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) 📗

them on board as my assistant. Not when I’m set on avoiding the same situation as happened with Hayley.

I don’t want to hire someone who is more interested in chatting with me about my private life than learning about the job she will need to perform. So, although these women technically have the proper credentials, they don’t possesses the mindset, diligence, and wit I’m looking for.

All the better that I forced that drably dressed girl to accept an interview with me. Laia didn’t dress up to impress me, which shows that she’s interested in my company and not in going on a date with me.

I snort as I remember her unflattering grey pants. As if those trousers aren’t ugly enough, Laia paired them with a matching blazer one size too large. The cut has distorted her otherwise likely well-proportioned figure into that of a wide-shouldered swimming champion, especially with those shoulder pads sticking out on either side.

My lips move into a smile.

I also like that Laia didn’t turn into a crazy cheerleader when I spoke about my love for caffeine. Maybe my interview with her will be more uplifting and exciting than the others. The fact that she didn’t come here to become my assistant could, paradoxically, make her the best contestant after all.

A soft knock and the screeching of the door cut through the silence. “Mr. Griffin?”

Laia’s voice was soft like a lullaby. It surprised me, even the first time I heard it.

“Devon, not Mr. Griffin. But please come on in, Laia.”

Laia pushes the door ajar and enters. Her brown eyes quickly meet mine before she drops her gaze to the floor. She keeps it there as she bustles to my desk.

Is Laia shy or just interested in the abstract patterns of my colorful rug? Perhaps she needs to watch her step in those oversized pants of hers.

Laia makes it to the chair positioned on the other side of my desk and sits down.

Her blazer opens as she leans to the backrest, and I see that I’ve judged her figure correctly. She has a perfectly normal waist beneath all that fabric.

Laia crosses her ankles instead of her knees like the other candidates did and arranges her hands into a neatly folded position.

Once settled, she raises her chin.

I might have sized up her body accurately, but I certainly made a mistake, thinking she had brown eyes. Laia’s eyes resemble something between a toffee and cinnamon hue. Like a well-brewed Earl Grey tea with a hint of lemon. There are also tiny yellow dots in her irises that somehow remind me of Cat, my cat.

“May I ask why you wished to interview me?”

Her dulcet tone snaps me out of my thoughts.

Even if her straightforward question takes me by surprise, I don’t mind it. I prefer to come to the point. “I wanted to discuss why you didn’t apply for my PA position?”

Laia licks her lips. “I…I just…”

“Please, give it to me straight,” I say. “I’ve heard enough flattery for one day from the other candidates. It would be refreshing if you tell me things as they are.”

“Very well…Devon,” Laia nods. “I think your company is amazing. All your campaigns have a fresh twist, a small wink to the consumer. But I only learned on Friday that you were looking for interns.”

My brows drift high. “Didn’t you apply to our internship earlier than that?”

I checked Laia’s application, and it said that we received her resume ten days ago.

Laia shifts on her chair. “I didn’t apply myself. Chelsea Anderson, the blonde candidate you spoke to, is my friend. She sent in my documents without my knowledge.”

Okay, so Laia does understand what honesty is. “I see. Interesting. Why is that?”

Laia swallows.

I give her an encouraging smile. “Don’t worry, it’s not a crime if you didn’t file your own application. The important thing is that what’s on your paper is true. I assume your degree isn’t a farce, is it?”

Laia’s eyes widen. It makes the yellow speckles drift into a new pattern, almost as if I were watching a kaleidoscope.

“No, of course it isn’t a farce.” Her face moves into a grimace of horror. “I would never lie about my education. I graduated summa cum laude last year.”

“Great.” I nod. “So can you share with me why your friend sent your documents instead of you?”

“To be honest, your company simply wasn’t on my radar when I started my job search. I mostly contacted publishing firms. I didn’t think my profile would be considered at a company like yours. Chelsea had more faith in me.”

“You don’t think a master’s in literature would be useful in an ad agency? Do you know how I founded Hudson Communications?”

“Yes.” Laia bobs her head and begins to recite almost word for word the information published in the history section of our webpage.

She knows how I single-handedly built the company, and even mentions that I worked from my favorite wooden armchair when I scored my first successful project with a significant sports brand.

“I see you did your homework. You’re missing only the small detail about my dog.”

“A dog?” Laia’s cheeks tint a delicate pink that suits her creamy complexion.

Her eyes move to the ceiling as if she’s checking some internal database, then she blinks back at me. “There wasn’t anything about a dog on your website or in any of the newspaper articles I googled.”

“You even googled articles on us? Didn’t you say you learned about your interview on Friday?”

Laia squares her shoulders, which makes her shoulder pads stand out even more. “I might not have applied to your company myself, but I’m very motivated to work for you. So I gathered and digested all the information I could find. What is this info about the dog that I missed?”

“You saw the statue at the reception?”

“You mean the giant, white porcelain bulldog?” She smiles. “It’s hard to miss.”

This is the first smile she’s given me, and it makes her look a tiny bit like Salma Hayek in that old movie she did with Antonio Banderas.