Her brows round. “My what?”
I point at her figure and move my finger up and down. “Your womanly charms.”
I wouldn’t have thought her eyes could become larger, but they do.
“Are you easily blinded by such aspects?”
I shrug. “It depends. In my private life, sometimes. At work, no. Though if you trust the rumors about me, you may assume something different.”
Laia cocks her head to the side. “You know what they say…a rumor always contains a grain of truth.”
In my case, probably more than just a grain. But never when it comes to my employees.
That’s why Laia’s phrase makes me cringe. I don’t want her to feel uneasy with me.
“Laia, I need to make something clear to you.” I lean a bit closer to her to make sure she pays attention to my words, and her scent wafts over me. My nostrils flare, allowing her perfume to sink right into my lungs.
“Devon? You were saying?”
Laia’s voice jars me out of my sensual distraction.
“Oh, yes. You may hear gossip about me being a…”
I squirm with my shirt collar while Laia’s curious gaze makes an unusual heat flow to my neck.
What word should I use to sound professional but still truthful?
Womanizer? Nah. I’m not really that.
Playboy? Maybe, but calling myself that in front of an employee would sound wrong.
“Player?” Laia chimes in.
I could probably go with that. “Yes, some may call me a player, even if I’m not one. Players often lie, and I don’t. But since you came up with this word, can I ask whether you’ve read any tabloid articles about me?”
“Yes, one.” She nods, and by her slightly disapproving tone, I deduce that the publication she saw might have been on the racier side.
“That’s okay,” I say as casually as I can. “Is that the reason you dressed in a shapeless suit for the interview, instead of the clothes you’re wearing today?”
She stares at me, then her mouth moves into a smile that’s an exquisite mixture of shy and amused. “No, of course not. I used that suit for my graduation, too. I know it’s kind of ugly.” She bobs her head back and forth, then smacks her lips. “Or maybe even a lot, but I didn’t have time to find a better alternative on such short notice. I’m not really a fashionista.”
When she sees my doubtful frown as I eye her chic blouse, she pinches the fabric on her shoulders and adds, “This top, together with these pants, are gifts from my roomie. She wanted me to look the part of a CEO’s assistant.”
“Well, you certainly do.” I smile.
Not only that. Laia looks pretty. Very. Her new style suits her way more than that oversized pantsuit.
It’s not just her new clothes, though. She’s chosen to wear her impressive dark mane loose, which plays up her eyes and emphasizes her enticing skin color.
“Believe it or not,” I chuckle, relieved that my suspicion about her was without foundation, “your weird blazer was the first reason you stood out to me among the other applicants.”
“How so?”
I didn’t plan on mentioning anything to Laia about Hayley, but maybe I should. I don’t want Laia to fret that she might get entangled in something scandalous while working for me. She’ll undoubtedly hear soon enough all the whacky theories circulating about my former assistant’s departure.
I clear my throat. “I didn’t want to hire anyone who would use her looks on me. I had some issues, personal issues, with my ex-assistant. That’s why I explicitly wanted someone who will be focused solely on her job. In my company, private life and work don’t mix—not for me and not for my employees. As my PA, you’ll be privy to a lot of sensitive information about me, which increases the importance of keeping personal boundaries clear between us.”
Laia’s mouth opens slightly, then her features smooth out. “I don’t have any problem with this. It sounds just right.”
“Good, because—”
The elevator door opens. Katja rushes over to us with a pile of documents in her arms. “Robert Leonic just called and confirmed your tea together for Thursday. The invitation to the CCF gala arrived. It’ll be held in a luxury resort outside Tucson this year. Shall I book your spot now?”
“Yes, please,” I answer.
Katja blinks at Laia. “You may peek over my shoulders as I make the reservation. I handle the admin work for Devon’s trips, but when I’m on vacation, it will fall onto your plate.”
Laia nods. “Of course.”
Katja turns to me. “And these reports? Shall I give them to you or to Laia?”
I flash a questioning glance at Laia.
I’d promised myself I’d make her first days as easy as possible so she can adapt to her new responsibilities without feeling pressured, but Laia is already reaching for the stack. “I can take them. It’ll be a great way to jump into my role.” She peers up at me. “Do you like highlighters? I could signal the crucial insights with blue, the good-to-know bits with pink, and perhaps green for the superfluous can-be-skimmed-overs?”
Is she a mind reader? How did she guess the exact color scheme I like?
I can’t suppress an appreciative smile as I nod. “If you’ll prepare them that way, it would be perfect.”
Katja observes me with furrowed brows as if wondering why I’m grinning at Laia, then she snorts. “I didn’t have time to prepare your health cocktail yet, but I will soon.”
I cringe as the rancid stench of sauerkraut comes back to me. “This morning, I’d prefer a double espresso with one spoonful of sugar, if it’s not too much trouble.”
I say my polite words in a firm tone, so Katja will have no choice but to accept them.
Katja purses her lips. “Whatever you wish, Devon. I’ll bring it after I file the contract I’ve been working on.” Her vexed tone contradicts her agreement.
I suspect that my secretary secretly considers caffeine to be a legalized poison, because every time she brings me a cup, she does it with a grimace of dislike.
Laia gives a smile to Katja. “I wanted to check where the kitchen is. If you like, I can make the coffee while I’m at it.” As she sees Katja’s aghast expression, she quickly adds, “Just this once, so you can take your time with filing.”
I’m surprised by Laia’s kind offer and interested in my secretary’s response.
Katja used to defend her duties from Hayley with tooth and nail and would never allow my ex-assistant to replace her in any task, however small it might be.
Katja’s jaw relaxes, and she nods. “Great, that would be nice of you, Laia. We have a Breville One-Touch machine in the kitchen. Just press the button, and it will take care of the rest.”
“Easy-peasy, even for the rare species of non-coffee drinkers like you.” I wink at Laia.
A smile tugs at the corner of her mouth as I borrow her exact words from the interview. “I’ll do my best to make a decent cup, I promise.”
“Thank you,” I answer.
Laia steps over to her desk and puts down the documents that Katja handed to her. “I’ll be right back with it.”
When Laia is gone, Katja scratches her scalp, which makes her thick braids shimmy above her ears, and murmurs something under her breath.
“What’s the matter, Katja?”
She cocks her head to the direction where Laia went.
“Her. She’s…odd.”
Odd? Not the first word I’d associate with Laia’s swaying curves.
“Isn’t it just a bit weird?” Katja grumbles. “Yesterday she looked like she was dressed by her blind great-grandfather and today she’s the winner of Pimp Your Look. What’s her deal? Aren’t you concerned you’ll soon have another tricky situation on your hands?”
I shake my head, because I finally understand what she’s getting at. “No, no, don’t worry. Laia won’t be another Hayley. By the way…Pimp Your Look? I didn’t take you for a reality show junkie, my dear Katja. You just gave
me ammunition for a good joke later.”
Katja wags her finger at me. “Don’t, Devon, or else I’ll fix you another sauerkraut juice. Don’t think I didn’t notice what you did with the one yesterday! Your rubber plant smelled like Shchi soup this morning.”
Luckily Katja’s phone rings and saves me from answering her (justified) accusation.
I walk to my office. I settle at my desk and fire up my computer. While I wait for my calendar and messages to sync, I keep peeking at the door to check whether Laia is coming with my coffee.
Only because I need caffeine before my brain can function properly.
Exactly. For no other reason than that.
Chapter 9
(Laia)
The kitchen on our floor is in a spacious corner room. It’s airy and absolutely streamlined.
After my small tour in the building yesterday, I shouldn’t be surprised that even this space is jammed with trendy fine points like the lacquered blue faucet and the warm-orange back splash behind the counter.
Despite these accents of color, what attracts my eyes immediately is the large, glazed window overlooking the city.
It’s not the grey skyline view that fascinates me, but the surrounding mountain preserve I’m able to peek at, thanks to our building’s height. I walk over to the window and stick my nose to the glass.
The saguaro-studded hillsides untie my mind from the looping thoughts about Devon and our strange chat in the elevator. I’m surprised that my colleagues don’t spend half of their days glued to the window, gazing at the desert.
Of course, if they did that, they would probably be fired. Like I’m about to be if I don’t get on with the coffee I promised Devon.
I trot over to the coffee machine that takes up a good portion of the steel counter.
It’s one of those fancy models. My fingers hover above the buttons.
Grrrr, easy peasy, my eye…
Is the double espresso the larger cup with one wavy line or the smaller one with two? Maybe it’s the simple cup with two dots but without any lines? And what about that weird form that looks like a ball? Could that be sugar?
I blow out the air from my cheeks and close my eyes.
As soon as my eyelids shut, Devon’s sweeping glance flashes through my mind, and my cheeks warm a couple of degrees.
I should have told him that if he genuinely wants to live by his rule of separating private life and work, he’d better stop giving his female employees dashing smiles and lingering looks.
They’re infuriatingly confusing.
I wish I could tell what he thought of my new clothes. While he was observing me, his brows were set in a confused frown and his lips in a small circle, but he’d arched his shoulders unconsciously as if to enhance his pectoral muscles.
Not that he needs it. Devon has the perfect build—athletic without looking like a weightlifting champion.
No. His looks are beside the point. I shouldn’t even contemplate them—especially not after the uncomfortable heat his proximity unleashed in me.
And that’s why I’m going to stop revisiting his textured haircut and broad shoulders. Right now.
I open my eyes and tap my cheeks twice to rid my head from any idle reverie.
I examine the coffee machine once more. It can’t be more challenging than writing a dissertation about the Sturm und Drang literary movement, and I’ve done that. I can surely figure out how to make this device work. Even if I need to toss away a few failed attempts in the process.
I grab a cup from a shelf and position it in the cupholder. I’ll try the simple cup with two lines. Two must stand for double. I push the button, and the machine wheezes loudly, but no liquid comes out.
“¡Venga!” I murmur under my breath. “What’s your problem?”
“Hello!”
A high-pitched soprano makes me jump. I whip around and find a woman only a couple of feet away from me.
Her hair is blond. Not the impeccably sun-bleached shade of Chelsea’s, but rather a vibrant platinum that forces me to squint.
I should have heard her approach on her chopstick stilettos, but the machine’s angry grunts stifled her clicking noise.
“What are you’re trying to do?” The woman tilts her foxlike head to the side as she studies me.
I was so caught up by her unnaturally bright hair that I forgot to answer her first question. Desperate to cancel out this lousy first impression—whoever this woman is, she’s my new colleague—I stick out my hand to her.
“Hi, I’m Laia. I’m Devon’s new PA. I’m trying to make this coffee machine work. Without success, as you can see.” I top my words with a friendly smile.
After a second of hesitation, she takes my hand, but only my fingertips.
Her skin is cold and oozy as if she put on lotion, and it hasn’t finished absorbing into her palms.
“Right, Laia. I knew who you were, just not your name. I’m Fanta.”
Fanta?
Who names their kid after a sparkling orange beverage? Are her parents huge soft drink fans?
I bite back my gasp and say, “Nice to meet you. Which department are you in?”
“I work for Sarah at HR. I came up here to see for myself what all the fuss is about.”
“Fuss?” I arch my brows. “What do you mean?”
Fanta waves. “Don’t pretend you don’t know that the entire team is talking about you.”
Even if her accusing tone takes me by surprise, it’s the meaning of her words that truly startles me.
“About me? Why?”
She makes a one-shouldered shrug. “People are curious why Devon picked you. Whether you’ll be Hayley 2.0.”
“Who is Hayley?”
“Devon’s former assistant,” she announces in a slightly nasal tone, constricting her nostrils as if she smelled an unexpected stench. “Aaaand…his ex-lover.”
My jaw goes slack. “Ex-lover?”
Devon had an affair with the woman who worked for him before me?
Katja’s brief mention of my predecessor and her dubious, “not his usual choice,” comment gains a whole new significance.
I pause.
Devon just told me that he doesn’t let his pleasure-seeker lifestyle spill over to work. Why would he have said that if he was involved with his previous assistant?
Maybe Fanta is just messing with me. A prank on the new girl?
“You’re kidding, right?”
Fanta shakes her head then leans into me, whispering. “Rumor has it Devon got his eyes on Hayley and courted her till she gave in. The poor girl fell in love with Devon. Once our CEO grew tired of her company, she was gone.”
“That can’t be right,” I murmur.
Fanta flashes a smile at me as if enjoying my unease. Her smirk—fake and gloating—makes her sharp canine teeth visible. I suddenly wonder if Fanta has a hidden agenda. Does she want to warn me off Devon?
“Ah, you better believe it. Don’t you read the tabloids? Our boss didn’t build his reputation under false pretenses. Devon Griffin is a chaser.” Fanta studies me from head to toe, then clicking her tongue, adds, “But don’t worry, you won’t be his next victim. He prefers blondes.”
A bell goes off in my head.
I know why Fanta sought me out. It isn’t to alert me about any lurking danger. It’s to mark her territory.
She has a thing for Devon.
As if to confirm my hunch, Fanta smooths down her bob with two hands and says, “Hayley’s hair had a very similar color to mine actually. Also, you’re too much of a shorty, Laia. Devon likes his girls tall.”
I don’t exactly know why…perhaps the fact that Fanta is observing me with the same belittling glance I’d so often received in school…but my lips move before I can stop them.
“You know, I hate to crush your hopes, but it’s unlikely that Devon would be interested in you either. I’m not sure what his previous attitude on office affairs was, but, only this morning, he reassured me that he wouldn’t
engage in intimate relationships.”
“You asked him if he wants to hook up with you? Bold!” Fanta snaps her fingers, and the deprecation so evident only a second ago transforms into a sort of admiration.
If I were a cartoon character, this is where steam would start flowing out of my ears.
This chick is insane. Does she seriously think I’d ask such a question of my boss on my first day? Or on any regular day?
My hands fly to my hips. “Your question is so ridiculous I’m not even going to answer it.”
Fanta’s chin drops at my annoyed tone, but I’m not done with lecturing her.
It isn’t only my past frustrations that fuel my outburst, but a new sense of responsibility I feel toward Devon. He told me that one of my tasks would be to control his public image.
Protecting him from malicious comments in his own company’s kitchen is a great place to start.
I level my gaze on Fanta. “Besides, I don’t think you should be gossiping about our CEO. The salary you receive from him allows you to pay your hairstylist for this dazzling hair color you’re so proud of. Maybe showing more loyalty to him wouldn’t hurt you. Anyway, I don’t have time to chat about Devon’s alleged soft spot for blondes or his past adventures. I’m not interested in them.”
Fanta purses her lips. “I don’t believe you. Who wouldn’t care to know what her playboy bo—”
I shake my head and hold up my hand, suddenly realizing that the best strategy I can adopt with Ms. Soft Drink is to cut her short.
“Think whatever you want. The only thing I’m concerned with is doing an excellent job for Devon. That, right now, means preparing a coffee for him and then assisting Katja to make his CCF booking.”
“Oh? Devon is attending the CFF this year? Will he be going alone?” The eager glint makes Fanta’s close-set eyes push closer together, enhancing the foxlike effect.
Without answering, I turn back to the coffee machine to signal that this tête-a-tête is over.
Fanta sniffs. “Huh, so you like to play precious. Well, suit yourself.” She strides to the corridor. Before stepping out, she calls back in a haughty voice, “By the way, the water needs to be enabled for the machine to work. Everybody knows that.”
Law #2: Don't Play with a Player: A Sweet Office Romance Story (Laws of Love) Page 7
