The Aubrey Rules

by Aven Ellis

  So why is he doing this?

  Beckett appraises Mallory for a second, as if he’s putting weight to her thoughts. Then he shifts his gaze to me. “What’s your background?”

  Okay, maybe not.

  So much for banana brown spot counting and not speaking today.

  I clear my throat. “I studied communications at the University of Washington. I did two internships with social media firms in Seattle each summer.”

  “So, Beckett, as you can—” Mallory begins, but Beckett cuts her off.

  “I’m not finished speaking to Aubrey.”

  Oh shit. Shit. I flinch. His voice is strong, and it’s obvious that the determined captain is going to direct the conversation from this point forward.

  The room is silent. I feel Mallory stiffen next to me, and I’m sure she’s livid that Beckett isn’t interested in listening to her.

  “What did you handle?” Beckett asks, his eyes focused on me.

  “I created posts for various social media platforms, researched trending content, and analyzed data.”

  “This included tweets and Instagram, right?”

  “Of course.”

  Beckett leans back in his chair, apparently satisfied with this answer. “I want her to handle my Twitter and Instagram.”

  “Why don’t we leave this open for discussion in our next meeting?” Evan suggests.

  “Why?” Beckett asks. “I know what I want.”

  “While I have no doubt Aubrey is one of our future talents,” Tom says, trying to wrestle back control of the conversation, “we feel it’s best to have her work as part of a team on your account at this point in her career. You need the guidance of experts, and that’s why you sought us out, Beckett. Let us do what’s best for you.”

  Okay. Okay. Good answer.

  “No,” Beckett says.

  Gah, no? Why is he so hellbent on me? And before I can stop myself, I blurt out, “Why me?”

  “You’re my age. I need someone who can understand where I’m at and reflect that,” Beckett says. Then he turns to Mallory. “And Mallory, while you might have more experience, I don’t think this person is you.”

  Gah! I’m so screwed, and it’s not even noon.

  “And,” Beckett says, continuing and interrupting my thoughts, “I think Aubrey is the person who can do this for me.”

  My thoughts shift away from Mallory with his last words. I feel my heart pound against my ribs. In our short time together, Beckett thinks I can get him. That I can carry his message forward into the world in a way that is genuine and real.

  And the fact that he wants to put his brand, his image, his future into my unproven hands means the world to me, even if it doesn’t happen.

  Beckett pushes back the sleeve on his watch, checking the time. Silence fills the room again. An incredibly awkward silence, because Beckett had pretty much thrown down his terms for gaining his business.

  Me.

  And then it hits me. I’m the linchpin to ChicagoConnect landing Beckett Riley and building a sports arm to the agency. This is insane.

  And exhilarating at the same time.

  Evan finally clears his throat. “I think we all have a lot to think about, and we’ll be in touch soon,” he says, rising.

  “We’d really love the opportunity to build your image and brand, Beckett,” Tom says, coming around the table to shake his hand. “I’ll see you both out.”

  We all rise to say goodbye, with me holding my breath as Beckett gazes at me from across the room. Then he turns and walks out with his agent and Tom, Alyssa and Mallory following behind.

  I don’t exhale until they are out of sight. And then my head nearly explodes from all the thoughts swirling in it. That Beckett ended up here, in the same meeting, with me. That he only trusts me—the girl who has been nothing short of a loon in front of him—to handle his media. That not only does he want me to be his person, he’s demanding it.

  “Wow,” Neilson says, scooping up her plate and napkin off the conference table. “I bet you never thought you’d see that on your first day, did you?”

  I shake my head as I begin gathering up the cups and napkins strewn about.

  “No,” I say softly.

  Neilson smiles at me as she drops her stuff into the trash. “Obviously having someone younger represent him is important,” she muses aloud. “Kind of crazy, because he doesn’t know you.”

  No, it’s even crazier because he does know me. In the worst way possible as far as being a professional.

  Unless calling your future client Captain Smart Ass and telling him you are bloated is the new version of being a social media pro.

  Oy.

  “Anyway, you can put leftovers in the break room. Down the hall and to your left. They’ll be devoured before lunch.”

  “Okay,” I say, nodding.

  “And welcome to ChicagoConnect,” Neilson adds, pausing before heading out the door.

  “Thank you,” I say, smiling at her.

  But as soon as she leaves, my smile evaporates. Mallory is going to be pissed that Beckett didn’t want her direction or her team for this account.

  And prefers the services of the banana spot counter instead.

  I finish cleaning up the conference room and take the leftovers to the break room. Then I find my way back to my new desk, and before I can even put my pen down, I hear Mallory.

  “Aubrey, please come into my office.”

  Shit.

  I steel myself and walk through her door. To my amazement, she has her back to me and is now viewing shoes on the Neiman Marcus website.

  Seriously, the first thing she does after an incredibly tense meeting is look at shoes? What about emails? Phone messages? Text messages? Anything?

  “Yes, Mallory?” I say to announce my presence.

  Mallory minimizes her screen. Then she swivels around in her chair, cocking her head to one side. “Aubrey, you shouldn’t date clients. It’s so unprofessional.”

  What? What the hell? Dating?

  “I’m sorry?” I ask, taken aback by that comment. “What are you implying?”

  “It’s obvious Beckett has some interest in you,” Mallory says, her eyes laser sharp on mine. “For whatever reason.”

  Okay, it might be my first day, but I don’t put up with crap. From anyone, including my new boss.

  “I think Beckett has more interest in my age being closer to his,” I say truthfully. “And he thinks, rightly or wrongly, that I can add a more authentic voice to his account. Which I will happily do if that is what this agency desires.”

  “I think that’s a possibility,” a voice from behind says.

  I turn around and see Tom standing in the doorway.

  “This is a highly unusual situation, but Beckett is our first potential professional athlete client, so we are going to have to be flexible with him. And we can help guide you behind the scenes, too. But I want this account. It would be huge for ChicagoConnect, so if this is what we need to do to land it, we’ll do it.”

  I feel exhilarated by his words. I’m going to get a chance to do something substantial right out of the gate. And not working on something mundane or boring, but with Beckett.

  With Beckett.

  Okay, while this will pose its own challenges, you know, like me being attracted to him, I know I can find a way to manage it.

  Which will be easier because Beckett sees me as the funny girl, not the hot girl he’d ever want to date.

  So why does that idea bring down my elation a notch?

  “Right, Mallory?” Tom says directly, interrupting my thoughts.

  I glance at her. She looks as if she’d rather eat cut glass than agree with him.

  “Sure,” she says, f
orcing a pinched smile on her face.

  “Anyway, are you ready for our conference call with Wilson Ketchup?”

  Mallory rises. “Yes, I am.” Then she turns to me, smiling sweetly. “You can get situated at your desk. Stuart, our human resources rep, will see you this afternoon to go over all your paperwork and insurance options.”

  I nod. From the eye she’s giving me behind Tom’s back, I’m sure she’d rather be filling out my termination papers.

  “Okay,” I say.

  They walk down the hall together, and I sink down into my desk chair. I decide to distract myself by thinking of the things I’d like to add to my desk area to decorate it, such as a small lamp and some pictures, when my phone rings.

  I glance down at it. It’s an external call, because I can see the whole number on the caller ID.

  I clear my throat and pick it up. “ChicagoConnect, this is Aubrey.”

  “Aubrey, this is Captain Smart Ass.”

  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 dressi
ng 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.