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

I’d better avoid feeling. It entices prospects and what-ifs that would be wiser to avoid, and I can’t help but contemplate them anyway.

“Laia?” I ask softly. “Where do you live?”

No answer. Only a steady stream of air. I sigh and take her purse.

A gentleman—and despite what some might think, I am one—never goes through a woman’s bag.

Unless it’s an emergency. 

I rummage in her black leather bag for her wallet and take out her driver’s license.

I furrow my brows. This can’t be right. I distinctly remember from Laia’s application file that she doesn’t live far from my place. This address in Laveen Village must be an old one.

I rearrange her wallet and stuff it back in her bag. While I do, my hand brushes against the cover of a book.

My lips curl up, because even if I didn’t think of it consciously, I expected to find a novel in here.

I pick up the book, interested to see what kinds of topics occupy her mind.

I expect a cheesy romance. Like the one she told me she’d love to write.

But the book is some acclaimed motivational guide. Success Lies Within Us. Is this what inspired Laia to build up her bucket list?

I thumb through it and find it’s a pretty exciting read despite the slightly new-age tone the author uses.

I put the book back, fetch Laia’s house keys, and stick them into my pocket.

I close the passenger door with care so I don’t wake Laia and saunter to the driver seat.

After hopping in, I take my phone and log into the app that stores all my employee data. I scroll through the list of names until I get to the letter ‘F’ and copy Laia’s current address into my GPS.

In less than ten minutes, we arrive at her house. The street where she lives is indeed close to my condo. If I wanted, I could walk to visit her one of these days.

I freeze mid-thought.

Why would I walk to Laia’s apartment? It seems Laia’s scent has wrecked my neuronal connections.

I shake my head and get out of the car.

I want to open the entrance door before carrying Laia inside. Once she’s in my arms, I don’t want to be fiddling with locks.

I disregard the anticipation brewing in my stomach when I think that soon I’ll lift Laia and press her soft curves to my chest.

Instead, I hasten to her building and try all her keys.

But none works.

Mhmm…weird.

I check the names on the intercom. On the third row, there’s “Flores” so we’re at the right place. But why can’t I open the door?

I step back to check the windows, but all are dark. The inhabitants are either out on a Friday night or already sleeping. In neither case can they buzz me in.

Just as I’m about to walk back to my car, a fifty-something woman with pockmarked cheeks and a wolfish face passes me. She throws me a quick, suspicious glance then scurries to Laia’s building’s door.

Great, I’ll ask her to let us in.

The woman fumbles with her keys while her eyes fly to me then back to the lock.

I amble to her and clear my throat.

The woman whips around, her eyes wide in alarm.

“Excuse me, would you—” I break off as something sharp lands on my sternum, knocking the air from my ribcage.

I need a second before I find my voice, and the first sound that leaves my lips is a painful ouch, as I clasp at the tender spot on my chest.

The woman pulls back her arm, revealing a bunch of heavy keys that sway on a swing ring similar to Ellie’s. Only this woman’s string is blue instead of pink.

Despite the discomfort I still feel, an amused snort escapes my throat.

Huh, I clearly underestimated my sister’s gadget. This darned thing can truly hurt if appropriately used.

The woman yells, “Back off now, or I’ll charge again.”

“I’m sorry,” I mumble. “I just wanted to—”

The woman lifts her rubber chain as if to show that she isn’t playing. “I. SAID. BACK. OFF.”

I turn around and retreat to my car without another word. I’d like to avoid another metallic punch into my flesh.

Also, I realize that even if I get into Laia’s building, there’s no guarantee I’ll be able to open her apartment door. Since Laia’s keys didn’t match the gate’s lock, they might not work for her flat.

I can’t risk being spotted again by this paranoid neighbor while trying to force a door open. She’d surely call the police on me. The last thing I need is a another tabloid story that I’ve been arrested for breaking into a flat with my unconscious assistant in my arms.

I hear the building door close with a loud bang.

Good, at least the crazy lady is gone.

I stop beside my car’s window and stare at Laia sleeping.

There’s only one option left.

I have a spare bedroom in my house, and currently, it’s only Cat who enjoys the king-sized bed. She won’t mind sharing it with Laia. My kitty seemed to be a fan of my assistant.

What worries me isn’t whether I have enough space.

No, it’s the hitched breathing I get from the idea that Laia will stay over at my place.

I cough twice and thump at my chest with my fist.

Okay, better.

The mean jab from that lunatic woman’s keychain must have messed with my respiratory reflex.

Even so, as my eyes dip to Laia’s slightly open mouth, my heart stutters.

Chapter 30

(Devon)

When we arrive at my building, Philip has gone home, and the night doorman is on duty. Not a single muscle twitches on his well-trained face as he sees me carrying Laia in my arms. He pulls the door open and wishes me a polite “good night.”

We get into the elevator, and I use my elbow to push my floor’s button.

I try to avoid peering down at Laia while she’s so close, hoping if my eyes don’t feast on her sleeping innocence, it’ll be easier to tame the jitter in my stomach. However, as the elevator doors close, my determination