The Aubrey Rules Read Free

a smart ass, Captain.”
    He laughs, and it’s a deep-from-within laugh. “You do, eh?”
    “You are so Canadian,” I blurt out.
    “Yes, I so am,” he teases.
    That does it. I burst out laughing, and he bursts out laughing, and I can’t help but think he’s fun.
    Beckett clears his throat. “Um, what building on Michigan Avenue?”
    “Down toward Wacker,” I say, rattling off the address.
    “Okay.”
    “It’s not too much farther,” I assure him.
    “Any need to use the emergency exit plan yet?” Beckett deadpans.
    “Your new name is Captain Smart Ass,” I blurt out.
    And now he roars with laughter.
    “Aubrey?”
    “What?”
    “You’re the only person who has ever called me a smart ass.”
    I grin. I kind of like that.
    Beckett stops in front of the high-rise. “You’re on time. I’ll go park, and I see a Starbucks there,” he says, inclining his head toward the building. “I’ll grab a coffee and wait for you.”
    Wait. What? Is Beckett going to wait for me?
    “Beckett, no,” I say, shaking my head. “You’ve been above and beyond nice to me today, despite the fact I’m a lunatic. I’ll grab a cab home.”
    “Nah, it’s no problem. I don’t have practice today. I was going out to get a Starbucks anyway. I’ll wait for you. Unless you don’t want me to.”
    “No, that’s not it, I do—”
    A car behind us slams on his horn.
    “Would you use the emergency exit already? You have an interview. Don’t be late because you’re arguing with me.”
    I open the door. “Okay, Starbucks afterward.”
    I jump out, and as I’m about to close the door, Beckett leans forward.
    “Good luck,” he says.
    “Thank you,” I say, smiling. Then I shut the door. I hurry toward the office building, the snow swirling around me, and I draw an excited breath as I do. Not only for this interview, which is going to be the most important one I’ve ever had, but for another reason.
    For Beckett Riley.

Chapter 3
    The Aubrey Rules To Live By, Rule #3: There are three types of men I’d never date. Okay, so the possibility of me meeting one of these kinds of men, let alone dating one, has the same probability as me contracting the bubonic plague, but I would never, ever date a rock star, actor, or professional athlete. They’re on the road. With women throwing themselves at them. So much temptation and opportunity to cheat. I don’t need that stress or worry in a relationship.
    **Note** Besides, my best friend Livy dated a football player at UW. He fit the bill of cheating womanizer athlete to a T. I don’t ever want my heart broken like that.
    I enter the Starbucks and search for Beckett. Maybe he got tired of waiting, I muse, scanning the seats. And he’s not my chauffeur, so if he wanted to leave he co—
    And then I spot him. He’s in the back, head down, reading his phone. I see he has a coffee parked next to him. His overcoat is off, and once again I see his massive chest in full view.
    Damn. Beckett is seriously huge.
    In a very sexy, muscular way.
    I head over to him. “Hey,” I say.
    Beckett immediately looks up. “Hey, how did it go?”
    “Good, I think.” I absently push a lock of my red hair back. “They had good poker faces, so it was hard to tell if they liked me or not, you know? But I had to sit around a whole conference table full of people which is intimidating as hell, then they took turns asking me—”
    “Um, do I need to get another espresso macchiato so you can finish this story?” Beckett asks, grinning at me.
    My hand flies up to my mouth. “I’m so sorry. Here I am babbling and you’re probably dying to get the hell out of here, aren’t you?”
    “No, no, I’m teasing. But do you wanna grab a drink?”
    I glance over at the counter, and I’m starving. I didn’t have time to eat this morning, and I want a pastry.
    “I’m kind of hungry, actually,” I say aloud. I turn back to him. “And I should be good and get the oatmeal, or yogurt and fruit, but I want a