Law #2: Don't Play with a Player: A Sweet Office Romance Story (Laws of Love) Agnes Canestri (reading eggs books txt) 📖

I huff. “I explained to you yesterday. If I direct my energy on something I desire and can directly influence, hence nourishing my heart chakra, I’ll start to attract positive external events. Maybe even find employment…?”

I know the promise is too simplistic. And I didn’t miss out on the strong new-age flavor of the whole.

But I’m at my wit’s end, and thus I’m game to try out anything that might turn my stagnating life around.

“So, that’s why you’re writing a kissing book?” Chelsea asks.

“Yep. Starting a novel is a desire that I can actually act upon. After examining the list of things I hope to accomplish before I die, I found out that many of my aspirations are entirely out of my control. And, what’s worse, some have already passed their expiration date. Like number one, which would be, ‘Finding my soulmate before I’m twenty-four.’”

Chelsea gives me a dramatic eye-roll, but I ignore her and continue, “Anyway, writing a romance is still within my reach.”

It’s #3 on my list and a wish I’ve been harboring ever since I read “The Beauty and the Beast” as a child. And, best of all, I won’t need anything to pull it off except my laptop, some courage, and time. Thus, it might just be the right choice to start my heart energy flowing—or whatever it is that, according to the book, will happen.

Chelsea leans toward my screen and scans what I’ve written so far.

“That’s not a lot. Maybe instead of playing the aspiring novelist, you should put me in charge of your future. If you haven’t paid attention, I’ve got a terrific idea.”

I bite my tongue to stop myself from asking about her enigmatic statement. She’ll reveal her grandiose plan even if I don’t ask. Her chin is already quivering from a desire to blurt it out.

By ignoring her, I’m repaying her for her dismissive comment about my efforts to jumpstart my future.

Chelsea knows very well that if I can’t score a suitable job soon, or any paid employment, I’ll need to ask Alicia for money again.

And I’d rather not do that.

I’ve been borrowing from my sister for the past four months. Alicia doesn’t purposely make me feel bad about helping me out. She’s a good sport about it, considering I can’t even give her a ballpark idea for when I’ll be able to pay her back. But she never misses out on reminding me that if I’d only followed her advice—and in her footsteps—I’d be building my dental practice right now, instead of trying to repackage my Master’s in Comparative Literature as a palatable option for companies that couldn’t care less about who I am.

Chelsea gives me a calculating gaze and smooths down blonde hair that she must have freshly hot-ironed, because her locks are frizz-free. I don’t comprehend why her tresses never dry out. She washes them each day, treats them with all the tools that are claimed to ruin hair structure, but her mane is still soft and shiny.

If I tried straightening my black waves even once, I’d end up with a bunch of hay.

“You know what?” Chelsea scoffs. “I’m just going to tell you about my plan.”

I knew she wouldn’t last long.

I hit save on my document, so that the fifty precious words I’ve squeezed out of my brain won’t get lost, and then shut my laptop.

“So, what’s this big announcement?”

Chelsea takes a deep, theatrical inhale. “I figured out how you can pay the rent without needing a dime from your sis.”

I straighten from my stooping, cross-legged pose and pivot my chest to her. “How?”

“Huh!” A gloating smirk appears on her lips. “I see I’ve got your attention.”

I bet she did. “Chels, don’t beat around the bush! Did your father agree to help us out?”

Chelsea scrunches her nose and a small wrinkle forms above her upper lip. It makes her look like a scornful seven-year-old, which is her default facial expression when she talks about her dad. “No, unfortunately. He’s still unimpressed by my social media followers and wants me to get a job. Until I do, I’m on a tight leash and can’t make any requests.”

Chelsea’s father, Mr. Anderson, financed his daughter’s business degree and paid our rent as long as Chelsea was still studying. But when he saw that Chelsea was unwilling to enter the “real world,” as he calls it, he decided to withdraw his support.

“It’s okay.” Chelsea pats my thigh and puts the tabloid on my lap, opening it to the central page. “We’ll let my dad have what he wants, while doing something good for you and me.”

I stare at the photo of a handsome dark-haired man, who appears to be coming out of a nightclub with a gorgeous blonde. The man is holding a hand against the camera lens as if he doesn’t want his picture taken.

I throw a questioning glance at my friend. “Why are we looking at this?”

“This…” Chelsea taps her French-manicured nail on the man’s face. “Is Devon Griffin. He’s the owner and CEO of Hudson Communications.”

The guy doesn’t look like a businessman in his button-down red shirt and casual black blazer. He looks more like a movie star…or a carefree playboy, especially with that all-legged bombshell clinging to his arm.

But the name Hudson Communications rings a bell. It’s a middle-size advertising agency that’s been on the rise since it was founded.

And no wonder. They make super fresh and bold campaigns.

“I adored their commercial for rainbow candies that you used for your marketing case study in your thesis,” I say.

“Duh, as if I didn’t know.” Chelsea gives me a knowing look. “Ever since, you sort those sweets by color before munching on them.”

Chelsea’s right. I do.

But the little girl in their video was too cute, and her gestures stuck in my mind.

“I wasn’t aware that Hudson Communications has such a young director,” I mutter.

“And hot!” Chelsea moans and brushes her thumb over Devon Griffin’s contours.

I scan the article.

My only superpower is to read fast, so in less than thirty seconds,