[Review] THE RULE BREAKERS SERIES by Jennifer Blackwood @Jen_Blackwood #UBReview #Excerpt


The Rule Book
Jennifer Blackwood

Publication Date: May 9, 2016
Genre: New Adult Contemporary Romantic Comedy

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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.

----------------UB Review----------------
Rules Are Meant to Be Broken... 
Omg! This. Book. Is. AMAZING!! I could not put this book down! A story about trust, finding your people, and being there for the ones you care about. Not to mention a super-hot CEO and an adorable, dorky, and B@D@$$ chick! The situations were intense in both good and bad ways. The story really draws you in, the characters are relatable, and they were likeable. More Like Loveable! I would suggest this book to anyone that loves romance, unlikely pair ups, hilariously awkward situations, and real life stuff that could actually happen. I loved everything about this book!
Bruce, also, deserves a special shout out, because he got the girl in the end too, and the story just would not be the same without him...



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.


The Rule Book
Jennifer Blackwood

Publication Date: January 16, 2017
Genre: New Adult Contemporary Romantic Comedy

Add to Goodreads
Available for Purchase:
Amazon | Barnes & Noble | iBooks | Kobo

Things I'd love to say to Ryder Covington...

I hate you more than a hole in my favorite pair of leggings.
Your smirk makes me want to yell in all shouty caps.
You're really gorgeous...until you open your mouth.
Stop looking at me like that. You're not ripping my panties off.
Saying those things to him would be the whipped cream on top of my rocky road ice cream, but I can't, because he's my client. And I'm up for a promotion. Oh, and the little fact that my boss told me to give Mr. Covington everything he wants. But the only thing he wants is me. And he can't have that.
----------------UB Review----------------

Hate to Love Never Felt so Good!!
This story features second chances, reluctant romances, catty deceitful grannies, territorial kitties, moments that make you fall over in laughter, and an Uber pregnant pygmy goat. 
You have to read the book to find out what that means. 
Do It! This book is absolutely Fantastic! Everything Jennifer Blackwood writes is pure gold, and this book does not disappoint. She has written an amazing story that I could not put down! I would recommend this book to everyone, but especially all of those readers that love RomComs and second chances.

“Please, Ryder.” Her hips bucked into me, grinding against my erection.
“Patience, Flash.” I smiled down at her. “I want to take my time with you.” I wanted to take her to the brink until she pleaded my name. I wanted every inch of her to be seared into my brain. I’d stripped her down to her underwear, and that alone was enough for me to come undone.
My tongue trailed down her neck, and I inhaled the sweet scent of lavender as I made my way toward her breast, taking a nipple in my mouth. I ran my tongue in a circle and she arched into me, letting out a tiny gasp. The noise went straight to my cock, and I throbbed for her. I’d physically ached for her for months. I pressed my lips into the flat of her palm. “You are mine.”
She nodded. “I’m yours.”
Her words obliterated my world. The trust in her eyes, the way she looked at me like I was worth a damn—I’d hit the jackpot. She writhed under my touch, pressed her body against mine, and the urge to connect with her, to be in her, almost broke my resolve.
Sex came second nature to me. But every move now was dedicated to earning Zoey’s maximum pleasure. I listened to her breathing, watched every sudden dip in her stomach. Her expressive body was the roadmap I’d travel until she begged me to be inside her.
I kissed along the freckles dotting her chest, to the muscles in her arm, to her delicate pink fingertips. No surface on Zoey’s body would go unexplored before we left this bed.
“Your mouth is so infuriating,” she whined, shifting restlessly beneath me.
I chuckled. “Usually you only say that when I’m talking.”
“Extenuating circumstances.” She raked a hand through my hair, and I leaned into her touch. “I might die before we get to the good part.”
“Such a whiner. I still have the left half of your body to explore.”
My mouth was on her neck, kissing down the flat of her stomach, to the curve of her hip.
“I’m not above retaliation when the time comes,” she ground out, her words strained.

Jennifer Blackwood is a USA Today bestselling author of contemporary romance. She lives in Oregon with her husband, son, and poorly behaved black lab puppy. When not chasing after her toddler, you can find her binging on episodes of Gilmore Girls and Supernatural, and locking herself in her office to write. 

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