Law #2: Don't Play with a Player: A Sweet Office Romance Story (Laws of Love) by Agnes Canestri (web ebook reader .txt) 📕

to remind her that she should keep cool, but she leans forward, and my fingers grip the air.

Chelsea puts her hands on her hips and narrows her eyes at Devon. “Howard and I have a dinner plan together, that’s all. Whatever happens between us won’t impact our collaboration at work, I promise. There won’t be any intervention needed, like with your ex-assistant.”

This time I aim correctly, and my thumbs lands between her ribs.

“What?” Chelsea throws me a half-guilty slant. “I just heard some rumors.”

Of course she did. I spilled the beans to her about my chat with Fanta and Katja.

Chelsea flashes a smile that says I’m mortified if I stepped on his toes, but he deserved it. “I’m not saying that any of the gossip is true, but I’m hoping Devon might grant Howard and me a break as long as we don’t create drama at work?”

Devon’s jaw quivers as if he’s gritting his teeth, then his eyes flick to my face. An undecipherable emotion washes over his face but dissipates quickly.

He blinks at Chelsea and clears his throat. “Well, as it so happens, I’ve been pondering my strict rule concerning relationships at work. I might need to be more tolerant. So, yes, as long as you and Howard don’t create problems for the other employees or our business, I don’t see an issue with you meeting outside work.”

Chelsea grins. “Perfect. Thanks so much. I’ll tell Howard tonight. I think he’s been reticent, because he feared he might get fired.”

“Chels,” I whisper.

Chelsea giggles. “Sorry, too much information. Anyway, I’ll leave you to enjoy this spectacular car show. Together.”

I would like to pinch her for the emphasis she put on the last word.

But Chelsea pivots away and strolls toward the parking. After a few steps, however, she looks back. “I almost forgot. Laia, are you okay with taking the bus to your sister’s? Or shall I leave the car for you?”

“No, I’m fine taking—”

“I’ll take Laia wherever she needs to go after the show. Don’t worry.”

My eyes dart to Devon.

I want to protest about his generosity. He really has no obligation to drive me around, just because I can’t afford my own vehicle yet.

But Chelsea accepts his offer on my behalf before I can utter a word. “That’s so nice of you, Devon. Thanks. You’re a great boss. Have fun!”

After announcing the words that tie me to Devon for the duration of the show and beyond, Chelsea sashays forth.

“You have a perky friend,” Devon says.

I roll my eyes. “You’ve no idea.”

“Do you mind that she accepted my ticket and my offer to chauffeur you around?”

His expression is slightly timid, as if he actually fears I will say yes. This unexpected vulnerability is disarming, especially because he tops it with a lopsided, boyish smile.

“No, I don’t.” I shake my head. “Both are awfully nice of you to propose. I’m excited about this show. Chelsea might have exaggerated about us not getting tickets, but without a pass, it would probably take another hour before I could get inside.”

“That would be a shame. I don’t know if you heard, but Audi is on a wagon jag. They brought their e-tron Sportback to Phoenix. It’s all-electric. It might not have the elegance of the R8, but I’m dying to check it out.”

Before I can stop myself, I blurt, “Me too!”

“Well then…” Devon fetches the two silver VIP passes from his back pocket. “Let’s go admire all the new models, shall we?”

We saunter to the entrance, side by side. To anyone watching, we have to look like a couple. It isn’t even the fact that such an idea occurs to me that startles me. Rather that it carries an astonishing giddiness that makes me smile like I won the Karma Revero GT—the highest prize in the drawing at the show.

Oh, boy, I think I’m moving into dangerous territories this afternoon…

Chapter 20

(Devon)

“Look, here’s the RS 6! Let’s check it out!” Without realizing what she’s doing, Laia grabs my wrist and pulls me toward the Audi’s wagon shimmering on a rotating stage to our left.

My skin lights on fire where her fingers touch me.

I follow her, keeping my arm stretched in just the perfect angle so her pull is neither too hard, nor too easy. I’m afraid if I tweak our contact in any direction, she might release me from her grip. For some reason, I want to enjoy our physical connection as long as it lasts.

If we weren’t at the car show, I’d ask myself what this strange attraction means, but we are here, and the salesman has already zeroed in on me.

“Welcome!” He dashes forward, flashing an all-teeth smile. “Are you interested to learn more about this special wagon?”

The guy is a young fellow with freckles on his fleshy nose and perfectly styled hair. He might not appear old enough to buy a beer in a pub, but I know I shouldn’t dismiss him as a greenhorn based on his puffy cheeks and hairless face. A big player like Audi would never let flunkies run their booths at an event like this.

“Ah, yes. We absolutely are,” Laia replies instead of me.

Her happy-go-lucky gleam warms my heart.

We’ve spent the past two hours going from one stand to another, exploring redesigned models and futuristic car concepts.

In the beginning, Laia seemed intimidated by my presence. She strolled quietly beside me. But as time passed and the sights distracted her from whatever was holding her back, her eyes started to sparkle with that exceptional glint that makes her face irresistible—wholesome and darned sexy at the same time.

As I throw a side-glance at her, my pulse picks up the pace despite my best judgment.

“That’s fabulous news.” The salesman, whose name tag reads Richard Cleve, grins. “The RS 6 Avant has been a forbidden fruit for us Americans for many years.”

He jumps into his pitch, his glance ostentatiously set on my face even though it was Laia who answered him.

“In the past”—he points at the car—“if you found this model, it was either a custom-built or