Title: The Rule Book
Author: Jennifer Blackwood @Jen_Blackwood
Reviewer: Michelle @Michelle6803
Genre: Romantic Comedy
Rating: 4 stars
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.
This romantic/comedy by Jennifer Blackwood is my first book by this author and I thoroughly enjoyed.
Lainey Taylor, a recent graduate student, lands a job with Starr Media as the second assistant to Brogan Starr, but before anything, she must read and memorize his 700 plus rules regarding company etiquette and the like. She works alongside slimeball Jackson. He is the one that dubbed Brogan the “AntiChrist”. After getting settled for a few days, she inadvertently has lunch and proceeds to meet a new person and begins to ask him about the infamous Brogan Starr, little did she know, she was talking to him, which makes Lainey create her own rules:
Starr Media Second-Assistant Survival Guide
- Don’t call your hot boss the antichrist to his face.
- Don’t stare at hot boss’s, um, package or his full sleeve of tattoos. (No. Really. Stop!)
- Don’t get on the malicious first assistant’s bad side.
- Don’t forget to memorize the 300-page employee manual.
- If you value your cashmere, steer clear of boss’s dog.
- Boss’s dimples are lust-inducing. Do. Not. Give. In.
- “The elevator ate your clothes” is not a valid excuse for showing up to important meetings half dressed.
- 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.
- Whatever you do, don’t fall for the boss. See rule eight about sick mom.
- Never forget the rules.
Lainey is just trying to survive at Starr Media, especially since the other candidates have never made it past a week. Besides putting her foot in her mouth, she’s really good at what she does. She’s a wonderful daughter. Her focus is making sure her mother’s medical bills are getting paid. After her initial awkward meeting with Brogan, they develop a rapport, especially when it comes to walking his beastly dog, Bruce. The attraction between Lainey and Brogan is pretty evident, but the rules he has set up are not to be meant broken. Yeah, let’s see how long that lasts right?
There is some serious trust issues with Brogan, which I can understand, but those issues eventually had consequences. The one person whom Lainey could trust in the company turned out to be a real bitch. I liked Lainey from the start, Brogan, very swoony. The romance was a slow burn, but made sense. I just wished the drama and resolution would have happened earlier.
If you’re looking for a sweet romantic comedy, you should add The Rule Book to your ever ending TBR list.
– Michelle
*An ARC was provided for an honest review.
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I sat down at the table and unwrapped the Panini and frowned. Breadsticks would have hit the spot. Although, no amount of breadsticks was worth giving up a steady income, not even Luigi’s. Still, I gave a spiteful glare to my sandwich.
Just in time to take me out of my garlic grieving, someone walked into the break room.
The first thing I noticed was his hair. You could tell a lot about someone based off the length and style. And the clean-cut, lightly-styled golden brown hair that the guy in the plain black tee sported spoke volumes. It said “I look like I’m not trying too hard, but I carefully crafted this look of perfection for at least fifteen minutes this morning.”
The second thing I noticed was this guy should be reamed for violating the dress code policy. Not that I was complaining—because, really, those tatted biceps deserved to be on full display at all times.
I mentally catalogued everyone I’d spotted during Jackson’s drive-by office tour. He most definitely wasn’t part of that whirlwind of name-drops, because I’d remember those high cheekbones. And those tattoos. His arms were covered from each wrist with intricate markings, disappearing under the sleeve of his T-shirt. Some were words, some were pictures I couldn’t quite piece together without creepily staring at him. Decidedly, all were hot as hell.
He smiled at me and walked over to the water cooler. He procured a teabag from his pocket, plopped it into his black coffee mug, and filled it with water. The glug glug glug of the cooler cut through the silence, and I quickly swallowed my bite of turkey sandwich, preparing myself for if this guy wanted to talk—unlike the last five people who took one look into the break room, saw evidence of human life, and booked it to the elevator before I could even manage a hello. For people working at a social media agency, they were oddly…antisocial.
“You’re new here.” It was a statement. One that held the suggestion that this happened more often than my purchases from ShoeBinge.com. I’d deleted the app from my phone the minute I learned Mom’s diagnosis a month ago and was still thinking about those rhinestone heels.
“Second day.” I smiled. Finally. Someone to talk to. Besides Jackson and his awesome ability to give the evil eye over his computer screen.
“How are you liking it so far?” The muscles in his bicep bunched together as he took a sip of his tea. Ovaries, meet arm porn, your new best friend.
I folded the wax paper of my sandwich wrapper in half and creased the seam with my thumb. “It’s been nice. I made it through the employee manual…finally.”
“Learn anything good?”
I looked up from the wrapper and eyed him. “You’re breaking the dress code in at least two ways.”
He looked down at his clothes and then back at me, smiling. Two dimples indented his cheeks, and I realized how incredibly unfair it was that someone could be that gorgeous and not airbrushed by professionals in a magazine.
“Guess I am.”
“You’ve met the boss. What’s he like? Uptight like that rule book?”
His lips tipped up in one corner as he regarded me with his piercing brown eyes. “I don’t know if uptight would be my first choice.”
I chuckled. “Really? I hear he’s called the Antichrist.”
His brows rose. “Oh, really. That one’s new to me.”
“Huh.” I fiddled with the wrapper. “Jackson said it was a pretty well-known nickname around the office.” Maybe the guy worked in a different department than everyone else.
Heck, he was a lot nicer than all the other employees I’d (not) talked to yesterday and today.
He let out a loud laugh that echoed throughout the break room. “Very interesting. Thanks for the heads up.” He grabbed the string to the tea bag and absentmindedly dunked it in the water. Veins corded deliciously up his arms and my brain went into zombie mode. Except instead of my inner monologue chanting must eat brains, it was must touch veeeeeeeins. “What’s your name?” he asked, bringing me out of my stupor.
I cleared my throat, heat tingeing my cheeks. “Lainey Taylor. Newly appointed second assistant to the Antichrist.”
Mr. Dimples mashed his lips together, and I couldn’t tell if the glint in his eyes was because he was amused or slightly annoyed. Maybe a bit of both. Great, I guess I was back to square one with making friends here. He backed toward the door and leaned against the frame. Really odd. Where I came from, people tended to give their name after someone else introduced themselves. This guy? Nada. I doubted 200 exits up the I-5 corridor were enough to see a shift in social customs.
He bit down on his full bottom lip and looked like he was really enjoying this awkward silence that had me squirming in my seat. I balled up the sandwich wrapper just to give my hands something to do. Really, these people needed to work on their social skills.
Where was the welcoming committee? Mental note: start welcome committee if one doesn’t exist.
“It’s really nice meeting you, Lainey,” he said.
He put his hand on the doorframe, and just before he left the room, I called, “Do I get your name?”
“You can call me the Antichrist.” And with that, he breezed out into the hallway and disappeared into his office.
My heart screeched to a halt, and that turkey Panini turned to a solid brick in the bottom of my stomach.
Shit.
Jennifer Blackwood is an English teacher and contemporary romance author. She lives in Oregon with her husband, son, and poorly behaved black lab puppy. She is the author of The Drexler University series, the Rule Breaker series (May 2016 and Jan 2017) and an upcoming Brazen series (July 2016 and early 2017)
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