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

by Agnes Canestri

  Especially me.

  As if to prove I should’ve listened to my gut and revealed my presence before she could utter another word, Ellie leans toward Laia in a conspiratorial manner. “You know, I think Dev’s past challenges might be an unconscious factor in his zeal to play the lady’s man. It’s compensation for his past deprivations.”

  Ellie touches Laia’s arm and smiles as if they’ve known each other forever.

  I can’t blame Ellie for her warm, forthcoming manners. My sister is not only a very expansive person, but Laia has something in her that makes you like her on the spot. A quiet, understated charm which, the longer you remain exposed, the more it seeps into every inch of your being.

  But I can definitely condemn my sister’s gossipy remark.

  The moment to intervene has come.

  I need to stop my sister before she depicts me as an unfortunate victim of circumstances in Laia’s eyes. Or worse, before she arrives at her favorite hypothesis about why Morgan could fool me.

  I cough shortly to draw their attention, then I step into the kitchen. “Ah, Ellie. What a surprise, little sis. I didn’t realize you kept my spare keys the last time you stayed over.”

  Ellie doesn’t flinch at my comment. Instead, she darts to me and jumps into my neck. “I’m so happy I popped by. It’s a funny coincidence, really. I happened to pass by in front of your building, and Philip stopped me. He mentioned you were upstairs with Laia to fetch some work stuff. I thought it would be a lovely time to catch you and give back your keys.”

  She pulls back from me and grabs the keys from her pocket. She dangles them in front of me with an innocent smile.

  Her feigned candor doesn’t fool me. There’s something seriously off in her story.

  Did she tip Philip to give her a call if he saw me with a woman?

  No, that would be too much, even for Ellie.

  She might have sworn to bring me back to the path of virtue, but she wouldn’t spy on me with the help of my doorman, or would she?

  I take the keys and deposit them on the kitchen counter. “Thanks, Ellie. But you could’ve just given me these another day. There was no need to come upstairs.”

  Ellie points at Laia. “No, brother. It’s a perfect time. Otherwise, I would have missed out on chatting with your lovely assistant.”

  “And filled her up on old and meaningless stories about me?” I grit my teeth.

  “Devon, I didn’t mean to…” It’s Laia who chimes in, with a soft, almost frightened tone.

  I capture Laia’s gaze. “Don’t worry. I know you didn’t press my sister for information on me. Ellie is…uhm…a smooth talker.”

  Ellie taps my back. “Thanks for that, Dev. For the record, we only touched upon your health because Laia found your salbutamol spray in the cupboard.”

  Laia’s eyes fill with a guilty glint. “I did, sorry. It was right beside Cat’s food, and I didn’t know whether it belonged there. I asked Ellie what it was, and if I should move it somewhere else.”

  “Agatha must have shifted it around. She’s the neighbor I mentioned to you,” I reply.

  “After spending a week at work and a Sunday afternoon with you”—Ellie gives me a coy smile as if to drive home the point that she knows I was at the car show with Laia—“I’m sure your assistant didn’t need my help to interpret your facade for what it is: a wall you build against the world.”

  Grrr, again this psychobabble.

  “Ellie, please…” I lower my voice to a menacing hiss. “Don’t embarrass me like this. Also, it’s wrong to assume that our past defines us. It certainly doesn’t define me.”

  Laia steps closer and puts her hand briefly on my arm. “I don’t think that’s what your sister meant, Devon. She just wants you to recognize that certain patterns in your behavior could be impacted by what happened to you. But it doesn’t mean you’re the result of your past. All of us can choose who we want to be or want to believe in. In every moment. We can break patterns.”

  She sounds a bit like a motivational bestseller.

  Also, what patterns should I be looking at?

  Tingling in the weirdest possible way when Laia touches me?

  That will be a tough one to break away from, given that when Laia withdraws her fingers, I almost grab them and pull them back to my skin.

  Ellie watches us from the corner of her eye, her mouth twisted upward. “Dev, before I go, I have one more thing to say.”

  I snap my head to her. “Tell me quickly, because I need to drop Laia at her sister’s house.”

  Ellie’s glance ricochets from me to Laia. A calculating grimace flashes on her symmetric features. “Laia, didn’t you say earlier that you have no plans for next Friday?”

  Laia squares her shoulders. “Yes, I’m free. Why?”

  I narrow my eyes at my sister, suspicion settling in my chest.

  I sincerely hope she isn’t going with this where I think she is.

  Before I can come up with a suitable way to disarm her, Ellie pops her question with a casual wave. “Do you want to come with me to a nice jazz club? I’d love to go, and it would be fun with some gal company.”

  My fingers itch with the need to strangle my sister. There’s no doubt about which club she is referring to.

  Laia’s face relaxes, as if she’s happy that Ellie’s proposal turned out to be a simple invite to an evening between girls. “Ah, that sounds nice.”

  Nice? Not really. Rather diabolic.

  Of course, Laia doesn’t know what Ellie’s real intention is. I, on the other hand, can see through my sister’s scheming.

  “Laia probably doesn’t even like jazz,” I grumble, throwing an I-know-what-you’re-up-to glance at Ellie.

  To my surprise, Laia exclaims. “Oh no, I love jazz. I played the saxophone in my school’s music team. I wasn’t very good at it, though.”

  What? Laia and I like the same music? Most women don’t like jazz. Morgan certainly didn’t.

  This sidetracks me just long enough to allow my cunning sister to seal her deal.

  “Perfect.” Ellie grins at Laia. “Then I’ll take you to Phoenix’s best jazz venue. It’s called Jimmy’z Jazz Haven.”

  “Great,” Laia answers with a bright smile. “I don’t usually go out. My roomie loves to go to dance clubs, but those aren’t my thing. I’m not a dancer. This place, however, sounds fun.”

  I clear my throat loudly, in lack of a better way to signal to Ellie that she needs to abort her insane plan.

  Ellie, mistakenly or deliberately—the latter knowing her—takes my gesture as a sign that I want her to inform Laia that I will also be present.

  “Oh…” She pats Laia’s arm. “I almost forgot to mention. Dev will also be there with a buddy of his. I hope that’s okay.”

  Laia’s eyes dart to me, then move back to my sister. She chews shortly on her lower lip, before saying, “Of course, yes. No problem at all.”

  Put like that, what could Laia say?

  I’m her boss, after all. She can’t back out on an invite she accepted after learning I would be there. And my foxy sister knows this.

  Which becomes evident when Ellie claps her hands. “Super, I’m glad it all works out. I’ve been looking forward to chatting with Pete, too.” She winks at me.

  We both know it’s a fib. There’s only one reason she would say what she just did. She’s planning to get Laia and me alone somehow.

  Panic fills my stomach. I can’t allow Ellie to bring Laia to Jimmy’z.

  I’ve already decided that Laia and I need to stay in a strict business relationship. I can’t become her friend or hang out with her.

  It’s hard enough adhering to this, due to the elemental craving I feel for Laia. But it might become near to impossible if Ellie deliberately tries to bring us together.

  And in my favorite jazz club no less.

  I’ll have no choice but to cancel on Pete.

  Oh, snap, except I can’t. I’ve already agreed to jump in for that missing
pianist. The owner would be disappointed if I bailed on him when he needed me.

  My eyes wander to Laia, who is speaking about the logistic details of the evening with Ellie. My throat thickens as I watch her smile and nod to my sister.

  I suddenly realize that if Laia comes, she’ll hear me play the piano.

  My sister once told me that luring out enticing music from any instrument is a man’s most attractive trait.

  The vision is tempting. Maybe if Laia saw me on stage, she would reassess her opinion of me.

  D’oh, my obsession with Laia is getting out of hand.

  Ellie gives a thumbs-up to Laia, then turns to me. “I’ve cleared everything with Laia, so I’ll go now. If not earlier, then see you on Friday.”

  “Okay, it was good to see you, sis,” I mumble.

  Even if you put me into a mess that you can’t even imagine.

  As if she heard my unspoken thought, Ellie gives me a peck on my cheek and whispers, “It’ll be fun, you’ll see.”

  She kneels and picks up Cat, who has been rolling back and forth on the tile between us. She snuggles her cheek to the animal’s fur. “Keep being a good girl with Dev, okay?”

  Cat gives out a treacherous meow, which we both know can’t count as a promise.

  Ellie lowers the animal back to the ground. She waves to us, then rushes to the entrance. Before disappearing, she yells back, “By the way, in case you missed it during your reverie, I told Laia you would drive her to Jimmy’z. I’ll be coming straight from work, ‘kay?”

  She doesn’t wait for my answer but slams the door shut.

  I gape at the empty corridor, shaking my head. Ellie is more astute than I gave her credit for. She used my moment of distraction to her advantage. If I didn’t like her as much as I do, I would surely come up with a plan to torture her.

  Laia touches my shoulder. “Do you have my files?”

  “I left the folder in my living room. I’ll go and get it.”

  Laia waits for me in the corridor. She’s saying good-bye to Cat by tickling her below her ear as I return.

  My furry companion purrs in sheer pleasure, and I can’t suppress the pathetic wish of trading places with my pet.

  Before my fantasy can get any weirder, I step over to the door and open it. “Let’s go, I’m all set.”

  Chapter 24

  (Laia)

  As I stroll toward the printing room, only the faint murmur of a vacuum cleaner interrupts the silence.

  No sounds of fingers tapping against keyboards.

  No clicking of staplers.

  I’m not surprised by this quietude. Most employees, including Katja, are long gone, even if it’s only six o’clock in the evening. The cleaning staff must have taken advantage of this particular Friday to begin their work sooner.

  Despite their earlier shift, I know I’ll stay undisturbed for a while. Bill, the janitor responsible for the top floors, knows I tend to stay later than the other employees—the price I pay for working in close contact with our CEO.

  Even if not so close this week.

  These past few days, I’ve seen much less of Devon than I would have wished.

  Which is a pretty shameful truth to admit, but it’s true.

  Devon rarely left his office, and when he did, he didn’t ask me to accompany him to meetings or brainstorm about client projects.

  Instead, he ordered me to spend entire days at the creative hub, in accounting, and even at HR, shadowing the respective department heads.

  When I asked him why this was necessary, he told me I needed to gain insights and hands-on experiences in every area of the company so I could perform my duties better.

  Though his explanation sounds logical, I still can’t shake the suspicion that Devon regretted spending Sunday with me and has decided to re-establish boss-employee boundaries.

  Which is probably for the best.

  Ever since Ellie told me about Devon as a young boy, my thoughts have been swirling around him even more.

  His sister gave me a very different angle on his character. Though her interpretation could be flawed, something in her assumption about the why of Devon’s behavior spoke to me.

  Maybe he is compensating for some past deprivation with his libertine lifestyle. That would explain how a man so witty, generous, and kind could behave like such a dullard in his private life.

  I tap on my forehead to stop the spiraling of my senseless conjectures. I’m only looking for excuses to justify my crush on Devon.

  And it’s pathetic.

  I switch on the lights in the printing room and walk to a printer. I enable the proper settings and hit Enter. As I wait for the papers, I decide to call Chelsea to kill time.

  “Hi, Chels. It’s me, Laia.”

  A male voice replies, “Hi, Laia. It’s Howard.”

  Shoot, why did I forget that my roomie would be out with him?

  Before I can apologize for disturbing them, Howard holds the phone away from his mouth, which makes his baritone muffled. “Chelsea, sugar, it’s your friend.”

  In a second, my friend’s familiar voice echoes in my ear. “Laia? Did you see it too? It’s weird, isn’t it?”

  She doesn’t sound troubled that I interrupted her romantic date. Her eager tone, which she usually reserves for significant gossip, surprises me so much I forget my original intention of hanging up as fast as I can.

  “Saw what, Chels? I’ve no clue what you’re talking about.”

  “Aren’t you calling about True Facts?” she asks.

  My jaw drops.

  “Why would I call you about a tabloid? Especially one that releases articles that contradict its name more often than not?”

  Chelsea gives out a bemused snort. “Because it published a piece about our boss whose public image you’re supposed to be curating?”

  “That’s not possible.” I shake my head. “I did my regular news search this morning, and the list was empty.”

  “Weird, the article appeared online yesterday. I discovered it this afternoon, browsing on my phone.”

  Fiddlesticks, how could I miss this?

  The article must contain something incredibly juicy if my roomie assumed I was calling about it.

  I tap the printer’s dashboard, and the shuffling of papers pauses. I quickly restart its flow, then ask, “How bad is it?”

  While waiting for Chelsea’s answer, I squeeze the phone between my shoulder and chin and race over to the computer in the corner of the room where employees can change their printing requests without having to walk back to their desks. I can use its browser.

  My pulse drums in my ears as I type in my password and unlock the screen.

  I type “True Facts Devon Griffin,” and the first result that comes up reads, “Did the Hudson Communications’ CEO have a change of heart?”

  Chelsea’s right. The timestamp is yesterday. I click on it and hold my breath.

  “It’s not bad at all. That’s what makes it so odd,” Chelsea says.

  “What do you mean? What does it say about Devon and the company? Be specific, Chels. Do they mention any of our recent campaigns?” I snap at my friend because the tabloid’s page is loading slowly, and I’m getting more nervous with the minute.

  When I created my search settings, I thought I included all local gossip magazines, but it seems I must have missed True Facts.

  Chelsea chuckles. “About the company? Nothing. It’s all about Devon and what’s happening to him.”

  Just as she says this, the website decides to cooperate, and the article appears on the screen.

  After the bold headline, there are two photos of Devon laid side by side.

  In one, he’s in a press conference and looks absolutely ravishing as he speaks to the journalists. The other picture shows him in a fancy restaurant having dinner with a gorgeous blonde.

  My heart squeezes as I look at how flirtily the girl smiles at him.

  Then I read the caption. “Now and then. What’s happening with
one of our town’s best tomcats? Did he give up on the chase for good?”

  “Exactly,” Chelsea exclaims, and I realize I must’ve spoken the words out loud instead.

  “Are you looking at the article right now?” she asks.

  “Yes, I am.” My eyes fly through the lines.

  It’s a short text written in a sassy, almost obnoxious tone. The reporter speculates about why Devon hasn’t been spotted clubbing in the past two weeks and presents two hypotheses.

  Number one suggests that Devon is having a change of heart and wants to settle. While number two explains Devon’s untypical behavior with a secret business deal that Hudson Communications will be announcing soon.

  “So, what do you think? Interesting stuff, huh?” Chelsea says. “Pretty much in line with what I—”

  “Certainly not,” I hurry to cut her off. “Please don’t speak about your whacky gut feeling. Especially not when you’re with Howard.”

  Chelsea told me that she perceived Devon’s interest in me when we met at the car show. She went so far as to say our boss might be more indulgent about office affairs because he’s got his eyes on me.

  I refuted her insane idea, but without confessing what happened in Devon’s elevator, I couldn’t entirely dissipate her crazy theory.

  “Of course not. I’m always very discreet. You should know this.” Chelsea sniffs.

  Chelsea being very discreet is as much of an overstatement as saying the Sahara supplies the entire world’s population with fruits and veggies. But since I know my bestie never intends to harm with her chattiness, I don’t contradict her.

  “Anyway, you’re right. There’s no information about our company in the article besides a vague conjecture. Thanks for telling me about this, though. It completely slipped my attention.”

  “I’m glad I could help.” Chelsea’s voice clears from resentment. A wonderful quality of my roomie is that she isn’t able to hold a grudge with me. “When are you meeting Devon’s sister?” she asks.

  “As soon as my documents print.”

  And Devon decides to leave.

  I bite back this last part just in time.

  It was a conscious decision to hide from my friend that Devon is driving me to the jazz club, or that he will even be there at all. I didn’t want to ignite Chelsea’s misconception about our boss and me any further.