Law #2: Don't Play with a Player: A Sweet Office Romance Story (Laws of Love)

by Agnes Canestri

  As the doors close, the air seems to densify around us, and I struggle to breathe.

  Elevators always accentuate social weirdness to an unbearable level. Maybe it’s due to the restriction of space, or the neon lights, or the feeling that I’m not anchored to the ground.

  Without knowing why I’m even speaking, I begin to prattle. “Did you know they did an experiment where a man stood with his back to the elevator door while everyone else faced forward?”

  Devon’s impassive face tells me he couldn’t care less about what I’m jabbering.

  But since speaking seems to ease the lump in my throat, I continue, “You know what happened? Everybody got nervous because the man was acting differently than expected. People made self-soothing gestures, and they only calmed down once the man turned to look at the door, too.”

  “Self-soothing gestures? Like?” Devon lifts a brow.

  “Mhmm, like hugging oneself, playing with one’s shirt, fiddling with the strap of a bag or…” I chew on my lip, thinking what else I could add.

  I’m glad my story finally gripped Devon’s interest and distracted him from his grim mood.

  “Chewing on one’s lip?” Devon reaches out and brushes his thumb against my mouth without actually touching me.

  His finger is so close I can feel his warmth on my lower lip.

  I swallow. “Yes, that too.”

  “Are you nervous now, Laia?” Devon takes a small step toward me.

  Why is it so sultry in here? Did somebody switch off the air-conditioning?

  “I’m not nervous,” I mumble.

  Devon captures my gaze and inches a half-step forward. “Still not nervous?”

  I shake my head because I can’t trust my voice.

  Devon is standing in my closest socially acceptable circle. One more step would put him into unacceptable proximity. One where I’d feel his breath on my cheeks…

  Devon takes another half-step.

  “And now? Not nervous at all?” he asks.

  Yesssss. “No,” I whisper, while I peek up at his face

  “Strange…” He cocks his head to the side, his eyes not leaving mine. “I would have thought standing this close to someone who’s supposed to be only about seducing women…an ultimate playboy…would make a person with your impeccable moral standards uneasy.”

  “My impeccable moral standards? What are you talking about?”

  Devon sniffs. “You’re not the only one who’s made assumptions about the other. I also sized you up, Laia, based on our talk on Friday.” My name is but a soft caress from his lips.

  “And what conclusions did you draw?” I force myself not to drop my gaze.

  I brought this confrontation on myself, and I don’t want to be the usual coward and back out of it without understanding what Devon thinks about me.

  “I think you’re someone who won’t settle for anything but perfection. You want your relationships to be magical, the swipe-me-off-my-feet, make-me-swoon-and-promise-the-sky kind of thing. I wonder how many times you found that kind of bliss…” He brushes a tendril behind my ear. “Not too many, right?”

  His fingers sear on my skin, and there’s that coquettish glint in his eyes as if he were challenging me into something—something that I realize I want more than anything.

  I gawk at him, while a crazy urge to bend forward builds in my chest.

  Am I such a hot mess because I have no real experience with men? Is my decision about waiting for the right one biting me in the butt and turning me into a horny teenager?

  However disturbing this idea sounds, I still like it better than the other option. The one that would mean that my desires are explicitly related to Devon’s persona.

  And my budding feelings for him.

  “No. I didn’t find whom I’m looking for yet,” I say. “But true love is worth waiting for.”

  His eyes widen, and his lips part a little. “Waiting? Are you saying that you…? That you never…?”

  My silence answers his question.

  A troubled frown settles on his face.

  “I’m sorry, Laia. I don’t know what came over me.” He shakes his head. “It must’ve been your comment about me being a playboy…it made my blood boil. I wanted to…” He rubs his neck, dropping his gaze. “I’m sorry.”

  He recoils to the opposite wall of the elevator.

  How did I end up in this conversation? I never meant to discuss my virginity with him.

  But it’s not only what I revealed to him that squeezes my belly like I’ve been kicked in the guts. It’s the realization that Devon acted provocatively because I infuriated him with my judgmental remark.

  I’d contemplated how it would be to kiss him, while he was only taunting me with his player charm to school me.

  “It’s okay,” I say, but almost gag on the humiliation that closes up my throat.

  Devon holds out his hand. “Forgive me?”

  “Yep. No problem.” I put my hand in his, though I know it’s bound to make me feel worse.

  And it certainly does.

  The buzzing in my palms and the leftover flutters in my chest make it clear I’m more than just a victim of my hormones. There’s something more to my reaction.

  The elevator beeps. Devon lets go of my hand and dashes out.

  I stay behind and press my hands on my cheeks. How could I assume Devon was being genuinely flirty with me?

  So dumb of me.

  No, I need to stop whining. This is something the old Laia would do. But I’m trying to build a new me, a stronger and more resilient one. And to do that I need to find the positive points in everything.

  I take a deep inhale.

  Looking at it from another angle, this humiliating exchange with Devon has been useful. It showed me that even if I were to disregard us being opposites, I still couldn’t become his love interest.

  Which is no surprise. He dates women like Vanessa, Morgan, and those others from the tabloids.

  This is an empowering realization. I don’t have to interpret my unsettling feelings about Devon.

  I should be ecstatic that this burden is off from my shoulders. But as I step out and follow Devon to his door, the only thing I feel is my belly knotting with bitterness.

  Chapter 22

  (Devon)

  Pete once told me that elevators are places of in-between, and as such, they are the perfect setting for heated interactions that wouldn’t otherwise be allowed. Rooms where the rules of the game can be reinvented.

  Did I buy into his wacky reasoning?

  It seems that I did, otherwise, why would I have come at Laia like that? Throwing some Don Juan act on her…in the name of what? Hurt pride?

  The memory of her face as she admitted just how innocent she really is, makes me cringe, and I accelerate my pace.

  I need to get away from that steamy little box where my words and actions turned into my worst enemies. A swishing noise behind me tells me that Laia must be only a few steps from me.

  I exhale and turn the key in the lock.

  The only thing I can do is to admit it happened. I apologized to Laia, and she accepted. Perhaps she’ll forget soon just what a colossal jerk I’ve been.

  With this thought in mind, I push the door open.

  “Oh, cielo mio, is this cute thing yours?”

  Laia’s soprano makes me whip around. She’s staring at something between my legs. A weak meow signals to me that she must’ve discovered my little companion. I point at the furry, black ball sitting on my travertine floor. “Yes, that’s Cat.”

  “I can see it’s a cat. What’s his name? Or is it a she?”

  “It’s a she. And she is called Cat.”

  Laia snorts. “Did you call your cat Cat? That’s just….mhmm.” She wrinkles her forehead. “Very original, to say the least.”

  “Yeah, I’m not big on naming pets. Hudson was an exception.” I smile, and my heart leaps when Laia exchanges it with one of her own.

  Desperate to
make the atmosphere between us agreeable again, I blabber on, “Technically, the kitten isn’t even mine. It’s Ellie’s, so I shouldn’t have had to name her. But since the beast has lived in my apartment for the last six months, I had to come up with a way to call her.”

  We enter, and the sleazy animal goes straight for Laia’s legs. Cat circles around her purring like a turbocharged engine.

  Normally only the sight of Ellie unleashes this level of enthusiasm from Cat. Me returning home certainly never qualifies for such a show.

  Laia kneels down and lifts Cat gently. “Oh, heavens. Look at that! What a sweet kitty.” Laia rubs her underneath her chin and throws me a questioning look. “I didn’t figure you as a cat person.”

  Cat relaxes into her arms as if it’s the place she’s always intended to be. I didn’t think her purring could get any louder, but it does.

  “Why is that?” I ask, a curious inclination in my voice.

  It seems the episode in the elevator wasn’t enough for my entire brain to get the memo that it would be best if Laia and I stay in a strict boss-employee relationship.

  “I don’t know.” Laia tilts her head. “Maybe from the dedication to your work and your busy social life.” She clears her throat. “But also because of Hudson. I assumed that if you did have a pet, it would be a dog.”

  “Actually, if it depended on me, I probably wouldn’t have chosen to care for a cat. But my sister begged me to adopt Cat after one of her roomies refused to put up with the noise. Apparently, I am just supposed to be fine with that.”

  “Aww, that’s really sweet of you.” Laia giggles.

  The sound of her laugh makes Cat’s eyes spring open.

  I wasn’t mistaken when I compared Laia’s gaze to my cat’s. Now that the two pairs of yellow-brown irises are staring at me, they look eerily similar to each other.

  Laia furrows her brows. “What are you gaping at? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  “Nothing, just surprised to see Cat like anyone besides Ellie.”

  “Isn’t she usually this well behaved?”

  “If you call peeing into my shoes, scratching my bed, and ignoring me royally after I’ve just fed her then, yes, Cat is the best-behaved pet ever.”

  Laia laughs, this time whole-heartedly. It’s so contagious I chuckle with her.

  Cat, recognizing the only word of interest to her from our conversation, jumps from Laia’s arms and bolts to her plate in the kitchen.

  “Oh, oh. I think someone is hungry,” Laia says.

  “Yes, this is partially why I needed to stop by, besides giving you the briefing reports. Normally my neighbor lady takes care of Cat’s afternoon snacks, but today she’s visiting her niece.”

  “Do you want me to feed Cat while you gather your papers?”

  “Sure, that would be great.”

  Though I don’t want to ask favors of Laia, having a few minutes alone would be a much-needed break. I have to reorganize my thoughts and rid my body from the desire her closeness awakened.

  “Where can I find her food?”

  “Cat’s stuff is in the white cupboard to the left when you enter the kitchen. The beast drinks only sparkling water.” I lift my shoulders and drop them. “Don’t ask me how she got into that weird habit. Probably Ellie spoiled her for life before abandoning her to me.”

  “White cupboard, sparkling water. Noted.”

  Laia leaves for the kitchen, and I go straight to my study. Just as I enter, my landline rings.

  “Hey, man. What’s up? Finally, I manage to catch you,” Pete’s gruff voice echoes on the phone.

  “I was busy yesterday when you rang me.”

  “I hope with someone ravishing and not with some stinky work stuff.” Pete chuckles.

  His familiar banter relaxes my shoulders. “I wish, my friend. I’ve been buried in a mountain of documents.”

  My statement is a partial fib. When Pete called last night, I’d already finished correcting Laia’s reports. But I didn’t feel like going out, so instead, I ordered in some Chinese and spent the evening watching a Mexican serial about narco-trafficking. I even managed to pick up a few Spanish expressions which I could show off to Laia when—

  “Don’t you have an assistant who can help with that? The hot young Salma Hayek?”

  Pete’s comment is so relevant to my line of thoughts that I give out a nervous cough. “Pete, you old fox. Your wheels always turn in one direction. I told you, Laia is purely a professional help in my life.” I’m glad my buddy can’t see my chin harden.

  “Sure, Dev, I get it. But old habits die hard. You might have dialed back on clubbing with me, which I don’t particularly like, but the instincts I’ve helped you groom still brew the same way, don’t they? When you see a woman you like, you can’t help but tempt her?”

  Shame curls through my chest.

  I’d like to contradict Pete, but he’s right. I’d almost claimed Laia’s mouth only minutes ago. If she’d taken only a second longer, I might have actually made my move.

  “Maybe,” I murmur, “but not when it comes to my employees. Anyway, why did you call? Is it about Friday?”

  Before Pete can answer, I hear a faint bang, a noise similar to slamming of a door. I hark to see whether Laia needs help with something, but since I don’t hear her call, I redirect my attention to Pete.

  “Yep. I ran into Jimmy, and he asked me to check with you whether you’d help him out. Harry, one of the pianists, has the flu. Jimmy couldn’t find anyone to replace his slot on such short notice. I told him you’d be fine with a few rounds on stage.”

  I shrug. “No problem. It’s not the first time.”

  “Perfect. I’m looking forward to it. And you know what? I have an idea. Why don’t you invite your assistant? I’m not her boss, and I could use some sweet Latina company while you play us cool songs.”

  My stomach twitches despite knowing Pete is messing with me. Jimmy’z is just as much a sanctuary as my apartment. Neither Pete nor I have ever invited a girl to our favorite jazz club. It’s a venue reserved for our male bonding and letting off steam.

  “Ha ha, you’re so funny. I’m hanging up now. See you on Friday.”

  “Fine. Don’t you dare ditch me this time, ‘kay? Bye.”

  The line goes dead, and I put the phone down.

  Pete’s comment about Laia sets an odd tension in my stomach.

  How absurd is that? How can I be troubled about losing a woman I didn’t even kiss to my buddy, who has never even met her? I can’t be jealous.

  I’m just protective of Laia. Now that I know that she’s looking for a white knight and saving herself for him, I can’t even envision her being courted by someone like my buddy.

  Or me.

  This afterthought sneaks up on me without warning and leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.

  Indeed, by no definition am I a white knight. More like a dark warrior who doesn’t need a woman to feel whole.

  Even if the girl happens to have the most incredible eyes and kindest smile in the whole world.

  This is just who I am.

  If I know this, then why am I still hung up on a yearning to kiss Laia?

  Chapter 23

  (Devon)

  As I head back to the living room with the reports under my arm, Laia’s sweet giggle reaches my ears.

  Huh, she must be having fun with Ca—

  Cat’s head appears from her fancy black cat toilet that I transferred this morning from the balcony to the corridor.

  I freeze mid-thought. If my kitten isn’t in the kitchen, who is Laia laughing with?

  A second sound echoes through the walls, but this time in a chirpier soprano. The memory of the slamming door comes back to me, and I suddenly remember that my sister still has my spare keys.

  If she came to bring me back those, her timing couldn’t be more convenient…for her.

  A soft murmur tells me my sister must be chatting with Laia, but from where I stand, I can’t catch a wor
d of what they’re saying.

  “Psst, Cat,” I whisper, trying to lure her over to me. “What is my crazy sis up to, huh? Do you know?”

  Cat, as always, lacks any sign of cooperation.

  She even seems to take offense that I dared to call out to her while she’s doing something as crucial as licking her paws clean. In answer, she huffs, then dashes back to the kitchen.

  I drop the documents on the beige sofa and tiptoe behind her as quietly as I can, hoping to catch a bit of the conversation without the girls realizing my presence. I suspect it can’t be a coincidence that Ellie turned up in my apartment at the exact same time that I brought Laia here.

  I flatten my back against the wall beside the kitchen’s door and peek inside.

  “He’s pretty fine now, but boy, was it bad when we were younger,” my sister says, leaning against the black granite counter. Her coral-colored blouse blends in nicely with the tile backsplash.

  There’s no doubt whom or what she’s speaking about.

  As if to confirm my hunch, Laia answers, “I didn’t know Devon’s health problems were so severe. He mentioned he’d been hospitalized a few times, but I didn’t want to pry.”

  She faces away from me so I can’t see her expression, but I get to admire how her hair sways as she shakes her head.

  Ellie’s eyes widen. “No way, Dev told you that he was sick? It’s not a thing he tells anyone.”

  “Really?” Laia’s voice is higher than usual and has a startled timbre.

  I’m tempted to slam my forehead on the jamb. It’s not true that I keep my childhood condition a secret. I might not go around flashing a T-shirt that says, “I used to suffer from severely recurring bronchospasm,” but Wyatt knows about it. And Pete, too.

  So there you go…I didn’t give Laia the kind of special treatment that Ellie implies.

  My sister pulls her dainty nose into a pensive grimace, while she vigorously scratches her left earlobe. It’s her trademark expression for I’m about to mount a new rescue mission and usually means trouble.

  Ellie just can’t help her inner drive to fix others.