The kind where the bag disintegrated into a sopping mess within twenty
minutes due to grease concentration. This was obviously the makings of the best
Valentine’s Day ever. Or most pathetic. I hadn’t decided yet.
Air gusted
through my open window, ruffling my hair and the pages of my planner in the
passenger seat. I took another few seconds to revel in the warmth and give
myself a mini pep talk.
Time to get
my butt into gear and turn on my designer mode.
Deep breaths.
No need to panic just because of the little fact I was working on my ex-fling’s
brother’s resort. Try saying that ten times fast.
I grabbed my
camera bag from the floor of the passenger seat, plus my notebook and measuring
tape, and kicked the door shut behind me.
Gravel
crunched under my heels as I made my way to the main lodge. Normally I liked to
go through the space with the client to get a feel for what they had in mind
for the remodel. On my first project with Jason, he’d also asked me to scout
the place without him. Weird, yes, but it didn’t surprise me that I was here
solo for this project.
Bring it on,
Jason Covington. I can take whatever you throw at me.
I’d managed
to hold my own at the most prestigious firm in the city. I was totally ready
for this project.
That was
until I pulled open the door to the main lodge.
My breath
caught in my throat. I’d like to say it was because the entryway was just that
beautiful, but what lay in front of me was a chaotic array of chairs,
paintings, and wood paneling that screamed seventies love children were
conceived here. The seventies had a lot going for itself. I mean, there was
Clint Eastwood, ABBA, Cher. This did not have any of that charm—it was just
plain outdated, ugly-as-sin, burn-this-place-to-the-ground disgusting. I
gulped, forcing stagnant, musty air down my throat.
My fingers
ran over the burnt orange window casing as I eyed the suit of armor—missing an
arm and foot, propped up in the middle of the room—along with the remains of a
broken disco ball, shattered into thousands of pieces.
Design
situation: nightmare
Designer
emotion: tonight’s greasy popcorn would better serve as lighter fluid to torch
this disaster to the ground.
Jason’s email
failed to mention that I’d be getting asbestos poisoning and possible death by
disco ball with one wrong move. No wonder he sent me to do this alone.
I coughed as
I inhaled another breath of noxious air, and beelined for the first available
window. After unlocking it, I tugged at the pane and tried to pull it open. It
gave a protesting whine as I inched it up the track, and slammed shut when I
let go.
I decided not
to take that as an ominous clue that I’d entered some kind of resort of
tortures, and instead scanned the room for something to prop the window open.
After passing over a rusted brass candlestick and a fireplace poker, I settled
on an old piece of firewood stacked in the corner. I slid it between the sill
and the cracked wood and breathed in the fresh air.
Now that air
circulated in the room, making it slightly more tolerable, I took my phone out
of my pocket to snap pics for reference when I went back to the office to
design the mock-ups…and okay, maybe text a few to my best friend Lainey,
because she really needed to witness this hellhole. Just as I was about to
click into camera mode, a call came through, Jason’s number flashing across the
screen.
“Hello?”
“Ms.
Reynolds. Are you at Divinity?”
“Yes.” I sat
down on the windowsill, tucked my phone between my ear and my shoulder, and
grabbed my pen and notebook in my purse. “It’s quite…something.” That was the
only non-offensive adjective I had readily available at the moment.
“It is.” He
paused and I heard the sound of papers shuffling in the background. “I expect
you’ll have ample ideas for renovations.”
Burn it all!
I ached to say, but I really liked my job and Jason wasn’t the sort to joke
around, even in his best mood. “Of course. I’ll have designs ready for you by
Monday.” I picked at a thread on my skirt and crossed my legs.
“I wanted to
give you advance notice—”
His words
were lost on me, because at that moment, something black and furry with eight
legs skittered across the top of my skirt. A scream that could be heard from
the other side of the mountain range ripped out of me, and at once I was on my
feet, swiping at my skirt, hopping, cussing, regretting my choice of incredibly
high heels.
I stared at
the ground, frantically trying to find the culprit. He could have been
anywhere. I shuddered.
My ankles
buckled as I jerked in an uncoordinated, spastic version of an Irish jig. If I
had a most-hated list, spiders took the number two spot, second only to clowns.
And maybe this resort.
My pulse
pounded as I twisted my skirt around. And a second time, just to make sure. No
sign of my eight-legged nemesis. I looked around the floor. Nothing. He was
here somewhere, hiding. I could feel his beady gaze on me, plotting my untimely
death.
And then my
ringtone began to blast.
Crap.
I’d totally
just had a freak-out while on the phone with Jason. So much for acting like a
twenty-four-year-old professional. I made a quick search of the ground and the
windowsill for my phone and came up empty. I listened for the ringtone,
tracking the sound…which came from a distance. I swallowed hard and peeked my
head outside and looked down. Nestled between foliage of a bush four feet
below, my phone continued to ring. And then cut to voicemail. Followed by
another call.
I swallowed
hard. The longer I took to answer Jason’s call, the angrier he’d get, and I
wasn’t exactly winning any points at the moment. The phone was well within
reach. It would have to be because if I were to go around the building, that
would take at least a few minutes, and I already needed to do some major
butt-kissing after screaming in Jason’s ear. I scanned the sill for any sign of
the creepy crawly, and once I was satisfied that he wasn’t anywhere near me, I
leaned out the window.
In a totally
unladylike fashion that would have my aunt raising her brow at me, I reached
over the sill, legs seesawing to steady myself so I didn’t face-plant into a
flower bed. My skirt rode up way past acceptable as my fingers grazed my phone.
I wiggled on
the sill, and just as my hand grabbed my cell, I bumped the piece of firewood
and the window hit the small of my back with a thud hard enough to leave me
fighting for air. I struggled to backtrack into the room, and the sill dug into
my stomach, the weight of the window pressing into the top of my butt.
This was it.
The resort had a death wish for me.
My phone
continued to ring, and I had no choice but to answer it. “Mr. Covington. I am
so sorry. I don’t know what came over me.”
“Are you
okay?” His tone dripped with more irritation than concern. I’d expect nothing
less from him.
I looked
behind me at the windowsill. My body was effectively pinned down, the pane too
heavy to lift from this angle. He’d be less than sympathetic for my situation.
In fact, I’d witnessed him fire vendors for less stupidity than this. “Yes.”
Absolutely no
need to panic. None at all. Not with a Chewbacca-level-hairy spider on the
loose. I bet it made Wookie noises before sinking its fangs into its victims.
“I was going
to tell you that I’m sending someone up there today—”
“Great.” I
knew I was being rude, interrupting him, but I needed to figure out how to get
out of this situation before I turned into a human popsicle. “Sounds
wonderful.” A note of hysteria laced my words.
“Are you sure
everything is okay?”
“Of course.
I’m just enjoying this breathtaking view.” As the blood rushes to my head.
“It is quite
beautiful. Well, I’ll let you get back to it. Have a good day.”
“You, too.”
As I hung up, I twisted to assess the damage the best I could. Besides a most
definite bruise forming on my lower back and a dirty smudge on my white shirt,
nothing was broken or ripped. I sighed. How the hell was I supposed to get out
of this?
As I saw it,
I had three options:
a) pray that
I suddenly developed telekinesis
b) somehow
induce an adrenaline rush that would give me Hulk-like abilities
c) beg the
Chewbacca spider to bite me so I could die a quick, painless death before one
of Jason’s employees found me and reported back to him that I was completely
incompetent
The first two
options seemed a tad unattainable at the moment. The latter option erred on the
side of melodramatic, even if this was a sucktastic situation. A tickle webbed
across my calf, but I brushed away my paranoia. This would be totally fine. In
the meantime, I’d just enjoy the beautiful scenery. While cursing this whole
place.
After
fighting a few more seconds and failing, I resigned myself to the fact that not
even Crisco would get me out of this jam.
I did the
only thing that seemed appropriate. Texted my best friend.
Zoey: SOS
Lainey:
What’s up?
Zoey: I have
a situation.
Lainey: …are
you going for the suspense factor, cause it’s working.
I took a
selfie and hit send.
Lainey: OMG.
Are you…uh…stuck in a window?
Zoey: Yup.
Lainey: What
the hell happened?
Zoey: This
resort is alive and is actually trying to kill me. Tell my dad that I love him.
Lainey: Only
if I get to keep the couch and your Chanel purse once you pass.
Zoey: You are
ruthless.
Lainey: I
can’t help myself. For real though, do you need me to come get you?
Zoey: No, one
of Jason’s guys will be here later today. It’ll be embarrassing AF, but at
least it’s not Jason, right?
Lainey:
#truth Also, WTF is on your leg, dude?
My leg? I
spread my two fingers over my screen, enlarging the picture I’d sent Lainey and
froze at the sight of my hairy foe on my left calf.
No, no, no!
I thrashed
and screamed in the sill, the window not budging even a millimeter. My scream
echoed through the canyon, and if there was enough snow on the mountain, an
avalanche would soon follow. Then, at least, I wouldn’t have to worry about the
fact that Chewbacca was picking out china patterns for its new home. Sweat
beaded on my brow as I continued to struggle.
Just as the
initial sting of tears invaded my vision, the distant sound of gravel crunched
from the direction of the parking lot. Thank the lord, my savior had arrived.
I could play
this off as a total accident, right? Maybe bribe him not to tell Jason?
A tall,
broad-chested figure limped down the path on a pair of crutches, and my stomach
bottomed out.
Shit.
It looked
just like…no…it couldn’t be.
My pulse
pounded triple time in my temples as the crunch tap crunch tap crunch of gravel
under his tread drew closer.
“Zoey?” a low,
gruff voice asked.
No.
I’d recognize
those wide shoulders anywhere. The backs of my legs knew them intimately.
Ryder.
Freaking. Covington.
Okay,
Chewbacca. Any time now. Sink those fangs into my leg and end this Valentine’s
Day from hell already.
Ryder stopped
a few feet from the window, looking like he’d seen the Ghost of Christmas Past
coming to bite him in the ass.
“Yup. It’s
me,” I said.
He quickly
recovered, his lips curling into a smile I’d once found charming. “You know,
there’s this thing called a door. Some people use it to go in and out of
buildings.”
I flipped him
off. Immature? Most definitely. I blamed it on the blood rushing to my head.
And the fact the one-night stand I had with him was the reason for my current
string of sexual encounters of the lackluster kind.
He’d ruined
me, in the worst way, for all other men. I hated him.
He chuckled
and the deep bass of his voice shook down my spine. “Fair enough. I deserved
that. What are you doing hanging out of the window?”
“I’m stuck.”
Understatement of the century.
“I figured.”
He hesitated, looking unsure. “Want help?”
My first
instinct was to blurt out “go to hell!” I didn’t need a goddamn thing from this
person who single-handedly ruined my sex life. It was petty and I knew it, but
a girl could only go so long on crappy sex before she started to feel a little
stabby.
I
instinctively reached to pull my skirt lower with one hand, and hit glass. It
was up to the clothing malfunction gods at this point whether or not this day
could get any worse.
“You want to
keep burning a hole through my head or do you want me to help you?”
“Fine. But if
you touch anywhere besides clothed areas I’m going to put my stiletto through
your skull, capisce?” I managed to keep my voice authoritative and firm,
nothing like the shakiness flowing through my body. That was how being around
Ryder had made me feel from the first time we met—like I’d just come off an
intense adrenaline high.
He put his
hands up. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
I sunk back
down and rested my arms on the sill, waiting to be sprung from the window. I
prided myself on being self-sufficient, never needing help from others,
especially dirt-bag hookups. And yet here I was.
He moved
closer until the soft fabric of his faded shirt brushed against my arm, and I
bit back a gasp. His rich cologne mingled with his detergent, and my eyes
rolled back in my head at the heavenly scent. Most men that I’d dated smelled
good in that dude-musk sort of way. Ryder took it to a completely different
level, one that induced visceral reactions such as drool and the sudden need to
find something to do with my hands, anything so I didn’t fist his shirt.
Within
seconds, he had the window open, and a firm hand wrapped around my hips. A wave
of goose bumps bloomed across my skin as he pulled me down, depositing me on
the gravel path, supporting me with his arm. I wobbled unsteadily in my heels
and looked up at my ex-hookup, and the breath rushed from my chest like I’d
actually taken a physical blow. Ryder stood there, henley pulled tight across
his muscled chest. The color matched his ocean-blue eyes. He’d traded his
clean-shaven face of a few months ago for a neatly trimmed beard that ran along
his chiseled jaw. Which, let’s be honest here, the whole light-eyes dark-hair
thing did it for me. A lot. I might dislike the guy, but holy hell, he’d gotten
even hotter since I’d last seen him. He looked over me, assessing, and then
quickly bent down and swatted my leg.
“Ow! What was
that for?” I retreated a step, stumbling as I rubbed at the spot he’d hit. When
my fingers hit a squishy mound, it took every ounce of self-control not to dry
heave. “You killed Chewbacca.”
His brows
creased, and some of the tension eased as he visibly hid a laugh. “You named
him after a Star Wars character?”
I shrugged.
“It seemed appropriate.”
I stood there
for a few moments, unsure of what to do. Grab my keys from the lodge, book it
out of here, and apologize profusely to Jason, or snap on the big-girl panties
and continue taking measurements? Decisions, decisions.
I took
another step back and bumped into the wall. I was just full of smooth moves
today. “Well, thanks for that.”
His big,
calloused hand brushed a stray lock of hair out of my face, sending heat
radiating between my legs. His lips pulled into a smile, one that deposited my
undergarments straight into the panty incinerator.
Nope,
panties, no time for vaporizing. You hate him, remember?
My body was a
traitorous wench.
I crossed my
arms, trying to hold my ground. “What are you doing here, anyway, Ryder?” When
Jason said someone was coming to Divinity, I didn’t think he’d meant his
brother.
It was his
turn to fold his arms over his chest. “Jason wanted me to check on a few
things. I wasn’t expecting to have company.”
What he
really meant to say: I really wasn’t expecting to see you.
“Same.” I
stared down at my stiletto heel, digging it into the gravel. Birds chirped,
wind rustled through the trees, and we continued to stand there in silence.
So. Freaking.
Awkward. This could end any time now.
He cleared
his throat and thumbed at the braided leather bracelet on his wrist. “Well,
guess it’s time to go our separate ways.” He reached for a set of crutches
propped against the building. And just like that, his smile faded, dismissing
the incident, like he often ran into ex-hookups and saved them from dangling
out of windows. Who knew—maybe he did.
I glanced at
his leg, taking in the black boot encasing his leg.
Mr. Pro
Snowboarder on crutches?
If I weren’t
fighting the intense urge to impale him with my stiletto, I’d maybe consider
doing the polite thing and strike up conversation. Ask how he hurt himself. But
let’s be real, that wasn’t going to happen without the aid of a lot of alcohol,
or a lobotomy. “Well, thanks for that.” I hitched my thumb toward the window.
“I think you’ve achieved superhero status for the day.”
He grinned.
“Good to know there are two in the vicinity.”
“Excuse me?”
He lifted a
brow. “C’mon, I’d have thought the Flash would be better at getting out of
tight situations. I’m a little disappointed.”
What the…?
Why would he call me that?
I winced and
groaned as realization hit. My red-zone laundry situation meant I’d snagged the
last pair of underwear in my drawer—the Flash undies that I’d used under my
costume junior year of college. It even had a bright yellow lightning bolt
across the ass.
Lord hath
very little mercy for me today.
“Ass.” I
should have come up with a better comeback than that. I should have slapped
that smug grin off his face. I should have done something. But all I could do
was think about his bare chest hovering above me, his eyes blazing into mine as
I lost myself in his touch back in November.
“Is that a
reference to me or your underwear?”
Oh! The nerve
of this guy.
By the time
any semblance of a response surfaced in my mind, he’d already made his way up
the path toward the front of the building. “It was a pleasure, Flash,” he
called, waving one crutch, not bothering to look back.
The sun had
moved and was now hidden by the tree line, forming shadows over Ryder’s
retreating figure. A gigantic rain cloud glided across the sky with alarming
speed, heading straight for the resort. Nothing on the weather forecast called
for rain, but then again, when did I ever fully trust the weather app?
After I’d
finished taking pictures and measurements of the main lodge area, Ryder had
disappeared somewhere deep in the resort, and a storm had rolled in on the
mountain. When I peered out the coke-bottle glass windows, snow came down in
sheets, creating white-out conditions. There was no way I was leaving the
resort tonight.
And Ryder’s
car was still in the parking lot.
MUSIC PLAYLIST –
The
Rule Maker by Jennifer Blackwood
Playlist:
Bad Blood- Taylor Swift
Neighbors Know My Name by Trey Songz
3:16 AM by Jhené Aiko
Partition by Beyoncé
Wildest Dreams by Taylor Swift
Stay With Me Sam Smith
Want To Want Me by Jason Derulo
Pony by Ginuwine
Tonight (Best You Ever Had) by John Legend
Love Me Like You Do by Ellie Goulding
Neighbors Know My Name by Trey Songz
3:16 AM by Jhené Aiko
Partition by Beyoncé
Wildest Dreams by Taylor Swift
Stay With Me Sam Smith
Want To Want Me by Jason Derulo
Pony by Ginuwine
Tonight (Best You Ever Had) by John Legend
Love Me Like You Do by Ellie Goulding
DON'T MISS THE FIRST BOOK IN THE SIZZLING RULE BREAKERS SERIES!
The Rule Book
by Jennifer Blackwood
The Rule Breakers #1
Publication Date: May 9, 2016
Genres: Adult, Entangled: Embrace, Contemporary Romance
BUY:
Amazon: http://amzn.to/1T9BXK5
Paperback: http://amzn.to/1OmukvD
iBooks: http://apple.co/1TzmKQ9
Kobo: http://bit.ly/1UQHxDM
Amazon UK: http://amzn.to/1WmBzLK
Synopsis:
Starr Media Second-Assistant Survival Guide
Starr Media Second-Assistant Survival Guide
1. Don't call your hot boss the antichrist to his face.
2. Don't stare at hot boss's, um, package or his full sleeve of tattoos. (No. Really. Stop!)
3. Don't get on the malicious first assistant's bad side.
4. Don't forget to memorize the 300-page employee manual.
5. If you value your cashmere, steer clear of boss’s dog.
6. Boss’s dimples are lust-inducing. Do. Not. Give. In.
7. “The elevator ate your clothes” is not a valid excuse for showing up to important meetings half dressed.
8. Don't break seven of the rules within the first week of employment if you, ya know, are in dire need of money to support your sick mom.
9. Whatever you do, don’t fall for the boss. See rule eight about sick mom.
10. Never forget the rules.
ABOUT JENNIFER BLACKWOOD
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