Law #2: Don't Play with a Player: A Sweet Office Romance Story (Laws of Love) by Agnes Canestri (i am reading a book TXT) 📗

Chelsea gives me an exaggerated wink. “I know, sweetie. You got the PA job.”

My brows fly to my hairline. “How’d you know?”

“It was obvious he would choose you. You must have charmed him as soon as he laid eyes on you. I think Devon is kinkier than the tabloids suggest and has a strong fetish for shoulder pads.” She wiggles her brows at me then breaks into a giggle.

I make an air-circle beside my ear with a finger. “You’ve gone nuts. It must be the effect of too much shopping.”

But then I join in her laugh because my embarrassment over my odd blazer has already dissipated.

“Anyway,” Chelsea says after she catches her breath, “I’m just kidding. I knew he would pick you when he explained his PA’s daily tasks. I expected it to be a more straightforward assistant job, like filing papers and keeping his schedule. I probably should have read the job description with more care. I couldn’t pull off all the writing and out-of-the-box thinking the position requires, and I doubt any of those other girls could either. But for you, Laia, it will be smooth cruising.”

My cheeks flush. “I’m not sure.”

Chelsea gives me a don’t you dare go modest on me glance. “Sweetie, you’re an incredibly creative person. You’ll nail this. Also, let’s not forget that you have one ace up your sleeve that no other candidate, including me, had.”

“And what’s that?”

“Your good taste in men.” Chelsea leans forward and meets my gaze with a reassuring smile. “You’re waiting for your Prince Charming, and thus you won’t be fooled by Devon Griffin’s charm. You won’t become his lapdog when he smiles at you. And since his manly allure can’t affect you, you’ll focus solely on your job and do it well.”

“Thanks, Chels,” I mumble.

It’s not rare for Chelsea to compliment me, but she usually praises the way I look. And I know those kudos are strongly biased by her love for me, so I automatically deflect them.

Now, however, I let her kind words sink in and they warm my chest. Perhaps because deep inside I also believe I can do a good job as Devon’s assistant.

Moreover, Chelsea is right. I would never worship a playboy like Devon, and it will be indeed a strength when working with him.

His exceptional eyes flash in my mind, and for a second, my self-assurance wavers, then I shake my head and cast the silly doubt aside.

Chelsea bends to the floor and holds up two shopping bags. “Thank me once you’ve opened these.”

She pushes the bags toward me.

I inspect them with a raised brow. “What are these?”

“Your new work clothes. At least for the beginning. After your first paycheck, we’ll hit the road again and buy some more stuff. These, however, are my gift to you.”

My jaw drops as I peek into the first bag.

It’s full of blouses, at least five or six of them. I lift the first one. It’s light pink and has tiny pearl buttons. It’s very pretty—not too alluring but elegant and chic. The size should fit, also.

I press it to my chest just to try. “How does it look? I don’t usually wear fancy tops like this.”

Chelsea claps. “It looks perfect on your olive skin, sweetie.”

“It’s beautiful,” I say, lowering the blouse into my lap. I shove the quesadilla far away with a hand, afraid that even the greasy sauce’s vague closeness could stain the delicate fabric. “But I can’t accept it. Nor the others. You’ll need to take them back to the shop.”

Chelsea shakes her head. “No can do. After my interviews, I called Daddy to announce that I’m officially an employed citizen. He was so pleased with me that he offered to load serious money on my card so I could buy a whole new working wardrobe, which I graciously accepted.”

“But…you got clothes for me!”

Chelsea waves. “Oh, there’s plenty of stuff for me as well. Though they aren’t for work. I already have way too many pencil skirts, elegant tops, and smart pants. But you, sweetie, you don’t.”

“I have trousers…” I protest.

Chelsea snorts. “Right. I didn’t mean jeans, but sleek office pants. Don’t forget you’re the CEO’s assistant now. You’ll be going to all kinds of meetings. You can’t dress like a grad student or a character from some old Madonna song.” She tilts her head to my interview blazer resting on the back of a chair.

Okay, she has a point. 

As if Chelsea realizes that I’m softening up to her overly generous gifts, she adds, “The other bag has a few high-waist pants. They’ll lengthen your legs if you wear them with the tops and blouses tucked in. You can even complete your new-sophisticated look with your beloved flats or…” She jumps up, hurries to my side, and holds out a box to me. “With these.”

I open it, and a pair of block-heeled pumps peek at me. They are cute and don’t look uncomfortable at all.

Chelsea taps my shoulder. “Want to play dress-up? I’m dying to see how the outfits look on you.”

Her excited voice lures a smile from me.

I reach up and pull her into a hug. “You’re so awesome, Chels. Thank you. I’ll pay you back for all these clothes, I promise.”

Chelsea rolls her eyes. “I told you, I paid with Dad’s money. We both know he has plenty of cash to waste. Besides, it’s far better if you and I make good use of his generosity and not his teenage wife.”

Mr. Anderson’s fourth wife is indeed young, though definitely not an adolescent. Still, I stop myself from correcting Chelsea because I don’t want to spoil her mood by defending her father’s relationship choices.

Chelsea points at the pink blouse still on my lap. “Start with that and pair it with the black tweed pants, please. I bet they’ll look amazing on you. So good that Mr. CEO will need to keep his fantasy in check when he works with you.”

Though her last comment is an