Laia’s cheeks turn visibly rosier, and she adjusts the collar of her blouse. “I will do my best.”
When the door closes behind her, I march back to my desk and sit down.
Laia’s flushed skin still dances in front of my eyes as I turn on my computer. I shouldn’t care that the pink color made Laia’s eyes twinkle, but I do for some reason.
Laia has proven her worth during these past two days already. I can’t start doubting my decision to hire her because I happened to notice her subtle beauty.
Also, it isn’t a crime to tease my assistant. It’s not like I intentionally made her flustered so I could admire her rosy cheeks. But since she did blush, and I’m not blind, I can acknowledge that bashfulness makes her look prettier.
Noticing it doesn’t mean a thing.
Chapter 13
(Devon)
“You drive an R8?” Laia squeaks and bolts to my Audi, her heels clicking on the cement in the company’s garage.
It’s hard to suppress a grin. My car is a gorgeous sight, indeed.
Though not as gorgeous as Laia today.
She listened to my recommendation about choosing her clothes with care. Her twill dress pants are more than appropriate to meet Mr. Leonic in that teahouse downtown.
And they flatter her curvy hips immensely.
Laia is circling around my black jewel when I reach her. Her eyes are wide in admiration. “It’s rude to stare when people drive past you, but whenever I spot an R8 on the streets, I can’t help myself. This is the perfect gentleman’s car.”
I know exactly what she means. I had the same reaction each time I saw this model on car shows. Its body is like an expertly tailored men’s suit that shows off a chiseled physique. That’s why I decided to buy it, even though it eats like a monster.
I walk closer to Laia and point at the engine. “It’s not just a pretty face, you know? This car can sprint from 0 to 60 in 3.5 seconds.”
Laia nods. “Of course, with the exclusive 5.2 GT, it’s no wonder. It must churn out a thrilling 560 hp. I bet when you get onramp, it blows by in an orchestral blur of sound and fury.”
My thumb freezes on my car key as I fish it out from my pocket.
Laia knows the specs of my Audi?
“Are you a car geek or what?” I ask.
“My dad used to call me a grease monkey, but I guess car geek covers it. He was a soldier and more often in deployment than not. When he was at home, he would often repair vehicles for our neighbors. To impress him, I learned all I could about cars. First it was for him, but then with time, cars became my own interest. I’m even able to perform minor repairs on them.”
Laia presses her lips together as if she feels uncomfortable for sharing her private life with me.
But I’m not.
I enjoy how my assistant keeps surprising me each day. I certainly didn’t expect that she would genuinely love cars like I do.
I wink at her. “I’m also a fellow gearhead. My passion started when I was in the hospital at the age of eight. My roommate was a teenaged boy who would only talk about cars. We spent so many weeks together his obsession rubbed off on me.”
Laia furrows her brows. “Why did you need to stay in a hospital so long?” Then she shakes her head. “Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean to pry. Don’t tell me if you don’t want to.”
The reference to my sickness had slipped out.
Women often insist that I should talk more about my past, but I rarely feel the need to oblige. What is it about Laia that makes me let her in on things I don’t usually discuss with anyone?
I can’t answer this question yet, and since I’ve already been chatty, I decide to add a bit more explanation.
“I used to have respiratory problems. Between the age of six and eleven, I spent several months in a pediatric unit. It wasn’t the most fun part of my life, as you can imagine.”
Laia’s eyes fill with a compassionate glow. “That must have been hard as a young boy.” Then as if she senses I don’t like it when someone commiserates with me, she adds, “But at least you discovered a hobby you can still enjoy, didn’t you?”
She tilts her head to my Audi.
“Indeed.” I grin. “This beauty can trick you into thinking you’re charging around the last corner on the last lap to take the checkered flag, when in reality you’re just heading to the store for milk.”
Laia giggles. “It must be fun driving it. I heard an Audi spokesperson claim that they managed to capture the feeling of sitting down in the tub of a Le Mans race car with this model.”
My eyes flick to her shoes. “I’d let you drive it if you weren’t in heels.”
“I wasn’t aware that I’d be driving you around. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have put on these shoes.” The disappointment on her face is so palpable that I almost back out on my safety rule.
“It’s fine.” I smile encouragingly and step over to the driver’s side. “Next time we have an appointment in the city, you’ll be sure to pack some back-up footwear.”
“Wait a minute!” She lowers her laptop bag to the floor. She grabs the purse from her shoulder and ransacks it, before pulling out a black cotton sack. She dangles it triumphantly in front of my eyes.
“If you let me, I can drive.”
“What is that?” I ask, a confused frown settling on my face.
She opens it and pulls out a pair of folded flats. “I put these in, just in case. My sandals are so new, I feared—” She claps her hand to her mouth. “Oh, sorry. I’m sure you don’t care about my blister-prevention plan.”
“No, no. Please go ahead.” I chuckle. “It’s fascinating to know that my assistant has a tactical vision. If you always treat your work with as much care as your feet, I’m sure you’ll never have any problems.”
She gives me a lopsided grin, then takes her flats into one hand. With her other hand, she reaches down and slips out of a sandal. She wobbles on one foot, while her glance bounces between the shoe she has just taken off and her flats.
I snort.
She looks like a stork trying to take a one-legged nap. Or rather like a cute, confused flamingo in her salmon-colored top.
Her eyes move to mine, and her lips curl up. “I look ridiculous, don’t I? I’m afraid if I move, I’ll skid.”
Her smile has the same intense quality that a streak of morning light carries when it shines on someone’s closed eyelids. Suddenly, from darkness, there is day.
And what a day.
“Maybe you should have done this in the car,” I say, still focused on channeling my thoughts away from her mouth.
“Sure, that would have been better. Could you maybe…?” She throws me a pleading glance.
I drop my bag, tuck the car key away, and step over to her.
I snake an arm around her waist so she can lean on me and finish changing her shoe.
The moment I embrace her, her scent envelops me. Though I’ve sensed the delicately sweet notes a few times before, I can only now decipher what they resemble.
Honeysuckles…
As I inhale, I’m grateful for the breathing reeducation I endured as a child, because without it I wouldn’t be able to enjoy Laia’s enticing bouquet.
Before I can stop myself, the words tumble from my mouth. “What perfume are you using?”
Her back muscles tense. “None, actually. I get prickles from any type, so I stopped using them a while ago.” Her glance moves to my hand on her side. “You know, I actually meant whether you could open the car for me so I can…”
Why didn’t I think of that? It would have been easier than embracing her. And more appropriate, given that I’m her boss.
I grab my car key, and when my Audi beeps, I say, “I’ll help you hop over without stumbling, okay?”
Luckily, we only have a few feet to cover. After that, I can release her and reinstall the due distance between us.
As Laia lowers herself to the driver’s seat, I force my eyes away from her legs and stare at my hands.
Laia changes into her flats, stashes her sandals in her bag, and gets up. “I’ll just put this in the trunk with my laptop bag. Are you keeping yours with you?” she asks.
With her heels gone, I remember how short she is.
Being petite suits her. She doesn’t need the heels to make her figure leaner. She’s fine just the way she is.
“Yes,” I answer.
My mind is occupied by the realization that I’ve never dated anyone as small as Laia. This might explain why I feel so protective of my assistant.
Laia slams the trunk and comes back to me. “All done. Do you want to sit in the back? Shall I hold the door open for you?”
I roll my eyes. “I prefer to sit in the front, and I can get the car door for myself. You don’t have to behave like a professional chauffeur.”
“Did you let your previous assistant drive your car?”
I narrow my eyes at her. Why is she interested in what Hayley did or didn’t do?
Katja reported that she saw Laia talking to Fanta in the kitchen that first day. That woman not only has the oddest name of all my employees, but she’s also the gossipiest one. I’ve wondered whether Fanta could be feeding information to the tabloids about my company. Some magazines have started to include precise details about my work when they babble about my private life.
The “Just for You” article Laia showed me this morning mentioned that I would be participating in the CCF gala. The reporter couldn’t have learned about that from an official source, because the list of attendees hasn’t been published yet.
But when I shared my suspicion with Sarah, my head of HR said I was paranoid. For some reason, Sarah likes Fanta despite her big mouth. Perhaps because the woman is a wizard of PowerPoint and not just a chatterbox.
I give Laia a warm smile, which I hope shows I’m not the jerk she might have heard I am.
“No. Hayley didn’t know as much about cars as you do. I’d only let another fellow aficionado behind the wheel of my Audi.”
Laia grins. “Then, I’m honored.”
“We should get going,” I say, grabbing my bag from the floor.
When we’re both inside and buckled up, I ask, “So, how does it feel? Like Le Mans?”
Laia caresses the leather beside her legs and runs a finger over the fancy dashboard. She reaches for the levers on the side with an experienced hand. She adjusts the inclination of the backrest and raises her seat. She takes her time to find the perfect angling for the mirrors, too. Once she’s done turning the driver seat into her own little universe, she blinks at me.
“Well, I’ve never driven a race car, but this R8 rolls around you, not under you. It’s fabulous.”
The dreaminess in Laia’s voice is baffling. I certainly never heard it from any women while discussing cars. Morgan only got excited like this when she raved about Tiffany’s new collection.
The absurdity of comparing my assistant with my ex-fiancée dawns on me. To avoid wondering how my mind could go so haywire, I turn to Laia. “Come on, switch it on. Otherwise, we’ll be late.”
Laia throws me a questioning glance as if she wants my final blessing. When I nod encouragingly, she lights up the engine.
My Audi gives out its usual roar, resembling a lion who is poked awake despite its will.
“What a sound. It’s pure seduction,” she giggles excitedly.
She looks as happy as my sister when Mom bought her a hamster—minus the fact that said hamster bit Ellie’s finger the first time she caressed him.
I set the GPS to the meeting’s address, and we roll out of the garage.
Laia is so absorbed by driving that she doesn’t say a word during our entire ride to the teahouse.
I don’t mind our silence. It’s a thrill to watch Laia handle my car, especially the content smile stretched on her lips. Without the distraction of small talk, I can focus my attention on how she switches gears and rolls the wheel.
She definitely has more grit as a driver than I’d have assumed based on her sweet, and sometimes shy, character. Though she stays in the speed limits, she deepens her foot on the gas whenever she can, obviously enjoying the Audi’s horsepower.
The sight of her makes my belly buzz with a certain warmth. We share the same passion, so I can relate to her pleasure.
Or at least I hope it’s only that.
We arrive at the Okinawa Teahouse all too soon. As Laia parks the car, I’m almost sorry that we must get out.
Devon, concentrate! You have a crucial negotiation now.
The reminder is much needed, because if I were to follow my gut, I would cancel the meeting with Mr. Leonic and ask Laia to take me to Los Angeles. Or anywhere else far enough so I can watch her drive for a few more hours.
Chapter 14
(Laia)
Ever since I read the Memoirs of a Geisha, I’ve wanted to travel to Japan for my honeymoon. But given that my soulmate is taking his time showing up, the Okinawa teahouse is probably the closest I’ll get to this fantasy for a long while.
The place possesses an authentic charm with some East meets West flare. Stone, bamboo, and pictures depicting the flower arrangement used in tea ceremonies are thoughtful reminders of nature everywhere.
The tables are swooping booths, and each sitting area is mirrored by a cylinder of wood attached to the ceiling to create the sensation of trees in a forest. The tiny spotlights above them mimic the effect of the sun filtering in through the treetops.
A waitress in an elegant kimono leads us to a booth close to the large windows providing a dramatic panorama to the desert landscape.
We order Jasmine tea, and it arrives in a hand-painted ceramic tea pot featuring a panda.
Mr. Leonic is a man with a reddish beard and half-moon shaped glasses. He either has a nervous tick or feels uncomfortable about the branding changes Devon is proposing, because he keeps adjusting his blue tie even if it sits impeccably.
After listening to Devon for a few minutes, I decide it must be the former. There’s no way Mr. Leonic doesn’t see the pure genius in Devon’s plan.
Later, as if to confirm my deductions, Mr. Leonic announces, “Devon, I’m impressed. You captured our image problem perfectly. I agree that we need to stop focusing on depicting singlehood as a problem. And I love the hopeful message that finding love is an adventure.”
Devon nods. “Are you ready to move forward with the creative brief then?”
“Oh, yes.” Mr. Leonic taps on the table. “The sooner, the better.”
“Great.” Devon exchanges a triumphant glance with me. “Then, let’s discuss the details on how to continue.”
My heart makes a small jump at the sight of Devon’s smile.
After seeing him handle this deal, I have an easier time understanding how he could build Hudson Communications from scratch.
Devon is more than just an above-average handsome guy. He has strong magnetism. This has to be the key component of his successful career.
Where does his charisma come from?
Is it the way his chin darts forward decisively when he nods? Or is it the I know what I’m talking about and I’m your savior gleam in his blue irises?
Yes, this last aspect is definitely part of his charm.
If you glance into his eyes when he talks—or, in my case, watch from the side while paying meticulous attention to keeping my jaw from gaping—you get the feeling that Devon could be the man you need to solve all your problems.
The only man you’d ever need.
I pinch the skin above my wrist underneath the table to snap myself out of the moony haze. What am I even thinking?
Devon has the perfect manners to present his business ideas and a ravishing smile that accompanies them; it doesn’t mean I should fall under his spell.
I must remember I’m only allowed to appreciate him as my boss.
As a man, Devon couldn’t be farther away from my ideals. His man-about-town lifestyle is the antithesis of how I view relationships. Had we
met outside of work, I’d have probably run the other way.
I’d better focus on this each time I feel these annoying butterflies in my stomach.
“… with all these details cleared, I’ll head back to my company and announce the good news to my associates.” Mr. Leonic takes the last sip from his cup then stands up.
What? Is the meeting over?
I peek at my watch and realize we’ve been sitting in the teahouse for over an hour. It seemed so short. Maybe because I spent a chunk of the time pondering about Devon?
Devon straightens and shakes Mr. Leonic’s hand. “Happy to have you on board.”
Mr. Leonic turns to me. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Flores. Thank you for the great meeting.”
His good-bye is so warm I almost forget my role was about equal to the decorative cushion on the bench.
When the man leaves, I glance at Devon. “Shall we go?”
His eyes move to my cup, which is still full. “Why don’t we sit back and finish your tea first? Or aren’t you thirsty?”
“No, I am.” In truth, my throat is parched. “I just thought that if I couldn’t contribute in any meaningful way to your presentation, at least I should avoid bothering you with my loud gulping.”
He eyes me with his brows arched. “You can’t be serious, Laia. Didn’t you hear how much I borrowed from the background research you did on the dating company? I even quoted one of your comments: ‘Finding love can’t be a burden, it must be viewed as an adventure.’”
My cheeks warm as Devon repeats the words I scribbled on his report. “The idea of rebranding the dating company unleashed my romantic side. I clearly let myself get carried away. I’m sure those words weren’t the decisive factor for Mr. Leonic.”
Devon lowers himself back to his seat, and I follow his example.
He pushes my cup to me but keeps studying me with a perplexed grimace. “I think your phrase, though sappy, resolves the entire problem Mr. Leonic had with his firm’s image. Why dismiss what you wrote? You don’t like to give yourself credit, Laia. You aren’t proud enough of what you do. Of how great you are.”
Law #2: Don't Play with a Player: A Sweet Office Romance Story (Laws of Love) Page 11
