Page 77 of Breaking All The Rules
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Monday morning, just after six, Bea let herself into her apartment, stopping only to shuck her smoky clothes and to feed a royally pissed Princess before tumbling into bed, wearing a T-shirt, panties, and an unholy smile on her face. It had been a magical night under the stars with Austin, an orgy of sexual exploration that seemed to intensify the later into the night it became.
But there hadn’t been a lot of sleep, so, ignoring Princess’s not-so-subtle display of neglected feline animosity, Bea slept the sleep of a woman who had been absolutely, positively, thoroughly fucked.
It was almost one in the afternoon when she woke. Princess was in her usual spot on Bea’s pillow, purring up a storm, and Bea stretched up, scooping the cat down as she rolled on her side and hugged Princess in tight to her chest. She didn’t object.
If anything, she purred louder.
“I’m sorry I left you all alone last night, kitty cat,” Bea apologized in a whisper. Even though she knew from their short time together that Princess had taken to Bea’s hermit lifestyle like a duck to water.
“You ever been with a boy cat who just…blew your ever-loving mind?” Bea asked.
Princess let out a very smug-sounding meow. “Yeah.” Bea smiled. “I bet you have, you foxy feline, you.” Princess had probably cut quite the figure before she’d lost her eye and most of her fur and her tooth had gone rogue.
Of course, it hadn’t just been the sex. It had been the way Austin had looked at her every time he’d been buried deep, like he was rummaging around in her soul.
Like she was the only woman in the world.
It was the intensity of his stare, his singular focus on her and what he saw in her and what he was offering her that had elevated the entire night beyond the physical.
Sighing, Bea kissed Princess’s neck before climbing out of bed and heading for her shower. Her hair smelled like woodsmoke and her skin smelled like marshmallows and the bourbon Austin had licked off certain parts of her body.
And sex. Good God, she smelled utterly debauched.
Princess was still on the bed when Bea stepped out of the bathroom fifteen minutes later, totally naked, her fine, damp hair all fluffy from being towel dried. She stepped into her Monday panties and sweats and a tee and padded back to bed, sitting cross-legged on top of the duvet as she opened up her laptop. Her Winchester brothers screen saver stared back at her, and Bea almost laughed.
Prior to this, her screen savers had always been the latest ad campaign she’d worked on, and Bea marveled at how dramatically her life had changed in such a short period of time.
Clicking to her email, she downloaded the dozen that had come in since Friday, including one from Kim with the subject line: You’ve gone viral baby!! Blinking at that rather startling claim, Bea opened the email, which had so many exclamation points, she wondered if Kim needed some kind of intervention.
Oh Em Geee!!! BEA!!!!!!!
Cranky Bea cards are a hit!!!! Our socials have gone off!! over the weekend. Like, ballistic!!!!!! Everyone wants to know when they can buy them!!!!! We need more, Bea!!! More! So we can go into production immediately!! Immediately!!!! We want a range of at least two dozen and aiming to double!! that for next month and keep that level of production going to the end of the year at least!!!!!
Congrats, you’re a social media phenomenon and I’m begging you to come work for us!!!! Please call me ASAP!!!! As soon as you get this email so we can discuss in more detail!!
And then Kim left a list of six different numbers she could be reached at. Just in case!!!!
With her advertising background, Bea knew that going viral was the kind of advertising money just couldn’t buy. Not even the most outstandingly beautiful or searing insightful, multimillion-dollar ad campaign could beat a lol Cats or Baby Shark for exposure and potential riches.
But she doubted her quick, sarcastic sketches were in the mega-influencer realm.
Grabbing her cell phone, Bea checked out Greet Cute’s socials and almost fell out of bed. No, it wasn’t Kardashian-esque, but it was still impressive. They’d posted the three images as separate posts on their Insta and TikTok accounts, and each one had been liked several hundred thousand times, with the comments over the three posts running into the thousands, not to mention the reposts and the myriad story shares.
She blinked. Holy cow. Her head started to buzz, her veins started to prickle, her chest started to tighten as Kim’s we need more caused a creative rush of potential images she could draw. Not that they were causing the buzz. No, it was the success of the sampling exercise. She always felt this way when one of her campaigns took off.
Picking up her phone, she tapped in Kim’s cell number with shaky hands.
…
Bea was still finding it hard to wrap her head around it all several hours later, when Austin clomped up her stairs. Kim’s offer had been a lot to take in, and she wasn’t sure if she wanted to go there. Well, part of her—LA Beatrice—was excited at the possibilities of contributing to an ad campaign again because she was still, at heart, an ad woman. But the other part—Credence Beatrice of the sweats and beer for breakfast and flaming red hair—wasn’t so sure.
Spending the afternoon in bed with Princess, Daryl Dixon, and a bunch of zombies for company while absently doodling on the sketch pad hadn’t really helped clarify her position, either.
Austin’s footfalls and his key—she’d given him the spare one this morning so she didn’t have to get her ass out of bed—in the lock were a welcome distraction, and she paused the screen mid–zombie bite as the door opened and shut and Austin suddenly appeared in her line of sight, coming to rest a few feet from the end of the bed. He looked hotter than an LA summer in his police uniform and hat, his hands behind his back as he looked down at her like she was the next thing on his to-do list.
Like he hadn’t to-done her thoroughly all night long.
