When she disappears, a growl escapes from my throat.
And here I thought that I would make my very first office friendship. It’s clear this arrogant blondie and I will never be friends. Her smug manners catapulted me back to memories that I hate to revisit—times when I felt inadequate and ridiculed.
I press my hand to my chest and suck in a breath.
It’s fine. I’m an adult now. I have a good life, a great bestie, a lovely family, and a job. I didn’t turn out to be the loser everyone thought I would become.
I might not have a relationship yet, but that’s because I don’t settle for mediocrity. I want a soul-stirring love with a man who truly deserves my heart. And that’s hard to find.
The thoughts about my singlehood bring back the puzzling rumors Fanta shared with me. Devon had seemed honest when he told me he doesn’t mix business and pleasure. Should I believe him?
Or should I trust Ms. Soft Drink’s gossip? Do those rumors even concern me?
After another calming breath, I decide that they don’t.
Whatever the truth is about Hayley, it doesn’t matter. I know Devon Griffin as a man isn’t at all what I want or need in my life.
But as a boss, he’ll make a significant impact on my future. The guy isn’t called a creative genius for nothing. I have so much to learn from him.
I don’t care if he had a fling with his former assistant. He surely won’t have anything with me.
And not only because I would never get involved with him, but also because, as Fanta had so aptly put it, there’s no chance Devon would ever notice me as a woman.
There. Question settled.
I reach around to the side of the coffee machine and make use of Fanta’s only helpful comment by switching on the lever that controls the water’s flow. I press the button with the cup and two lines, and this time the rattling sound is followed by a strong smell of coffee.
Soon the cup fills up with the brown liquid. I position it on a small plate when it’s ready. I add a spoon of sugar and hustle to the corridor, holding Devon’s drink straight in front of me.
Despite my resolution to stop mulling over Devon, my thoughts return to his remark about my ugly pantsuit.
Was Devon unconsciously afraid that he might not manage to keep his player self at bay? Is it why he picked a person—namely me—whom he knew he wouldn’t feel tempted by?
Katja’s voice interrupts me before I can idle any further about this.
“Where have you been for so long?” she asks, furrowing her brows.
“I needed a moment to find my way in the kitchen.”
“Really? Only that? Didn’t you stop to speak with someone?” She leans forward on her desk. Her lips are straight, and her eyes penetrating.
Holy moly, Katja can certainly look scary if she wants.
Did she come to check on me while I was in the kitchen?
“I met a colleague from HR and introduced myself.” In case Katja saw me with Fanta, I don’t want her to think I slacked off and lied about it.
Katja nods. “Fine. Be warned, though, most people in our company are nice. But not all. Choose with whom you chitchat. Wisely…” She makes a dramatic pause, then points at the cup in my hand. “Now hurry up with that before it gets cold.”
“Oh, sure. Yes,” I mumble and trot over to Devon’s office.
Without knowing exactly why, I smooth down my blouse and run a hand through my hair before pushing his door open.
Chapter 10
(Devon)
“Wyatt Harrison is on line one. Would you like to take his call, Devon?”
The phone starts to slip as Laia’s melodious timbre surprises me. I squeeze it to my chin to keep it from falling.
I’ve been without a PA for a few weeks now, so Katja has been taking care of my personal calls. And my secretary’s raspy tone could never be described as musical, even with the best of intentions.
Laia’s voice elicits an odd sensation in my chest, almost as if my intercostal muscles have decided to contract all at once.
What the heck is wrong with me?
Is it still the aftermath of our encounter in the elevator? Maybe my shock about Laia’s new style hasn’t worn off yet. No, I can’t be this shaken that Laia turned out to be more of a looker than her dingy pantsuit suggested. I knew she was cute when I hired her, despite the ugly clothes.
But if it isn’t her new attire, then what is it?
“Devon? Do you want me to tell Mr. Harrison to call you back?”
Laia’s repeated question brings me back to reality.
“No need. Put him through, please. Also, when my call ends, I’ll be ready to look at the Leonic file with you.”
“Very well,” she answers.
After a click, Wyatt’s familiar baritone greets me. “Hey, mate. What’s up?”
I lean back in my chair and swirl it around so that I can look at the landscape from my window while I chat with him.
Along with Pete, Wyatt is my best friend. The three of us were very tight in high school. If Wyatt hadn’t been drafted by the NFL and moved away from Arizona, we would still be hanging out together most of the time.
“All is good here, Wyatt. How come you called the office and not my cell phone?”
“I might have misplaced my phone at the last training. That, or an overly enthusiastic groupie snatched it for a souvenir. Anyway, I lost your number.” Wyatt’s hearty chuckle resounds in my ear.
“I see. And I thought you were too busy even in the off-season to return my calls. Which I would totally understand. Training must come first.”
There is a short silence on the line, then Wyatt sniffs. “Ah, yeah, the coach made us sweat like pigs in the mini-camp. But that’s not why I’ve been a ghost. I’m having some problems with the team.”
“Problems? Want to elaborate?”
“Not really.”
Typical. When my friend is interested in something, he pesters me as long as needed. His persistence is one of his strengths on the gridiron.
But trying to do vice versa with him never works. It’s as if Wyatt believes he’s allowed to tackle everyone else, but he never wants to be on the ground—literally and metaphorically.
“Fine, I hope you can resolve the issue. But if you need a hand, let me know.” I know better than to press Wyatt on something he doesn’t want to share. “So what about today? Did you happen to miss me awfully? Or is there another reason that you rang me up?”
To my surprise, Wyatt replies, “Actually, yes. Is your accountant’s villa still available? The one in Glendale. You mentioned that he wanted to sell it some time ago.”
“Mike’s house? Yep, it’s still there. With the stellar price he’s asking for it, I doubt he’ll find any fool to buy it. Why?”
Wyatt chuckles. “He might just find one person. Me.”
“You’re kidding, right? Why would you buy a property in the Phoenix area? You’re never in Arizona. I’ve seen you like three times in the past four years. Almost as if you’ve avoided coming anywhere near Kingman.”
I regret this last phrase as soon as it’s out.
I know Wyatt took good care of his mother, setting her up in a beautiful mansion that everyone in our hometown admires. The fact that he rarely visits has more to do with the broken relationship he had with his father and the ghosts that still haunt him than with anything else.
“Well, that might have been true in the past. I’ll definitely come and visit this summer. Also, there’s a vague possibility I’ll be spending more time in the Valley of the Sun later. So, just in case that happens, I want to be prepared. You know I hate staying in hotels even for short times. Your accountant’s house is in a quiet neighborhood. That’s exactly what I’m looking for.”
“Quiet neighborhood, huh? The fact that it’s close to the State Farm Stadium doesn’t come into consideration?”
Wyatt snorts. “I can neither confirm nor deny this.”
A grin spreads on my face. I wo
uld love nothing more than for Wyatt to move back home. “Well, I’ll be happy if you pop over. Pete and I miss your beach-boy grin. Watching you on television isn’t the same thing.”
“That’s because I wear a helmet,” Wyatt interjects. “Anyway, will you talk to Mike for me?”
“Sure, consider it done.”
“Great, going through an acquaintance will save me the hassle of contracting sleazy real estate agents. They’d only try to woo me with posh high-rises. I know you live in one of those condos, so no offense.”
“None taken.”
Wyatt might be a pro football player, but he’s still a small-town boy at heart.
The ridiculous sum Mike is asking for his property comes to mind, and I quickly correct my thought—a small-town boy with a massive budget at his disposal.
Wyatt clears his throat. “How is Ellie doing?”
“Fine. Busy like a bee, as always. Why do you ask?”
My question is justified. Wyatt and my sister have a tense relationship, and that’s putting it mildly.
Cats and dogs get along better than those two. In fact, as far as I know, they haven’t even spoken since Wyatt started playing for the Kites.
I don’t know the exact reason for their clash, but it dates back to Ellie’s freshman year in college. I’ve never wanted to end up in the middle of their conflict, so I just mostly avoid mentioning their names to each other.
After a short silence, Wyatt coughs. “Just that I recently met someone who reminded me of her.”
“Did she have loads of freckles and was cheeky as heck?”
“Along those lines,” Wyatt murmurs in a pensive voice, then quickly adds, “And you? Anything new on the horizon? You and Pete still hunt every night?”
“Pete, definitely. Me, less and less.”
“Getting tired of the mindless fun with ladies, Dev?”
“Something like that.” I chuckle, but I realize that what I’m saying is actually true.
“Well…” Wyatt’s voice sounds surprisingly somber all of a sudden. “I couldn’t agree with you more. My teammates, especially the rookies, are delighted with the groupies we get at the games, but I can’t seem to find the pleasure in something so superficial.”
“You never could, Wyatt. You’re too darned focused. Football is your real mistress. I bet there has never been a woman who could distract you from your goal of becoming NFL Man of the Year.”
There’s silence on the phone, then Wyatt makes an awkward snort. “Yes, indeed. Anyway, back to you. Is your new, mature self still looking for someone who can cure the hole your treacherous ex left in your heart? Or did you find her already?”
Wyatt never liked Morgan. Which is probably the only thing that he and my sister ever agreed on.
“No, there’s absolutely nobody in sight and—”
The door opens, and Laia steps in.
My words stick in my throat.
Her eyes dart to mine. “Sorry, I didn’t realize you were still on the phone.”
“No problem,” I say.
“Is everything okay?” Wyatt asks.
“Sure. It’s my assistant. We need to go through an urgent report together.” I don’t know why I called the Leonic discovery project urgent. I’m not meeting the client until Thursday, so I still have plenty of time to check Laia’s notes. But somehow, after seeing Laia, I can’t focus on my buddy’s voice anymore.
Laia is still standing at the door, undecided whether she should leave.
I gesture her to come over to me. She walks to my desk, holding a folder pressed to her chest.
“I don’t want to disturb you any longer,” Wyatt says. “But, please do speak to Mike, okay?”
“‘Kay, will do,” I murmur without paying attention to my words. I could have agreed to convince Ellie to make a cheerleading performance for Wyatt at the Super Bowl. Anything really to cut the conversation with my friend short so that I can finally turn my attention to the report Laia brought me.
Mr. Leonic’s company is a crucial acquisition for us, of course. It has nothing to do with Laia’s flustered expression that makes her seem so charming.
Laia steps beside me as I lower the phone back to its place.
She puts the papers in front of me. “I’ve applied the color-scheme we agreed upon. I also took the liberty to look up some background information that you might find useful about the company’s previous branding and ad campaigns.” She points to the margins, which are filled with round, tightly scribbled letters. “I also summarized some of the passages. Here and there, I added my own thoughts when something appeared important.”
My jaw drops. “You did this in only two hours?”
Her cheeks tint with a rosy hue. “Yes.”
How is this even possible?
I scan her notes quickly, and my surprise deepens. All of Laia’s comments about Mr. Leonic’s branding problems hit the nail on the head.
Hayley could spend an entire afternoon on a task like this and only come up with half of what Laia delivered.
I like that Laia’s handwriting is neat and easy to read. I can’t help but notice she puts little fat dots that look like a heart shape on all her i’s. Her calligraphy seems in line with her slightly dreamy personality.
My lips twitch as I stifle my smile.
Laia’s face tenses. “Sorry, I probably should’ve asked if you wanted those comments at all.”
She must be thinking that I find her zeal amusing. “Ah, no,” I say. “That’s not what I’m smirking about.”
“Then, about what?”
“The particular way you seem to punctuate your letters. It’s very…girlish. But not in a bad way,” I add hurriedly because Laia bites on her lip.
“I learned to write before I formally started school. From my cousin, Eva, who’s only two years my senior. It seems that not even two decades of proper academic training can cancel out the teachings of an eight-year-old role model.” Laia smiles, obviously relieved that I wasn’t making fun of her initiative.
I roll my chair back slightly so I can peer up at her. “Is your cousin your role model?”
“Partially, yes.” Laia nods. “She’s a strong, resilient person, and I admire her for that.”
“And I admire you,” I say but correct my slip immediately, “…your talent of synthesizing. You did a great job with this report. And very fast, too.”
“I’m glad you like it.” Laia’s forehead smooths. “I’m used to reading long texts and identifying the strong and weak points in them. Therefore, this discovery report was fun to do.”
“You see, Laia? My gut told me you would enjoy your job as my assistant. And that you’d be good at it. I just didn’t expect you to be this thorough.” I add a grin to show that her overachievement is appreciated.
“You’re weird.” Laia claps her hand to her mouth. “Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean it in the rude way it came out.”
“Then which way?” I tilt my head to the side as I observe her.
She licks her lips and swallows. “I just meant that you aren’t like I expected a boss to be.”
“What was your expectation?”
Laia shrugs. “I certainly didn’t think a CEO would give people a chance based on his instincts, especially if those hunches aren’t backed up on paper.”
“Well, you see…” I straighten because I’d like her to take my words seriously.
She steps back when I get to her eye level and interlaces her fingers in front of her belly. I smile, hoping her defensive posture is only a sign that she’s still new here and not because I make her uncomfortable.
“I value personality even more than specific job experience. When things get rough, it’s always one’s character that pulls them through the hard times.” I tap my chest. “Take me, for example. I dropped out of college because I believed that I had an idea worth going after. Many said I was crazy… But look at me now. It worked. And those who doubted me? They had to realize what a mistake they made.”
/> Laia’s shoulders go rigid. Her back is so straight it’s as if someone were holding her at gunpoint. Slowly she raises her eyes to meet mine. “I think I owe you an apology.”
“Why?”
“Because I do. I assumed that…”
“What did you assume?”
The eagerness in my voice surprises me. How bad can what she thought about me be? And why am I so curious to know?
“When you singled me out among the other candidates and invited me to the interview despite my will…”
I wince, and she gives me a small smile.
“Don’t worry,” she adds, “I’m not complaining that you did. But back then, I assumed you were one of those hotshots who has to have everything they want. The tabloid article I read about you didn’t help. It depicted you as someone who believed he was…la última Coca-Cola del desierto.”
“Coca-Cola?” I chuckle. “I’ve never been compared to that. What does it mean?”
“Sorry, when I get nervous, I sometimes switch to Spanish. It’s an expression my brother uses. It means the last Coke in the desert…as in…”
“An arrogant dunce?”
She blinks twice. “More or less. Sorry. I took the journalist’s words for facts and didn’t look deeper.”
There’s a respect in her eyes that I hadn’t seen before now.
Her shy glint reminds me of when Cat realized I wasn’t one to mess with and finally stopped peeing in my shoes.
Maybe comparing Laia to my furry companion again makes me feel an unexplainable sense of connection with her, because my chest warms.
I square my shoulders. “It’s much easier for people to focus on my social life than on my work ethic.”
She nods. “Yes, our faults are always more gossip worthy than our values.”
I give an imperceptible shrug to ease the tension that settles into my neck.
I don’t need to be ashamed about the choices I make in my private life because Laia clearly labeled them as faults.
My eyes flick to Laia’s black hair. It accentuates her neckline like a blank canvas that enhances the first stroke of a paintbrush.
Law #2: Don't Play with a Player: A Sweet Office Romance Story (Laws of Love) Page 8
