Rule #5: You Can't Trust the Bad Boy (The Rules of Love) Read online

  Rule #5: You Can’t Trust The Bad Boy

  The Rules of Love Series Book 5

  Anne-Marie Meyer

  Copyright © 2019 by Anne-Marie Meyer

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  To my Dad

  Contents

  Foreword

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Epilogue

  Other Books by Anne-Marie Meyer

  About the Author

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  She's an IRS auditor desperate to prove herself.

  He's a cowboy trying to hold onto his ranch.

  Love was not on the agenda.

  Chapter One

  I’ll never get used to the out-of-body feeling you experience when the plane descends out of the sky. The feeling of your stomach staying put as you drop to earth always made me feel like I was going to throw up. Or maybe it was because I was returning home.

  I was never really sure.

  Pressing my hand to my stomach, I forced myself to close my eyes and picture what was waiting for me when the plane landed.

  What a joke.

  Mom and Dad weren’t going to be there. They couldn’t be bothered to pick me up. They’d probably send Theodore or Jackson, or some other random person that they just hired to take care of the daughter they forgot about.

  I was their only child, and yet I was the one person they couldn’t seem to remember existed.

  Until they wanted something.

  “Thanks for riding with us, Ms. Brielle,” Maria, my family’s flight attendant, said as she nodded at me from her seat.

  I smiled at her. “It was a great ride.” Emphasis on the sarcasm.

  I’m terrified of heights, but my parents don’t care. It’s mandatory. The ceremonial flight into Atlantic City from New York every year for the summer. When I tried to tell Mom that I hated flying, she scoffed and told me to take a Valium.

  Thanks, Mom.

  But sadly, she was serious. She actually sent a doctor to my dormitory to remind me how in control of my life she is, even when she’s not around. Even one hundred plus miles away, she dictates what type of medicine I take or the way I spend my time.

  The plane touched down with a thunk, and I watched the scenery pass by as we taxied into the hanger. Once we stopped moving and the stairs were brought, I unbuckled and got out of my seat. Maria tried to beat me to my suitcase, but I got there first.

  I curled my fingers around the handle and shot her another smile despite her disgruntled expression.

  “Thanks, Maria. I’ll see you once summer is over?”

  Maria nodded as she pinched her lips into a tight line and straightened her skirt. “Of course, Ms. Brielle. That’s what we’re here for.”

  Captain Bob popped his head out of the cockpit to bid me farewell as I headed down the stairs. I waved my hand in his direction and descended to the hangar floor just in time to see a man in a dark suit walk over to me.

  “Good morning, Ms. Brielle. I’ll be taking you to the hotel today.”

  I nodded, and, before I could protest, he grabbed my luggage and started wheeling it over to the BMW parked off to the side. I sighed as I followed after him.

  Here we go.

  My summer was most certainly packed with the responsibilities and galas that are required to be a Livingstone. We were in the hotel business, so image was everything. And my parents spared no expense.

  The ride to the Livingstone Hotel in central Atlantic City flew by. I kept my gaze out the window and my hands clenched in my lap. I was dreading the next few months. I missed school. I missed my friends. I missed being noticed.

  At home, my parents were all about work. They barely noticed me even when I was standing in their way.

  I was invisible to them.

  My phone chimed. I glanced down to see it was Kate, my best friend and the only person I hung out with while I was here. I smiled as I reached down and pressed the talk button.

  “Hey.”

  A loud squeal made me jerk the phone away from my ear. I could always count on her to be excited that I was home.

  “You’re here!” she cheered.

  I laughed. “I’m here.”

  “Okay, call me once you’ve seen your parents, and we can hang out.”

  I nodded as I closed my eyes. I missed her, and I was grateful that she was there to help me navigate my relationship with the people who gave me life.

  “Will do.”

  “We’re going to par-tay,” she sang out. “I gotta run. I’m needed at the ice cream shop. Call me later?”

  “Yep,” I said as a smile spread across my lips.

  She sang her goodbye, and I pulled my phone from my cheek and hit the end call button. The screen went dark, and I slipped my phone into my purse. The car felt too quiet. I hugged my chest as I watched my chauffeur pull into the entrance of the hotel and stop at the large, glass doors.

  He turned and smiled at me. “Welcome home.”

  I nodded as I pushed open the door and stepped out. Like magic, a valet appeared, pulled my suitcase from the trunk, and walked over to me.

  “Ms. Livingstone, you’re here,” he said, giving me a huge smile.

  My cheeks were hurting now. I’d definitely smiled more today than I had in the entire school year. There was something about being the boss’s daughter that made everyone super happy around you. Or at least, gave them a reason to fake being happy.

  Everyone was always fake around me. I could never tell if people were just being nice so they didn’t get fired.

  “Thanks,” I said as I followed after him into the hotel lobby.

  A cliché elevator song filled the silence as we rose thirty stories to the penthouse. My home.

  Ha. Home had such hollow meaning to me.

  Thankfully, the valet seemed to sense that I wasn’t feeling chatty, so he didn’t try to fill the tense ride with meaningless chatter.

  I mean, did he really want to hear how my school year was? Or how my plane ride was?

  No. He didn’t care about that at all.

  The elevator doors opened into a small hallway. At the end of it was a keypad door. I leaned down and grabbed my suitcase, pulling it away from the valet.

  “I can take it from here,” I said as I made my way through the open doors.

  “But, your mother—”

  “She’ll be fine,” I called over my shoulder. “I’m a big girl. I can carry in my own suitcases.”

  The elevator doors closed on his disgruntled expression, but he didn’t march out and demand that he take over. Probably because Mom and Dad weren’t around. Had they been standing there, it would have been a different story.

  Now alone, I took a deep breath.

  This was the summer before my senior year of high school. I was going to make the most of it. I wasn’
t going to let Mom and Dad push me around like they always did.

  I was going to enjoy my break. Hang out with Kate and actually see some of Atlantic City the way a person should. Despite the fact that Mom would stare at me and tell me I’m crazy to want to socialize with locals. ‘Cause who would want to do that?

  I was tired of living this rich life they’d made for me. I wanted a real life.

  I was ready to fall in love, despite my total lack of possibilities. I was a believer. If I wished hard enough, it just might happen.

  After I punched in the code, the door unlocked and I headed inside.

  Of course, the suite was pristine. Large windows lined the living room, allowing light to spill in and glisten off the marble countertops and the chandeliers hanging from the ceiling.

  White furniture was adorned with red and yellow pillows—to add a splash of color in the room. And a dark fur rug rested on top of dark wood floors.

  I rolled my suitcase inside and allowed the door to shut behind me.

  “I’m home,” I called out to no one in particular. Knowing Mom and Dad, they weren’t here and wouldn’t be for a while.

  The clicking of heels sounded from the far rooms, and I knew right away who it was. Mrs. Porter. My mom’s assistant. I’d recognize the sound of her shoes anywhere.

  “Brielle,” she exclaimed when she came into view.

  I walked over and embraced her. She was more of a mother to me than my own mom.

  “Jackie,” I said, throwing my arms around her.

  She pulled back and ran her gaze over me. Her familiar black glasses sat perched on her nose. Her dark hair was greying and, as always, pulled back into a bun at the nape of her neck. “You look so grown up,” she said.

  I smiled at her. She hadn’t changed. Every year, she told me how grown up I looked. “I’m eighteen in just a few weeks,” I said as I tucked my strawberry blonde hair behind my ear.

  She nodded, waving her hand at me to get me to stop talking. “Don’t remind me,” she said. “Because if you’re that old, that means I’m...” She shook her head as she walked over to the fridge and pulled out two water bottles. “That means I’m twenty-five.”

  I took the bottle she handed me and nodded. “Right. And you’ve been twenty-five for how long now?”

  She shushed me as I twisted the cap off and took a sip. Once I was done, I glanced around.

  “I’m guessing they’re out?” I waved my hand around the house.

  Mrs. Porter’s face fell as she nodded. “Meetings. I’m supposed to tell you to settle in and then make yourself presentable. Apparently there is a big lunch meeting they want you to attend.”

  I pressed my hand to my chest in a mocking way. “Me?”

  She swatted my arm. “Yes, you.”

  I shrugged. Mrs. Porter hated when I talked about my parents negatively. But she only worked for them. I had to live with them. They were my only family and the only family I was ever going to have.

  I sighed, not wanting to get into a battle with her again, and walked over to my suitcase. “I’ll go get ready,” I said as I made my way over to my room.

  “I’ve got to go too. Your mom will be out of her meeting shortly.” She adjusted her glasses. “You’ll be okay?”

  I nodded and waved her away. “I’ll be fine. I’m used to being on my own.” I saluted her and then disappeared down the hall.

  I snorted as I walked into my room. There was literally nothing here that resembled me. My daybed was still perfectly made—with a comforter I didn’t recognize and would have never picked out.

  My posters were gone, which I wasn’t too heartbroken about. Even my bulletin board that had been full of pictures of me and Kate from last summer had vanished. It was like my parents wanted to remove any semblance of me from this room.

  But I wasn’t surprised. Mom did this every year. I assume she viewed it as being thoughtful, but it just felt morbid. Like I’d died or something.

  She called it a fresh start—I called it getting rid of Brielle.

  I left my suitcase at the entrance to my room and then made my way over to the bed and flopped down. I buried my face into the bright pink comforter and sighed.

  Welcome home.

  I flipped to my back and stared up at the ceiling. I tapped my fingers on my stomach as I brought my leg up and hummed some notes into the silent room.

  This summer was going to be different. I was going to be Brielle Livingstone, teenage girl. Not Brielle Livingstone, heiress to the Livingstone empire. I was going to figure out a way to become someone different.

  I was going to live.

  Despite all of my mental affirmations from earlier, I knew I had to attend this mysterious lunch I’d been summoned to, so I showered and toweled off my hair.

  After a quick glance into my closet, I settled on a floral summer dress that highlighted my legs—my best asset, which was thanks to Mom. I dressed and got started with my makeup. Just as I finished applying my mascara, Mom walked in.

  She was staring at her phone as she made her way into the center of my room and stopped.

  I turned and gave her a smile. “Hey, Mom.”

  Growing up, I was always told that I looked like a miniature version of her. We both had strawberry blonde hair, bright blue eyes, and long legs. It felt weird to be told I had my mother’s legs, but I eventually got over it.

  Cause Mom had great legs.

  Her hair was pulled back into a stylish braid, and she wore a deep-blue pencil skirt and a crisp white blouse. Her black heels sunk into my high-pile rug.

  “Brielle, welcome home.”

  The standard Livingstone greeting.

  “Thanks. Where’s Dad?”

  She glanced up at me, and then her gaze lowered to study my clothes. The look on her face told me she was not happy about my choice of wardrobe. “He’s meeting us in the restaurant—is that what you are wearing?”

  I glanced down at my dress. “Yes. Why?”

  She scrunched up her nose. “You don’t have anything nicer?”

  “Nicer? Why? What is this meeting about?” It was strange they even wanted me there. Normally, I was only invited to functions so we could look like a quintessential American family. Just more proof that, to my parents, I’m a prop.

  Mom sighed as she glanced down at her phone and then back up to me. “We’re going to be late…just wear it. Come on. Let’s go.”

  I finished brushing my fingers through my hair and stood. I quickly slipped into a pair of flats, despite my mom’s very obvious sigh. There was no way I was going to this mystery meeting in uncomfortable heels I could barely walk in.

  I followed Mom out of the room and over to the front door.

  We headed out of the suite and stood by each other as we waited for the elevator to come. I fiddled with my dress, wishing Mom had let me bring my purse. But she always told me that it made me look desperate and poor, so I hadn’t bothered to try to convince her otherwise.

  Instead, I’d shoved my phone and debit card into my bra earlier, and, right now, my phone was digging into me.

  “Stop fidgeting,” Mom said as the elevator doors slid open.

  I nodded and pressed my hands into my side as I followed after her. We turned to face the doors as they shut, and the elevator descended. The silence felt deafening, and I couldn’t help but glance over at her.

  At least the people they paid to wait on me asked me how my day was. It never seemed like Mom could be bothered. Which was fine. It’s not like I wasn’t used to it by now.

  The elevator doors opened, revealing the lobby. People were bustling around, either in flip-flops and shorts, or pressed suits and briefcases. There was such a difference between people here for work and people here for vacation.

  I wondered what I looked like to the people who glanced over at me as I walked by. Did I look like a tourist? A resident? I doubted I looked like I belonged. I never felt like I did.

  But I didn’t have time to let my thoughts wande
r too much. Mom turned and pressed her hand on my shoulder just before we walked into the restaurant. “Please understand that we are doing this for your future.”

  I stared at her. That was weird. “It’s just lunch, Mom.”

  She glanced at me and nodded. “Right.” Then she sucked in her breath. “But keep an open mind, okay?”

  Worry sank in my stomach as I noticed the turmoil in her gaze. I knew my parents were strange, I just hadn’t realized they were that strange.

  “Okay, I promise.”

  Her gaze drifted down to her hand on my shoulder for a moment before she tapped it a few times—a typical Lily Livingstone hug—and then smiled at me.

  “All right. Let’s get this done.”

  I don’t know what I expected to see when Mom led me past the hostess stand and into the restaurant. Maybe the grim reaper. Maybe my grandmother sitting at our table, dressed in black and holding a rosary while she muttered prayers under her breath.

  From the way Mom was going on, you’d think they were ordering me to my death or something.

  But nothing seemed out of place. The restaurant was as bright and cheery as it had always been. The sun beat in through the floor-to-ceiling windows, causing tiny bursts of starlight on the walls from the crystal that was perfectly arranged on every white-clothed table.

  I glanced over at Mom, wondering why she’d been so cryptic. I would have figured that an evil monster had taken over The Livingstone and turned it into the scourge of Atlantic City.

  But nothing seemed amiss. In fact, the restaurant was unusually crowded for a Saturday afternoon in May.

  “Why am I here?” I asked, leaning over and dropping my voice.

  Mom shook her head as she pressed her finger to her lips and led me through the tables. “Hush, Brielle.”