Law #2: Don't Play with a Player: A Sweet Office Romance Story (Laws of Love) Agnes Canestri (reading eggs books txt) š
- Author: Agnes Canestri
Book online Ā«Law #2: Don't Play with a Player: A Sweet Office Romance Story (Laws of Love) Agnes Canestri (reading eggs books txt) šĀ». Author Agnes Canestri
My roomie would never be caught wearing anything less than a meticulously composed ensemble. Even at home, she wears skinny jeans and tight tops, while I hang out in sweatpants and oversized T-shirts that may or may not have holes.
This time she has a point, though.
The pantsuit isnāt the most flattering piece I own. Itās a hand-me-down gift from my motherās second cousinās daughter, Juanita, so it doesnāt fit me perfectly and itās a tick old-fashioned.
But if we go out shopping now, Iāll lose precious time.
I canāt have that. I absolutely need this job. Thereās just too much I must learn about this ad agency before Iāll feel confident to show up for the interview.
Being well-prepared trumps looking pretty.
Besides, no dress I could buy would make me look as gorgeous as my roomie. For that, Iād need to lose at least another ten pounds (not impossible but tough with my sweet tooth) and grow a foot (which is unachievable anyway).
I give Chelsea a reassuring look. āIām not aiming to become Devon Griffinās personal assistant. To get that positionāāI tap his photoāāyouāll need to look fabulous, but Juanitaās suit should be enough to land me the copywriting internshipā¦if I come across as knowledgeable about their business.ā
āFine, but once weāre hired, weāre going on a shopping spree, okay?ā Chelsea asks.
āOkay, I give in.ā
Chelsea picks at her nails, and when she notices that the polish on one is slightly chipped, she jumps up.
āLaia, do you mind starting with the background search alone? I have a nail emergency.ā
Without waiting for my answer, she dashes out of my room.
I sigh and open my computer. I fire up a browser window and type āHudson Communicationsā.
As the page loads, a hopeful voice hums in my chest. Maybe Chelsea didnāt exaggerate when she boasted that all our problems would be solved thanks to her idea.
Chapter 2
(Devon)
I shift the phone further from my ear before the high-pitched female voice Iāve been listening to for ten minutes risks bursting my eardrum and lean back on my executive chair.
āAre you ready to throw away all the magic we shared, Devon?ā
The magic? What is this girl even talking about?
Before I can react to her question, my office door opens and my secretary Katja enters, carrying a dubious murky liquid in a tall glass.
āNot again,ā I murmur under my breath as I observe the curious juice.
I hired Katja five years ago. In her mid-fifties, sheās practically old enough to be my mother, and this fact makes her disregard several rules that normally apply to a boss-employee relationship. I cut her some slack on that because her robust build, wide jaw, and always impeccably woven milkmaid braids discourage visitors from ignoring my closed-door policy. Also, if Iām honest, I quite like her bossy matron style.
But her new hobby of fixing up health concoctions instead of serving me my usual cup of joeāa double Arabicaāis starting to get on my nerves.
There is a vexed sniff from the phone. āDevon, are you talking to me?ā
āAh, no, I wasnāt. Sorry, Clarissa, Iāā
āMy name is Claudia!ā
āRight. Claudia,ā I correct, shooting a nasty glance at Katjaās gloating face.
My secretary mustāve given me the wrong name on purpose when she announced the call. Her little retaliation for leaving her in charge of my personal cell phone, I suppose.
āThatās what I meant,ā I hurry to cover up my slip. āListen, Claudia, Iām sorry if you misunderstood how things stood between us. We had a fun weekend together. Three days, nothing more. I was quite clear that Iām not looking for anything else beyond that, soā¦ā
āI thought you would realize what a special connection we had. But you only used me!ā Claudia exclaims.
āI didnāt use you. You said you wanted pleasure with no strings attached. You made me assume we were on the same page.ā
Katja reaches my double pedestal desk and places the glass in front of me. She gives me a condemning look to show she isnāt buying my excuse to Claudia.
Well, too bad.
Iām not the bad person here.
My only fault is that I believed Claudiaās fib. She obviously assumed that I donāt know myself and my own wishes well enough. A conclusion at which too many women arrive, unfortunately, despite my best efforts at being transparent with them.
My buddy Pete is much better at sensing this kind of female neediness from the get-go. Thatās why these calls rarely happen to him.
Katjaās chiding gaze is getting unnerving, and I shift my glance to the glass once more. With the tableās oak shade as a backdrop, the drink isnāt mud-grey as it looked from a distance, but plays in a green undertone.
This new color doesnāt make it more inviting.
āYou know what, Devon? I think Iām done with you,ā Claudia whimpers in my ear. āYou donāt deserve me.ā
I see a chance to close this utterly pointless discussion with a positive note, so I quickly agree. āNo, I definitely donāt. Iām so sorry.ā
My admission must puzzle Claudia, because her timbre becomes softer. āOh, I thought you did. I wanted you to be the one.ā
My eyes flick to the clock on my screen.
Jeez, I need to get back to this briefing report if I want the photographers to start with the shooting tomorrow.
I try for a voice thatās understanding but not too tender. āYou deserve someone much better than me, Claudia. And donāt worry, youāll find him.ā Then, desperate to cut the call short, I add, āI think itās best to leave it at this.ā
Claudia gives out an indignant snort. āFine, youāre a man with an empty heart, and I donāt have anything more to tell you. Live well, Devon. Or donāt!ā
After her theatrical good-bye, Claudia hangs up, and I lower my phone.
Katja pushes the glass closer to me, risking the eerie content spilling onto a re-branding plan Iāve just approved.
āDrink up, please,ā she barks in her familiarly harsh voice.
āWhat is this?ā
āSauerkraut juice with cucumber and ginger.ā Katjaās mild Slavic accent gets accentuated as she rolls the ārā in her words. āDonāt be a baby, drink it!ā
āYou shouldnāt have bothered,ā
Comments (0)