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) 📗

Ah, Laia, you need to stop this. Now.

I already have too many moods that I find irresistible on him. Adding the vexed man to the collection wouldn’t be wise. Especially after his revelation about his broken heart.

“So, what’s the deal with this place? Why is it so special?” I ask, hoping to clear my head by speaking.

Devon gives me a slanted glance then shrugs. “Wait till we’re downstairs. The club might not look much when you enter, but the owner’s love for music really comes through in the main performance space.”

Just as he finishes his phrase, we arrive in a room that has an impressive volume.

It hosts a stage that’s larger in width than depth, eschewing the traditional shoe-box layout. Besides a giant Steinway piano, which seems to be a permanent piece, there’s enough empty space for an entire band to fit on the podium comfortably. The whole is framed by a 20-foot-long, velvet maroon curtain, a signature backdrop for any genuine jazz club. But it’s the tiny details of the room that make me understand what Devon meant.

Musical elements are everywhere, like the handmade wooden piano key details in the bar or the chandelier above, featuring two hundred plus trumpets.

My glance wanders to the carved Gothic pews that create a front row before the round, more conventional tables.

“These facilitate better views of the live gigs,” Devon explains, pointing at the benches. “Jimmy didn’t just build a trendy club, he—”

“He conjured a sanctuary for jazz lovers,” I murmur, because the pews remind me of the seats in the church my mother goes to.

His eyes widen. “Yes, that’s correct.”

There is a sort of astonishment in his voice, but I don’t pause to question what it might mean. I’m just happy that we’re on speaking terms again.

“Come, let’s sit at the bar while we wait for my sister,” Devon says.

He orders us two glasses of sparkling water, and we settle on the leather stools.

Just as the barman places the drinks in front of us, Ellie’s chipper voice draws my attention.

“Devon, Laia, here I am.” She hurries over with a bright smile on her face.

Her curls are tamed with a thick, green hairband that plays up the emerald hue in her eyes. The corners of her mouth almost reach her ears as she greets me.

“It’s going to be fun tonight. Right, brother?” Ellie pats Devon on his back.

“Hi, sis. Good that you’re here.” Devon nods to his sister and stands up. “I need to go backstage to speak with Jimmy. He wants me to play at eight, and it’s almost time. If Pete comes, please keep him company.”

Before he turns, he blinks at me. I detect a hint of concern in his eyes. “I hope you’ll enjoy the music, Laia.”

Without waiting for my answer, he whips around and leaves.

What was that? Was it his way of showing that we’re good?

Ellie points at my glass. “Did you guys seriously order these? I go out so rarely I need something far tastier than just plain water when I finally do.”

“I imagine Devon didn’t want anything that would make him sleepy before he plays.” I feel the need to protect her brother’s choice, though I’m not sure why. I’d had the same thought as Ellie when I heard Devon order the waters.

Ellie rolls her eyes. “Let him be serious then, but you and I, we’re here to have fun. What do you prefer in cocktails, sweet or fruity?”

“Both, I guess. I’m not big on names, though. Pick something. I trust your taste.”

Ellie grins as if my answer is just what she wanted to hear. She waves the bartender closer and hops up on the barstool beside me. “Can you fix us two Strawberry Bellinis, please?”

She bats her lashes, and the guy immediately jumps to the mixer.

“Coming right up,” he says.

Ellie holds up her hand. “Wait, let me tell you how I want them first, okay? I know some use any type of sparkling wine, but I’d love real Prosecco in it. Also, if you use fresh strawberries, make sure to wash them thoroughly. If you only have frozen ones, then blend them a tad more than you usually would. I hate to have chunks of fruit in my drinks. “

As I listen to Ellie, I can’t help but recall how she rearranged Devon’s desk in less than a minute. I admire that she seems to know exactly how she likes the things around herself to be and acts upon those preferences.

I, too often, let others’ wishes come before my own because I’m afraid to be assertive. The reason why speaking up for myself landed so high on my bucket list.

Though I thought I was making progress on this front since starting my new job, my gaff with Devon demonstrates I still have much to learn before I nail this giving-others-a-piece-of-my-mind thing.

The barman’s mouth opens at Ellie’s explanation, but he nods. “Of course, I’ll make it just the way you want it.” He accompanies his phrase with a smile that betrays that he’d love to prepare something more than just a cocktail for Ellie.

Ellie smiles at him, then turns back to me. “Sooo…how is everything in the office? Do you enjoy working for my brother?”

I’d love to answer a simple yes, but something in Ellie’s friendly face and freckled nose makes it hard to lie. “Yes, though it’s a little confusing sometimes.”

Ellie’s brows arch suspiciously. “Confusing, how?”

Good job, Laia.

Why couldn’t I choose a less questionable word? Who labels her interaction with her boss confusing?

I shrug, feigning nonchalance. “Devon is a good boss. He’s…he’s great at what he does. So prepared, and driven. I’ve already learned a lot from him, but…”

Ellie shifts closer to me, lowering her voice. “But? Was he mean to you? Offended you?”

I shake my head. “Oh, no. Not at all. I think it was me who might’ve offended him just before we came over here.”

The urge to share with someone the embarrassing details of my blooper becomes so strong that