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

Devon’s eyes widen at my goofy comment, and his lower lip twitches. “Shall I deduce from this that you don’t like doughnuts? Or just vanilla ones?”

My cheeks boil. “No, I love doughnuts. Any kind, really. I have a sweet tooth. Though chocolate is probably my favorite of all…”

My babbling stops as Devon’s hint at a smile grows into a full-blown grin.

“Ah, that’s good to know,” he says in a serious tone, but his eyes keep laughing at me. “Once a month we have a treat-day in the office. You may bring any sweets you like.”

He’s making fun of me. 

But I guess I deserve it. I’m behaving like a complete moron.

Why did I have to tell him I like chocolate more than vanilla? Devon doesn’t care.

I drop my gaze to the floor. “Okay, sure. I’ll bake something nice for that day then.”

I need to say something to demonstrate that my brain didn’t get spilled with that cup of tea. Something that can re-establish a more office-type atmosphere between us.

I clear my throat. “So, are you done with work for tonight?”

Devon nods. “We can leave here in twenty minutes if that suits you. Ellie wanted to meet you at Jimmy’z around seven, right?”

“Ah, so you didn’t forget,” I say.

Devon furrows his brows. “Forget? Of course, not. Ellie checked in with me several times to ensure that I would take you.” There’s a trace of irritation in his tone, as if he isn’t happy that we need to drive together.

I raise my glance to meet his blue irises. “I can take the tube, instead. It wasn’t my idea that we go to the club together. Your sister—”

“Don’t worry, Laia,” he interrupts me by putting up a hand.

I want to ignore how his pectorals flex, but against my best will, my glance dips to his chiseled chest.

“I know my over-zealous sister. She…uhm…” Devon scratches his neck. “Ellie thinks I need help in the dating department.”

“What? Why?”

Devon certainly doesn’t need a hand with meeting women.

“Ellie holds similar values to you, so she’s never satisfied with my choices.” His face moves into a boyishly flustered grimace, and that’s when I understand what he’s getting at.

“Wait, Ellie wants you to find a real relationship? With me?”

Why did my stupid voice waver at this last word?

Devon shrugs as if his sister’s plan isn’t worth discussing. “Something like that. But don’t worry. I’ll tell Ellie to leave you out of her matchmaking attempts. My sister has a hard time accepting that I don’t need a woman to be happy.”

“Everyone needs somebody to love.” The words rush out of my mouth like air leaving a holey balloon, instinctively and unstoppably, probably fueled by the disappointment Devon’s statement awakens.

Devon rolls his eyes. “Are you going Solomon Burke on me?” He folds his arms across his chest, which makes his shoulders as broad as an athlete’s. “And where do you get this wisdom? From your countless past experiences?”

I gasp, and his face softens immediately.

He steps closer and reaches for my arm. “I’m so sorry, Laia. I shouldn’t have said that last part. It was wrong of me on so many levels.”

“Don’t worry.” I keep my voice as stable as I can. “I’m used to people belittling my take on love because I have no experience. But you, Devon”—I square my shoulders—“you have plenty. And, still, you’re just as clueless as I am. Despite your countless flings, you’ve never truly loved, right?”

Devon looks as if I slapped him.

“As a matter of fact, I have. Once. But it turned ugly. It’s not something I’d ever want to repeat.”

His short but bitter declaration is honest. There is no shadow of doubt about it. Only a person who had his heart broken could pronounce these words with such fervor and iciness at the same time.

He withdraws his gaze and bends to collect his folder from the floor.

I stand paralyzed.

I shouldn’t have assumed that Devon has never loved anyone. I’ve completely misinterpreted him. He doesn’t prefer short flings to meaningful relationships because he’s afraid to commit. He’s scared to be hurt again.

“You have a spare shirt for me, right?”

His question jars me out of my thoughts.

“Yes, yes, of course. I got three of them from the dry cleaner on Tuesday. I’ll come and show—”

“No, thanks. I know where we keep them. I’ll go and change. Meet you in the garage at quarter to seven?” he asks without looking at me.

“Yes, that would be fine.”

“Good.” Devon turns and saunters back to his office.

As I stare at his absolutely perfect back, my throat closes up. I wonder whether he’s so upset about my comment that he can’t even stand to ride in the same elevator with me.

I recall the night when he offered his help for my romance novel. His voice had a disillusioned undertone when he spoke about soulmates. Why didn’t I pick up on it?

Instead I was judgmental and jumped to the conclusion that he’s a playboy with a cynical worldview and loose morals. Guilt floods my chest as Devon’s hurt glint dances in front of my eyes.

My sense of culpability is coupled with another feeling, too.

An entirely hopeless desire. A wish to teach Devon to believe in love again.

Chapter 25

(Laia)

“My sister might be here already.” The hopeful edge in Devon’s voice is so palpable I cringe. Devon can’t wait to hand the baton to his sister and stop being in my company. During the drive, he didn’t utter more than three words to me despite my attempts to jumpstart a conversation.

As we walk on the long and narrow underground corridor of Jimmy’z, I pray we find Ellie downstairs.

As we descend a mysterious blue staircase with a curved ceiling that takes us thirty feet down from street level to the club area, I accelerate my pace to be at his side.

I take a peek at his somber frown.

There’s no question that Devon’s facial features were made for a brooding hero look. The way his lips harden in a line and his eyes glimmer is how I imagined the male lead