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) 📗

All the coy wooziness dissipates from my chest. ‘Cora Tuesday’ canceled out whatever special moment we might have had.

Correction, I’ve had—in the singular.

A high-strung snicker bubbles up from my throat at the realization that I almost made a fool of myself.

It was silly to assume that a man who has female names in his calendar for every weekday could be enticed with me.

“What’s funny?” Devon asks.

“Nothing. Everything. This.” I point at him then at me.

“I’m not sure I understand.” His brows round.

“It’s funny that I felt there was something sizzling between us when there wasn’t, right?” I ask.

Devon inhales then exhales loudly. “Laia, the truth is—”

“No problem. I know I’m not Laia Friday.” I force out a giddy chuckle.

Best to pretend my reason escaped to the safe harbor of tipsiness, then maybe Devon won’t question why I tried to act like a femme fatale.

Devon’s gaze darkens. “That’s not what I wanted to say. But it might be better if we pick up this conversation another time when you’re not…” He scratches his chin, and the five-o’clock-shadow I admired makes a rustling sound. “Where are Ellie and Pete anyway?”

“Outside.” I point toward the stairs. “Ellie asked me to keep you occupied while she speaks with Pete. Privately. I think your sister may be in love with your friend. Isn’t that romantic? Maybe she can teach Pete that one woman is enough…”

My own words stir up an unsettling image.

I see Devon planting a feathery kiss on my mouth while whispering, “You are my media naranja, Laia.”

I don’t even bother to decipher why my illusory Devon uses the Spanish equivalent to declare that I’m his soulmate. I’m just shocked such a vision could bypass my control in the first place, even with the alcohol.

Devon’s chin hardens. “I’ll text Ellie to check what’s going on.”

He pulls out his phone and types quickly.

After only a minute, during which I rub my mind clean of my derailed fantasy, his phone chimes.

His brows furrow as he reads his sister’s answer. “It seems Ellie decided to turn the tables on us for real. She and Pete won’t be coming back to the club.”

I give him an I-told-you-so glance.

He snorts, but his lips hint at a smile. “I’m confident it’s not what you think, Laia. There is no one Ellie is less likely to fall for than Pete. Well, maybe just one.”

“I know, I know.” I give him a coy smirk. “Your friend, Wyatt. I heard how much she dislikes him. I can’t fathom why, though. He’s one hunky football player.”

“I didn’t know you follow football,” Devon says in a perplexed tone.

“Oh, I don’t. Chelsea made us google Wyatt last week after he called you in the office.”

Devon’s eyes widen. “Did you just admit to me that you’ve spoken about my private call to Chelsea?

“Oh, shoot, I guess I just did.” I tap on my forehead. “Which is utterly stupid, given that I’m your PA, right?” Maybe mentioning my job title jumpstarts my responsible self for a second because I add, “It was a slip, I’m sorry. I was too excited after my first day, so I overshared with my friend. I don’t usually talk to Chelsea about these details. I mean ever.”

Devon’s face softens. “It’s not a state secret that Wyatt and I are friends, so no harm done. And since I believe this information isn’t something your sober self would have blurted out, I think it’s time for us to go. We don’t need to wait for Ellie and Pete, so I can take you home to rest.” He takes hold of my elbow.

Despite the fantastic zing his fingers give me, I wiggle free from his grip. The fact that he spoke to me as if I’m a drunk fool makes me annoyed.

“I’m not ready to go just yet. I think I’ll stay and get another drink. One that’s not sparkling water.”

Devon sighs. “Laia, please, it’s better if we go. You’ll have a bad headache as it is tomorrow. Trust me.”

I hold my temples with my palms on both sides and rock my head side to side. “All fine, see?” But just as I finish bragging, a spasm sizzles through my temples. My face contorts into a grimace.

Devon steps to me and cradles my cheeks in his hands. A worried glance fills his eyes. “You’re starting to get a throbbing already, aren’t you?”

His tone is filled with concern, and his sweet attention depletes my previous flare of rebellion. Or it maybe it’s the heat of his touch that seeps into my skin with light ripples.

Whatever it is, I don’t feel like contradicting him anymore.

I peek up at him and nod. “Fine. Let’s go home.”

Chapter 29

(Devon)

I don’t like women who drink too much.

I don’t even like myself when I drink too much. I hate when my judgment becomes clouded through alcohol. That’s why only a handful of people have ever witnessed me even inebriated.

I should be put off by Laia’s confused state.

But I can’t help it, I find even tipsiness darned sweet on her.

And if it were only that… 

As I put my hand on Laia’s lower back to assure she won’t trip on the club’s stairs —even though she performs her slightly unstable ascent with her chin up, she can’t fool me. I know she must be feeling dizzy— that daring glint with which she gave me the strawberry flashes through me.

And I’m once again robbed of breath.

A muscle was bunched on her neckline when she retreated, almost as if it cost her to back off. It sure as heck cost me not to reach out and haul her to my chest.

If that silly reminder Ellie programmed into my phone about her roomie’s gallery opening hadn’t come between us, I’m not sure I could’ve stopped myself from claiming Laia’s mouth this time.

“¡Andale, Devon! Gimme your car keys. I can totally drive us.” Laia’s addled timbre snaps me out of my mindtrip.

She holds out her hand to me as we reach my Audi. The menacing frown with which she tries to coax me into handing her