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

“Our offices are often our homes away from home, and a good office environment can help employees stay engaged, productive, and happy throughout the day.”

Devon’s words could go straight into a PR leaflet, but the conviction in his voice tells me he genuinely believes what he’s saying. It’s not lip service. His eyes light up with the specific fervor that only people who truly stand behind their ideas can have.

I suddenly feel proud that he chose me to work for him. He might be a tomcat outside work, but in the office he’s a man I can look up to.

A small group of men and women stand around one of the tables, and they wave at us cordially as we approach.

I spot Fu among them. He gives me a bright, ear-to-ear smile, which makes me wonder whether he knows he got his position because I withdrew from our competition. Why else should he be beaming at me like that?

From the corner of my eye, I catch Devon watching me.

“Do you want to go over and talk to Fu? It’s okay, I can wait,” he says.

But the mild frown and a hint of coldness in his tone suggests impatience.

I quickly shake my head. “I don’t want us to be late.”

Devon’s face smooths. “Good. There’s still one place I want to show you before we join Luca and the others. I think you’ll like this a lot.”

I follow him with a curious anticipation.

“This is our ‘Think’ space.” Devon points at a raised area with a few armchairs and a massive bookshelf, the kind I’d gladly accept for my bedroom. “I’ve established this as a sort of inspirational garden where ideas can be invented and sketched out.”

My eyes widen as I take in the exquisite collection of books.

They are not only industry-relevant manuals but all sorts of novels. I even spot one of my favorite historical romances by Philippa Gregory.

“You mean these books are for us to read? While we are at work?” I mumble.

I’ve always thought that reading helps set the mind free and nourishes creative thinking. I just never met a CEO who shares this vision of mine.

Devon’s lips move into a crooked smile. “Okay, the voice you just used would tell me that you’re a bookworm even if I hadn’t seen your resume.”

“Why? What voice did I use?” I ask self-consciously.

“Like an addict searching for her next fix.”

The familiar sensation of blushing flushes through me. “I do like reading,” I mutter.

“Me too.” He winks at me. “I was just kidding. You’re welcome to come down here and grab anything you want. You can schedule reading breaks throughout the day to refresh your mind. I know my busy schedule can be overwhelming.”

He finishes his phrase with a grin that lures out his dimples.

I’m glad I’m looking at him from a side angle and not standing in front of him. Earlier today, when he flashed the same movie-poster-worthy smirk at me while striding past my desk, my diaphragm flinched so hard I had hiccups for almost twenty minutes.

Devon and I stroll further and enter a corridor that hosts a few glass-walled meeting rooms.

In one of them, five men, all dressed in black pants and crispy white Oxford shirts, are having a heated discussion.

“These guys belong to the accounting team,” Devon says. “Though they have their own conference rooms on their floor, they often come up here for their meetings.”

Accounting?

I study the blond guy in the group with increased interest. He might be Howard, Chelsea’s new flame. She told me Howard is too hot for his own good. Truth be told, the man with long bangs and fleshy lips is pretty good-looking.

Obviously not as hot as Devon, though.

No, wait…where did this thought come from? Devon’s dimples must be messing with my brain.

Devon ushers me to a square-shaped room which, except for an oblong table and a few backless, glossy electric-blue stools, has no other furniture.

An enormous cloud sculpture hangs above the door. Devon bows deeply as he passes beneath it.

There aren’t many times when I’m glad to be petite, but this is one of them. I’d hate to bump my head on the white plastic fluff or duck down in these shoes.

Four people are sitting inside, three men and a woman.

The woman, a brunette with a short pixie cut and green geometric-print dress, explains something to the others with ample gestures.

As I cross over the doorstep, the cloud above me illuminates and beeps like a metal detector.

I jerk up, my eyes darting to the unexpected noise. However, my legs keep moving, and as a result, I crash into Devon’s back.

Great heavens, what kind of workout schedule is this guy on?

It must be similar to the one my brother in the military is subjected to. Otherwise, his muscles wouldn’t feel like steel.

I’m rubbing the painful spot on my nose when Devon turns around.

“Are you okay, Laia?”

When I don’t answer, he takes hold of my wrist and pulls it gently away from my face. He leans closer, and his breath tickles my cheeks as he bends from left to right, examining me.

“No serious damage, just a tiny red mark. Does it hurt?”

“No, I’m fine.” I lie as convincingly as I can. “Though your back is rather hard.”

I really just want him to move back to an acceptable social distance. With his face so close, it’s hard to ignore tiny details about him I’d rather not contemplate. Like how his stubble accentuates the cleft on his chin, or how he has extremely long eyelashes which, for some reason, instead of curling up bend straight, creating a curtain over his blue irises.

Devon arches his brows. “Well, I was on my high school football team, and our strength coach was big on pull-ups and push-ups.”

Football? Of course. I should have known.

Guys as good-looking and self-assured as Devon must have been the stars all their lives.

“I’m not normally this clumsy.” I want to assure Devon that, despite the bad track record I’ve set so far,