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

I finish the double-page spread discussing the CEO’s take-no-prisoners, life philosophy and countless affairs.

“Is the creative genius having a new fling?” I read the headline out loud and make a bemused snort. “What a question. I say, who cares?”

“I do. And you should too, because this article is my inspiration to solve our money issues.” Chelsea gives me a crooked smirk.

I knit my eyebrows. “What does this guy, and his assumedly busy but shallow love life, have to do with us?”

Chelsea snaps her fingers. “I’m glad you asked. After reading this article, I went on the company’s home page to check out the hunky director better. I discovered that his firm has recently opened three well-paying internships across their various departments. I sent our resumes and—”

“You did what?” I exclaim. “How do you even have my resume?”

“I picked up a printed copy lying around on your floor while you showered and scanned it. I didn’t want to tell you about this opportunity, in case we didn’t get invited to the interviews. I know how badly you take refusals, sweetie.”

I kneel up so my body is positioned toward my friend. “Are you saying we’ve got an interview? Both of us?”

“Yessss!” Chelsea stretches the last sound while wiggling her brows at me.

“But, Chels, how is this possible? I don’t have a business or marketing degree.”

“No, you don’t.” Chelsea grins. “But you’re great with words. You make the drollest metaphors. I sent them two articles you did for the student newspaper, and they must have liked them.”

“That was sneaky.” Admiration tints my voice, because the idea of including writing samples in my unsolicited applications never occurred to me.

Chelsea thrusts out her chest and pats herself on the shoulder. “It was, right? The interviews take place on Monday morning at nine. What do you say, do you love me or what?”

My heart leaps. This nourishing heart chakra really does work. I only just started my romance novel this morning, and the stars are already aligning in my favor.

“This is awesome. No, you’re awesome. Thanks for thinking of me, too.”

Chelsea winks. “Sure thing. One of the internships is for the creative department as a copywriting assistant. You could totally nail that.”

“Copywriting?” I taste the name on my tongue. Though I’m not sure how an ad is created, words are surely involved. And that, at least, is a universe I’m familiar with. “Was I called in for that position?”

“Nope. They had a generalized application for the overall internship program. I imagine they’ll sort out who gets which position during the selection process. You’ll become their copywriter intern, and I”—she caresses Devon Griffin once more—“I’ll take the PA position for this cute boss.”

“What?” I gape at my friend in confusion. “Don’t tell me you’re only doing this to spend time with Devon Griffin?”

Chelsea giggles. “I hope I’ll score a date with him after taking notes for him for a few weeks. It’d be cool to narrate my adventure to my fans.” She slides her fingers through the air designating a stripe. “The FabGal reveals a notorious player’s secrets.”

“Ah, Chels, you can’t be serious. You want to work for this man so you can air his dirty laundry for your viewers?”

“Maybe. Or maybe I also need some of his exquisite muscles in my life.” She indicates the large poster of The Notebook hanging above my bed. “Tell me Devon Griffin doesn’t look like a guy from one of your romance binges.”

“Well…” I start to protest but break off.

I can’t negate that the man, at least according to this one picture, is pretty much how I would flesh out the physical attributes of any desirable male lead.

Athletic, toned, wide-shouldered.

But so much more goes into being a true, swoon-worthy hero than just a sculpted exterior.

And, based on this tabloid article, Devon Griffin lacks most of those qualities.

“The man seems like a womanizer to me.” I distill my thoughts into one short phrase.

Chelsea nods. “Exactly. It means that he has loads of experience and probably utterly smooth seduction skills. Just what will make him fun.”

I roll my eyes.

A notorious gigolo isn’t my type of man. At all.

Chelsea pokes my arm. “Stop being judgmental, Laia. Maybe less chastity would do you some good. Who knows, perhaps it’d help with your romance novel.”

I stick out my tongue, but she only laughs.

Though I feign annoyance, I don’t mind her teasing. Chelsea and I are friends, but we sit on the opposite ends of the spectrum when it comes to how we choose to—or, in my case, choose not to—live out our sexuality.

I redirect the conversation to a topic that interests me more. “So, your choice of applying to Hudson Communications has nothing to do with doing right by your dad?”

Chelsea shrugs. “Let’s just say I can kill two birds with one stone. Dad only said I needed a job at a reputable company. He didn’t say what my role should be, nor how long I have to hold on to it. So…”

“Right,” I murmur.

It’s pointless to dig deeper into Chelsea’s reasons. Whatever motivated her to send out our resumes, it has landed me an incredible opportunity, and I’m thankful for that.

“Since it’s Friday, we have two days to prepare and ensure that we both get picked,” I add.

Chelsea claps her hands a few times, like it’s a fun game we’re about to play and not a nerve-racking process, for which we’ll need to absorb as much information as possible about Hudson Communications.

“Where do we start?” she chirps.

“Let’s begin by checking the company’s homepage. We should study their client portfolio, history, last PR gigs—”

“And choose our outfits.” Chelsea flashes me a grin.

“That won’t be hard for me.” I wave my hand in dismissal. “I only have the one professional outfit that I used for my graduation.”

Chelsea sniffs. “I’ll lend you something else.”

“Thanks for the offer, Chels, but I’m not size-two like you.”

“But that pantsuit looks hideous on you.” She masks her horrified expression behind a smile. “Why don’t we go and buy you a new