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

Katja told me that, for the past four years, Devon has always shown up solo at the CCF. The suspicious glance with which she accompanied her revelation did nothing but increase my jitters about tagging along with Devon on a three-day-long journey.

I don’t know why Devon wants me to accompany him, but I fear it might have to do with his crazy idea that I should coach him.

I don’t know how to help him without accidentally revealing the way I feel for him…

Chelsea brushes her finger on the tip of my nose. “You’re thinking about your feelings for Devon, aren’t you?”

“Maybe,” I mumble.

Ah, why did Howard need to visit his cousin on Saturday?

With him gone, Chelsea stayed home and saw me return from the park all flustered. She didn’t buy my excuse that Sandy and Mila got me this worked-up. Ultimately, she coaxed me into letting the cat out of the bag about my crush.

“Well, I was thinking of Devon too, when I chose this dress.” Chelsea wiggles her brows. “I wanted either a bodycon or a bandage-style dress with a stylish belt to draw attention to your tiny waist and yummy hips. But since for now you only have an unofficial date with Devon, I went for a classic look with this fifties-style outfit.”

I cringe as she labels the gala a date—even if an unofficial one.

Chelsea must think I’m unhappy that she picked a more sober look because she grabs the dress and presses it to me. “Don’t worry, though, this flared skirt and well-defined midsection will show off your succulent curves all the same.”

I sigh. “As puzzling as it is that you call my hourglass-shape succulent, that’s not why I winced. I don’t want you to insinuate that tomorrow is something more than it is. I know very well it isn’t, and any hope in the opposite direction risks fueling my emotions for Devon. And that’s not the healthy mental state I need for surviving this impromptu business trip.”

“Ah.” Chelsea waves with her hand. “When are you going to admit the big boss is courting you?”

“He isn’t, unfortunately.”

Chelsea gives me a you’re-selling-yourself-short look, which she’s perfected throughout our teenage years. She’s so good her glance is often enough to shake me out of my self-commiseration.

As if Chelsea realizes her usual encouragement won’t cut it today, she drops my cocktail dress onto the carry-on and puts her hands on my shoulders.

Her gesture makes me suspect I’m about to receive sassy preaching about why her take on the situation is the right one and why I’m entirely mistaken.

This time, however, she’ll find me ready to counter all her points.

Not because I don’t wish with all my soul that Chelsea is right. But because I fear if I buy into my friend’s idea, I risk a more significant heartache than the one I’m already destined to have.

“Laia, Devon offered to help you with your cheesy romance book—”

“It was nothing but creative interest in my project,” I chime in before Chelsea can twist this unrelated information into evidence to support her wacky theory.

Chelsea furrows her brows. “Let me finish first, then you can tell me your verdict. Okay, let’s ignore his offer to support you with your book. We still have his invite for the motor show—”

“You basically forced him to give me his VIP pass…” This turns into an inaudible mumble as Chelsea presses her palm to my lips.

“I said listen, Laia. Besides the car show, there’s the fact that he took you to his house to get some reports he could’ve given you at work. Next up is the jazz club. And”—she holds up her hand as she sees me opening my mouth—“I know it was Ellie who proposed it. But Devon said his sister is a matchmaker. Maybe he recruited her to drop the invite?”

“Unlikely,” I murmur, but a weak flicker of doubt awakens in my chest.

Though I could force myself to find a plausible explanation to almost all the details Chelsea’s recited so far, I must admit that stringing them all together makes it sound like Devon is going out of his way to spend time with me.

Chelsea, who knows me enough to recognize my shifting mood, continues with increased enthusiasm. He brought you to his house. He made you breakfast and stayed hungry so you could eat. And last”—Chelsea makes a dramatic circular wave, then points her index to the ceiling—“he shows up in the park where he knew you would spend the afternoon and volunteers to babysit your annoying nieces.”

“Sandy and Mila are adorable,” I retort.

“Ah, I know that, of course.” Chelsea sighs. “I was just putting myself into the shoes of a rich, single playboy. Isn’t it weird that a man like Devon does all this for his assistant? To me, it’s like a giant, blinking sign that he is very interested in you, Laia. And not as an employee, but as a woman.”

Without wanting, my lips curl up and my chest begins to buzz with a sense of lightness. “So you think he might be falling for me?”

Chelsea shrugs. “Well, I’m not sure if we should frame his feelings like that. Let’s call it a bodily crush, or a flirtmance. Like what Howard feels for me.”

“Do you mean Devon wants me for a fling? Like his ex-assistant?”

The idea that this is what Devon could desire from me is even worse than the thought that he doesn’t care for me at all.

I sink to my bed and bury my face into my palms.

Chelsea sits down beside me and rubs her temples. “That Hayley chick?”

“Yes. I’ve never really found out what happened to her, but there had to be something.” I raise my head as a suspicion wiggles itself into my mind. “What if Devon really had a fling with her, which ended badly—aka the girl fell in love with him—and he fired her?”

Chelsea examines her nails as if those could provide an answer to my question. After a second, she peers up at me. “I’m