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) 📗

Laia flips the poster around, then grabs a pen from the table. She draws a large rectangle, which she divides into two parts. After adding a few refining elements, I recognize the image of an open book.

“Here”—she points to the left page in her illustration—“we should have an exciting chapter ending, somewhere in the second half of the book. So that readers are chewing their nails to discover what happens at the end. Then here”—she drifts her finger to the other page—“would be our message…” She writes something, then pushes the poster to me.

I lift it and read out loud. “If you smoke, your story might end 15% before it should. Quit now.” I chuckle. “This is good. Still a bit rough around the edges, but it’s an excellent start.

“Really?” Laia’s mouth shifts into a full-teeth smile.

I can’t help but notice that this display of sheer joy fits her. The yellow dots in her irises dance and her cheekbones are put in evidence.

“Of course. Let’s go back upstairs. I’ll show you how you can log the details of the meeting and your slogan idea into our system so all team members can access it.”

“I’m sure Katja can do that, too. I don’t want to slow down your day.”

“Nonsense. I’ve got a free hour, and it’s best if you learn it from me so you can always cater to my taste.” I wink.

“To your taste?” Laia jerks back, and her voice jumps an octave.

“Yes. I mean that you can satisfy my needs. I’m your boss, after all.” I smile.

Laia’s face pales. “Which particular needs?”

What is it with her? It seems like my words make her jittery. Maybe she’s still overwhelmed by the fact that I put her on the spot during our meeting.

“You know what?” I clasp the posters underneath my armpit. “It doesn’t matter. Let’s move to my office.”

I touch Laia’s back to signal that we should move. Her hair feels as soft as I thought it would.

My sister used to have a porcelain doll with similarly silky hair. Laia’s petite figure, suggestive eyes, and slender waist remind me of that toy. And so does her aura. There’s something sweet and wholesome about my assistant, as if she belonged to the world of fables.

Luckily, Laia moves forward before my mind can elaborate on this entirely fruitless topic.

I make us take the stairs, partially because I want to stretch my legs, but also because I’d like to avoid standing in a confined space with Laia. Last time it happened, her scent had an odd effect on me, and I don’t want that again.

Once in my office, we settle on the fluffy black sofa that is part of my office’s casual sitting area. Even though the rest of this room is the most traditionally laid-out space in our whole building, I’ve asked the designer to create this mellow corner where I can conduct agreeable talks with my clients.

It’s my conviction that having a large table between me and my conversation partner sets a tense tone—precisely the opposite of what I like to have in my business relationships. Or even with my employees.

Over the years, I’ve used this sofa on more occasions than I can count. And at six feet of length, it never came across as cramped to me.

Until today.

Does Laia’s rigid posture, as if she’s afraid our bodies might brush against each other, make me think the sofa is too narrow? Or is it the way her body twitches whenever I bend closer to access her laptop?

“You see, this is the database you’ll need to use,” I explain, pointing at her screen. “All meetings need to be logged in here.”

“Very well. I’ll finish typing up my notes and save them.” She nods, shifting her weight forward and slightly away from me.

My office door slams open.

The abrupt sound makes Laia flinch and turn her head to the door.

I, on the other hand, don’t need to move to know who’s walking in. There’s only one person who can bypass Katja’s impenetrable-guard routine.

Ellie’s chipper voice fills the room before her heart-shaped face and bouncy curls appear. “Dev, sorry for the interruption.” She treads forward in her sneakers without the slightest sign that she would regret disturbing me.

I straighten from the sofa and amble to her. When she’s close enough, she throws her arms around my neck and plants a kiss on my cheek. “Katja said you’d be free to talk.”

“Of course Katja would say that,” I grumble. “For some reason, my secretary can’t resist your charm. It must be those round eyes of yours. She can’t see the mischief in them like I do.”

Ellie sticks out her tongue, then giggles. “Well, good to know at least Katja is on my side. That snooty, blond assistant of yours always made me schedule an appointment. I’m truly relieved you let her go. Maybe now that you don’t have a PA, I can finally visit you more often. Whenever I have lunch breaks, perhaps?”

There’s a faint rustling behind my back, which tells me Laia must have stood up.

My sister really can’t put a lock on her cheeky tongue. Why did she have to label Hayley as uptight in front of Laia? Now Laia might assume that I berate my employees behind their backs. Which is not true. Even if Hayley had a haughty air, I’ve never complained about her to my sister.

Except, of course, for that night when—

“Devon, would you mind introducing me?” Laia says.

I point at Laia, who shifts her weight from one foot to the other, eyeing my sister.

“Ellie, I’m sorry to crush your fantasy about blowing in here like a cyclone every time you feel like. In the future, you’ll need to book an appointment with Laia…my new assistant.”

Laia stands stiff and holds out her hand to Ellie. “I’m Laia Flores. Nice to meet you.”

Her voice is less musical than I’m used to hearing from her.

Ellie gives Laia quick head-to-toe, then the corners of her mouth turn up. “Very nice, Devon, finally a normal person. Not some stick-legged mannequin.”

She grabs Laia’s hand