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) 📗

“Why not? I’m a guy.”

“Yes, I know that you’re a guy.” I force my voice to sound even.

We are, after all, discussing my ambition to write a book, and not something that should make me blush, even if the warmth is already oozing into my skin.

“But you’re also my boss. It would be bizarre to pick your brain about how I should set up my male protagonist.”

Devon stares at me as if he doesn’t see a problem with it at all. “I, on the other hand, think it could be fun. I love artistic challenges, and there are only a few things more creative than conceiving a novel out of thin air.”

I shake my head. “No, it’s not worth your time.”

“Nonsense,” Devon waves, “you said that writing a book is on your bucket list, right? If you embrace your dream, you’ll reap great benefits. You can even channel your creativity into your work here. So, as your boss, I feel obliged to help you. What do you say? Can I coach you to become an expert on men’s thoughts?”

Chapter 18

(Devon)

My offer isn’t that big of a deal, really.

When the idea of Hudson Communications first popped into my mind, I didn’t have anyone to bounce my ideas off. It was a lonely, agonizing process of birth.

Much like what Laia will face if I don’t give her a hand.

It won’t cost me much effort to introduce her to a male’s perspective on life and women. But it’ll make her feel empowered when she writes her story.

Laia stands still, glaring at me.

I meet her gaze as nonchalantly as I can while I wait for her answer.

“I don’t know, Devon.” Laia shakes her head. “I’m trying to write a love story.”

I nod. “Yeah, boy meets girl. Girl meets boy. They make love. I know what romance entails.”

“Do you really?” The question pops out of her lips so abruptly, it’s as if it hijacked her conscious approval process.

My hunch is confirmed when her eyes widen, and her fingers fly to her chest, spreading into a fan. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean for it to sound as it did. I don’t want to insinuate that you don’t know what romance is. In absolute terms, at least. Though I do believe that you aren’t the kind of man who knows much about the romance I like and want to write about.”

“And what type of romance is that?”

“The only real one, I suppose…” Laia avoids my gaze and picks up her mug from the table. Her tea must’ve cooled off because she drinks four avid gulps before continuing. “The finding your soulmate kind.”

I snort bemusedly. “That’s not very realistic on your part. There is no such thing as a soulmate.”

Laia sets her half-empty mug back on her desk and crosses her arms over her chest. “Of course there is.”

Her naivety is disarming and annoying at the same time.

I shake my head. “I probably have more experience under my belt than you do, so take it from me—soulmates don’t exist. If you want to use this mushy concept in your novel, go for it. Unattainable fantasies attract people. Just know that what you’re describing doesn’t exist in real life.”

Laia’s nostrils flare. Her chin tilts up with determination. “Devon, excuse me for my harsh words, but that is one of the most patronizing and cynical things I’ve ever heard. And believe me, I’ve been talked down to a few times in my life.”

Guilt worms through my chest.

I should have phrased my comment more carefully. I didn’t want Laia to feel snubbed. “Laia, I—”

“By the way, just because you didn’t find your soulmate yet, it doesn’t mean that you should doubt her existence.”

My meeting with Morgan and the total absence of any kind of longing toward the woman I used to worship pops into my mind.

No, I’m sure there are no such things as soulmates.

It pains me to be brutally honest with Laia. I can tell from the emotion tinting her last phrase that she really believes in this I-was-made-to-love-you bunkum.

At the same time, I don’t want to see her get hurt over her childlike beliefs. I’ve become strangely attached to her.

“Laia, what you’re saying is a thing of Hollywood blockbusters.” I pat her elbow soothingly.

A tingling invades my palm and I pause for a short breath. I drop my hand and let it hang lose behind me while I add, “In reality, you don’t have a person you’re destined to be with. You might meet someone attractive and enjoyable. You may even decide to spend your life with that person, for lack of a better alternative. But that doesn’t make him your soulmate. I’m sorry.”

Laia’s gaze darkens.

Right now, her eye color doesn’t remind me of Cat, but instead of a wild animal. Perhaps a deer.

The glint in her eyes is innocent but enigmatic at the same time. As if Laia is privy to some kind of secret I’m not.

“It’s not me you should feel sorry for. You enjoy women’s company only when there are no strings attached and—”

“Please, don’t say I should feel sorry for those women. My partner always knows what she can or cannot expect from me. I do pleasure and fun, but no emotions. I don’t pretend to want the happily-ever-after deal.”

Laia snorts. “Not that your sincerity makes it less hurtful for anyone, but I wasn’t talking about your flings. No, I think the person you should feel sorry for is you.”

Me?

“Please enlighten me. Why.”

Laia picks at her nails. “I think we should stop this conversation, Devon, and agree that we disagree. I’m your assistant, and it’s not my place to tell you what you should or should not do in your private life.”

“It’s a little too late for that, don’t you think?” I bend slightly closer to her capturing her gaze. “You’ve dropped a you-should-feel-sorry-for-yourself bomb on me. You got me curious.”

“Okay, if you really want to know…robbing a relationship of commitment and emotions is wrong. It turns it into something shallow and pointless.”

“Well, it isn’t