The Aubrey Rules

by Aven Ellis

  “How rude of me,” I say as I lock my hands around the back of his neck.

  “Very rude,” he agrees.

  “So where should the tour start?” I flirt back.

  “The bedroom,” Beckett demands.

  With those words, he carries me off toward the master bedroom, kissing me as he does.

  I lose myself in his arms, feeling his warm skin against mine, and I can’t think of anything I want more right now as I passionately kiss him back.

  And there’s one thing I’m absolutely certain of.

  I plan to make out with my captain until the sun comes up in the morning.

  Chapter 19

  The Aubrey Rules To Live By, Rule #19: When working as a home stager, the property must be kept “show ready” at all times. That means getting up early and having the home ready to show, and even more so on weekends when homebuyer traffic is the heaviest.

  **Note** I don’t think having a shirtless, smokin’ hot hockey player asleep in my messed-up bed is going to be seen as a selling feature of this condo.

  **Note #2** Although I’d totally buy the place if Beckett was included in the closing contract.

  The phone needs to stop ringing.

  I sleepily ignore it and snuggle in closer to Beckett under the down comforter. I rest my cheek against his broad chest, feeling his warm skin against mine.

  The phone stops, and I sigh with complete content. I stayed up for hours making out with Beckett, and we reluctantly decided to sleep when the sun was coming up over the city. I find myself drifting off again, dreaming of kissing him when he wakes—

  Ring!

  I force my eyes open. The phone. But now that I’m waking up, I realize it’s the ringtone I set for the showing company.

  Beckett shifts underneath me. “Make it stop,” he mumbles, throwing his arm over his eyes.

  I scramble to the other side of the huge king-sized bed and reach for my cell on the nightstand.

  “Hello?” I croak.

  “Aubrey? It’s Jayne from Super Stagers,” she says cheerily. “How are you this morning?”

  “Fine,” I manage to say, sitting up. I glance at the clock. It’s only eight-thirty in the morning. No wonder I feel dead. I only fell asleep about two hours ago.

  “Well, I know it’s early, but we have a man in the lobby who would like to come up with his agent and view the condo. He’s leaving for Tokyo today, and this is the only time he can see it. So can you get together and step out in about five minutes?”

  GAH! I glance over at Beckett and the unmade bed. Oh shit. I need to tidy fast.

  “Um, give me ten, please,” I ask. “I’m still in my pajamas.”

  “Uggh why are you talking?” Beckett groans.

  “What was that?” Jayne asks.

  I throw my hand over Beckett’s mouth. “Nothing. I’ll be out in ten. Thanks, Jayne!”

  Beckett’s eyes flip open, and he stares at me like I’m crazy.

  “I’m throwing you out,” I say, tossing the covers back and jumping out of bed.

  “What?”

  “That’s the showing company. There is a man downstairs who wants to see this place now. I stalled for ten minutes,” I say, the words flying out of my mouth as I begin making my side of the bed. “So you need to get your stuff and go back to your place.”

  “Can I buy this place so we don’t have to do this? Tell them I’ll pay asking price and come back to bed with me.”

  I snort. “Oh, right, like you have the mo—”

  Beckett cocks an eyebrow at me from his side of the bed. “What were you saying?”

  “I forget you have money,” I say, fluffing the pillows on my side of the bed and grabbing the décor pillows off the bench at the end of the bed. “Anyway, you need to put your shirt and shoes on and get out. Your shirt is still on the kitchen floor, by the way.”

  “I feel so used,” Beckett says, throwing the covers back and swinging his legs over the side of the bed. “You seduced me and now you’re forcing me to do the walk of shame. I bet you won’t even text me later, will you?”

  “You’re killing me,” I say, grinning as I race around to his side of the bed. “Move, I need to make this quickly.”

  Beckett grabs my wrist to stop me. “Okay, I’m going. Meet me at my place when you’re done here. We’ll go back to bed and then have brunch.”

  He drops a quick kiss on my lips, and it’s all I can do to resist passionately kissing him in return.

  “Okay. Oh, will you turn the coffeemaker on? We never started it last night, and this way the kitchen will smell aromatic when the potential buyer comes up.”

  “Thermals, aromatics, messy buns . . . and to think two weeks ago I pretty much talked hockey nonstop. What are you doing to me, Aubrey Paige?”

  My heart flutters as he flashes me that crooked grin before walking out.

  What are you doing to me is more the question, I think as I finish making the bed. I’ve only been with you twice, and I’m feeling things I’ve never felt before. I’ve ripped up all my precautions and rules because of you.

  And something tells me everything I do for Beckett will be worth it.

  “I had no idea how hungry I was,” I say, finishing the last of my scrambled eggs.

  I’m sitting next to Beckett on his couch, and now, after climbing back into bed and crashing for most of the morning, we’ve gotten up to eat. Beckett showed me how he takes his eggs, cooking them for both of us, while I made the potatoes and bacon. Unfortunately I left the croissants and juice back at my place, but we can have those later this week.

  We.

  I steal a glance at him as he reads some hockey website on his iPad. He’s got his T-shirt back on, and his hair is covered by a backwards Chicago Buffaloes cap. And his black eye has come out in force, which I find oh-so-sexy, knowing he got that by being a badass.

  “What?” Beckett asks, taking another bite of his potatoes.

  “You’re so cute.”

  Beckett shoots me a side-eyed look. “Trying to make it up to me for so carelessly throwing me out of your bed this morning?”

  I burst out laughing. “Is that the first time you’ve been shown the door after spending the night with a girl, Captain Smart Ass?”

  Beckett pauses for a moment. “Actually? Yes.”

  We both laugh at that.

  “So what are you doing today?” He takes the last bite of his potatoes and pushes the plate back further on to the coffee table.

  I take a sip of my coffee, which Beckett ran out and got this morning, as the man doesn’t have a coffeemaker.

  “I have laundry to do,” I say, thinking aloud.

  “Very exciting.”

  “Shut up, I’m being real with you,” I say, poking him on the arm.

  “And I like that about you,” Beckett says, his eyes shining at me.

  “Well, thank you,” I say. “So anyway, I have to do laundry. But I can’t do that until later because there are showings this afternoon. I can’t have the washer running during show times. It ruins the ambiance I’m supposed to create.”

  “Get your laundry and do it here,” Beckett says. “You can use my washer and dryer.”

  “Beckett, are you trying to get a peek at my panties?” I tease.

  “No,” he says, grinning at me as he pushes his baseball hat back. “I’m not.”

  “Liar.”

  “If I want to see your panties, I’ll get you to drop them for me one day.”

  Oh, God. The idea of that makes my face burn hot.

  Which makes him roar with laughter.

  “I’m teasing,” he says affectionately, running his hand over my hair in a soothing way. “But seriously, do your laundry here. We can
go out for a bit and do that when we come back.”

  I bite my lip, an anxious feeling sweeping over me. I have to tell him we can’t be seen together. Which is the last thing in the world I want to say to a boy I’m falling for.

  “What’s the look for?” Beckett asks, a concerned expression passing over his handsome face.

  “We can’t go out in public together,” I say softly.

  “What? Why?”

  “Because it will create problems,” I say. “People—”

  “Is it the fans?” Beckett interrupts. I hear the worry etched in his soft voice. “Does that bother you? I need to know now, Aubrey. That’s a part of me, of being with me, and I can’t change that.”

  Beckett appears stricken right now. That I could end this before it starts because of something he has absolutely no control over.

  “Beckett,” I say firmly, reaching for his hand and squeezing it tightly in mine, “I don’t care about that. I’ve seen how you’re tagged in social media. If you go to Target, people will walk up to you and take selfies. I get it. I know I won’t love it, but I get it. It’s my stupid job. I can’t be seen with you because of ChicagoConnect.”

  “What?”

  I swallow hard. “Okay, I met you before I interviewed with them. And I never thought I’d see you again after that day. So when you showed up in that meeting, I panicked. I thought it would be best if I acted as if I didn’t know you,” I say, my words picking up in speed, “and then you wanted to work with me, which I never expected, and then I really should have said I knew you, but then I figured they wouldn’t let me work with you due to some kind of personal conflict, and the point is I was excited to work with you so I ignored one of my rules for you and now I don’t know how to handle it and Mal—”

  “Whoa, whoa, slow down,” Beckett says, interrupting me. “You’re getting worked up. And yes, you excel at that, but do me a favor and take a breath.”

  “What?”

  “Deep breath. I’ll take it with you. One, two, three.”

  I inhale, and Beckett does, too. We both exhale.

  “Okay,” Beckett says, “I’m going to talk for a moment, and I want you to relax and listen.”

  I pause for a moment. Normally I’d tell him no, I’m upset, I need to finish this story and what the hell are we going to do, but Beckett has this effect on me where I feel I can calm down for a moment.

  I nod. “Okay.”

  “So the point of this is, you’re feeling trapped. You know me. You didn’t say it. You’re going to work with me, so you should tell them you know me, but then they’ll ask why you didn’t say that in the first place.”

  “Yes,” I say. “Or then they won’t let me work with you!” I cry, forgetting to be calm. “They’ll say it’s a conflict of interest or something along those lines, and then you’ll be stuck with Mallory! And she’s already warned me not to date you and accused me of putting up shrines to you on Pinterest—”

  “Wait, what?” Beckett interrupts. “Mallory said what?”

  “She said it was unprofessional to date you. And that I shouldn’t be making a board dedicated to you on Pinterest. So Beckett, if they see us out, I could lose my job. She’d make my name shit in the industry. And you wouldn’t have me anymore to help you.”

  “Breathe. You’re not breathing,” Beckett commands.

  “I can’t breathe I’m too upset.” I jump up off the couch and begin to pace. “There is nothing in the employee handbook saying I can’t date you, so I have that, but it sure as hell doesn’t seem professional on my part. And now add the lie of omission and I . . . I . . .” I stop, searching for something unbreakable to kick, but I don’t want to ruin his furniture.

  Beckett stands up. “Punch me.”

  I blink. “What?”

  “Come on, get it out,” Beckett says, moving in front of me and gesturing toward his black eye. “Right here, same eye. Nobody will know. I find it to be therapy during my workday.”

  The idea is so absurd I burst out laughing. Then Beckett smiles, and I know he set me up to get me to calm down.

  He puts his strong hands on my shoulders. “Okay. Are you calm?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Here’s what I think we should do.”

  “We?” I say, questioning him.

  “Your problem is my problem,” Beckett says simply.

  Oh, Beckett, how can I resist falling for you? How?

  “So here’s what we do. We’ll stay on the down low for now,” Beckett says. “But it’s not unusual for people who work together to end up dating after a period of time, right?”

  I chew my lower lip. “I guess not.”

  He gently caresses the side of my face with his hand. “So we’ll work together and when the time comes, we’ll tell them we’re going to see each other. I don’t care what Mallory says. And if she fires you for it, she’ll lose the account, and we both know Tom won’t let that happen.”

  I take in his words. When he says it, it’s so logical. Beckett has this way of seeing through a tough situation and breaking it down so it’s not so impossible to me.

  “I’m sorry about this,” I say, gazing up at him. “I want to go out with you more than anything. And I hate the fact that we’ll have to be limited to my place or yours.”

  “We’ll see about that,” Beckett says, and I see a determined look come into his eyes.

  “What do you have up your sleeve?”

  “You’ll see,” he says, affectionately kissing the bridge of my nose, “in the meeting at ChicagoConnect tomorrow.”

  Chapter 20

  The Aubrey Rules To Live By, Rule #20: When attending a client meeting, one should be actively engaged-listening and taking notes, remaining focused on the conversation, and participating if you can contribute in a meaningful way.

  **Amendment** When Beckett is the client in the meeting, it is IMPOSSIBLE to stay focused on a presentation when all I want to do is stare at how he’s so cute with a black eye. Therefore, the occasional drift of thought to his black eye is completely acceptable.

  **Amendment #2** Or drift off to think of his super-hot hockey abs. This is acceptable as well.

  **Note** Hockey abs are a beautiful thing.

  **Note #2** GAH, I have NO abs. Need to work on this before Beckett sees them. Will do 100 crunches tonight. And run on the treadmill.

  **Note #3** With the way I’m feeling about him, he will see my abs sooner rather than later.

  **Note #4** Make that 600 crunches.

  “Beckett, Evan, thank you for coming back to ChicagoConnect on your day off,” Tom says, smiling at them from across the conference table. “We’re excited to present our final pitch to you today.”

  I stare down at my notepad, hardly daring to even glance at Beckett. It’s Monday, and I’m in the client meeting to win Beckett’s business.

  This is so weird. I’ve made out with the hot guy across the table. I’ve slept in his arms. We’ve shared stories and laughed together, and I’m crazy about him. So it’s strange to be in the same room with him and not acknowledge him in any way, other than a “hi” when he first walked in the door.

  “After our first meeting,” Tom says, standing up, “my team went to work to further flesh out a social media and website strategy for you. Mallory, if you’d please present some creative ideas for the Beckett Riley brand, the floor is yours.”

  Mallory rises from the seat next to me. I watch as she confidently strides to the front of the room, wearing her brand-new Theory black sheath dress. How do I know it’s new? I had to run to Neiman Marcus to pick it up, and then she told me this was business because she needed a power dress for this meeting.

  “Good afternoon,” Mallory says in a bright, cheery, ultra-fake voice. “It’s so good to have you
back at ChicagoConnect, Beckett.”

  Okay, I have to look. I glance across the table at Beckett, who seems as though he’d sooner take fifty pucks to the face without a visor on than listen to Mallory.

  “Thanks,” Beckett says, his voice showing no excitement of being here whatsoever.

  I bite down on my tongue to keep from laughing. I shift my gaze to Mallory, who is standing there with a frozen smile on her face. It’s a good thing she’s perfected that expression, because if she presents that Tinder plan to Beckett, she’s going to need it.

  “Neilson, if you could start the PowerPoint please,” Mallory asks.

  Why do I feel as if I’m about to watch a train derail right in front of me?

  “Beckett, you’re a young, handsome, rising star in the league,” Mallory says. “What we would like to do is two-fold: increase your marketability with sponsors and advertisers and . . .”

  I zone out as she goes into strategy speak. I know I should be concentrating, but since Mallory is an idiot, I decide not to waste my time putting her thoughts in my head when I’m going to delete them and dump them in my mental trashcan instantly anyway.

  She drones on and on in her super-excited, fake positive-energy voice, and I briefly shift my attention from Mallory to Beckett. He’s watching Mallory, his face completely blank, and I know he isn’t having any of this. He hates fake people, and Mallory is without a doubt one of the top five fakest people I’ve ever met.

  “And we’ve come up with some innovative ideas to expose you to new fans and have you interact with them, with linkage to sponsorship and other media opportunities in mind. One such tool,” Mallory says, following the new slide that has popped up on the screen, “is Tinder.”

  I jerk my head up. Ah! She is hellbent on using Tinder! I glance at Beckett, who is staring at the screen with a WTF expression on his face, even though I warned him this would be headed his way.

  “Tinder?” Beckett asks, wrinkling his brow.