Her voice is low and has, for the first time ever, a hint of motherly concern.
“Why?” I ask, puzzled.
Katja gives me a there’s no use pretending look. “My dear, I may be old enough to be your mother, but I’m still very sharp. The change in your clothes didn’t escape my attention. But I need to warn you like I warned Hayley. Devon Griffin isn’t what you need. As a boss, yes, he is great. But you should not get dreamy about him as a man. Hayley didn’t listen to me, unfortunately.”
Again, this Hayley.
I might’ve decided that what Devon did or didn’t do with his previous assistant doesn’t concern me, but after Katja’s comment, I can’t avoid getting to the bottom of this gossip.
I straighten from my seat and level Katja’s gaze. “What exactly happened to Hayley?”
Katja inhales, then releases the air with a loud swish. “Hayley had a major crush on Devon. I cautioned her not to get involved with him emotionally, but she laughed at my concern. Then one morning, I came into the office, and Hayley was gone.”
“Gone? Just like that?”
Katja gives me an uneasy smirk. “Devon decided to let her go.”
My stomach tightens.
Katja either doesn’t know all the details, or she doesn’t feel like sharing them with me. In any case, what she said so far doesn’t contradict the rumor I heard from Fanta.
“Do you think I’m like Hayley?” I force my voice to sound disdained by her accusation, even if my innards are cramped with a pang of odd guilt.
Katja throws a quick cross on her chest. “Heaven forbid, no. Hayley was a whole different ball game. I see that you’re here because you want to work, and you do an excellent job.”
“Ah, thanks.”
“But”—Katja lifts a finger—”I also noticed how you look at Devon each time he steps out of his office.”
I shake my head. “I don’t ogle him if that’s what you’re implying.”
Really, I don’t.
I might’ve forgotten my glance on him once today, when he handed a document to Katja, but that was only because…I don’t know. Probably my eyes were exhausted, and they’d glazed over.
Katja sniffs. “Perhaps not. Then call me overly chary. Still, I think it’s wiser if I warn you. I’ve worked for Devon for five years now. The man has a bone-deep appeal that could charm the spots off a Dalmatian. Don’t tell me you didn’t perceive it.”
I shrug, avoiding Katja’s gaze.
I can’t deny that I know what she is getting at. Not after the thrills Devon’s proximity triggers in me.
“Okay, so Devon has that certain, je ne sais quoi. So what?”
“So what?” Katja throws me a concerned glance and pats my shoulder. “So, he’s a dangerous guy to be around.”
“But you just told me I need to wait till he finishes work,” I snap, confused.
“Yes, you’re his assistant, so you don’t have a choice. But limit your interaction to professional topics when you’re with him, okay?”
I swallow and meet Katja’s light-blue eyes. “I know how to protect myself against charming guys like Devon.”
Katja gives out an amused snort.
There’s a loud noise from Devon’s office, as if he dropped a book or something. Katja’s eyes flick to his door, and she waits a few seconds before answering. “Our boss isn’t a real womanizer, you know. Just someone who thinks fleeting pleasure is the preferable choice. I doubt he ever means to hurt the women he gets involved with.”
I put a finger to my chin. “Didn’t you start this whole discourse to make me wary about him?”
Katja chuckles. “You’re right, Laia. But I don’t want you to assume that Devon is mean. He isn’t. Exactly because he is a great guy and has this innate kindness and amiability, he manages to disarm women. But falling for him would set you up for heartache, so please keep your head leveled around him. Don’t play with a player, or you will get hurt. Be an exceptional assistant to him, but nothing more. Then your future in the company will be bright.”
She sears me with an I-don’t-want-to-see-you-hurt stare.
I plaster on a smile I don’t entirely feel. “I wasn’t planning on anything else, but thank you for your concern.”
Katja gives me a relieved glance. “Great, now I feel calmer leaving you here.” She turns and walks to the elevator.
I slouch back in my chair.
I can protect myself from Devon and his smile. I can.
But as his last charming grin pops into my mind, a warm glow starts in my chest and flares quickly to a decisive heat. The more I savor the memory of his dimples, the more the puzzling hotness migrates to my belly. I press my hands on my abdomen, trying to offset the unfamiliar feeling that brews in me.
Given my lack of experience with men, desire is uncharted territory for me, so I’m not sure what to make of the sensation.
To change my thoughts, I take a notepad from my drawer.
I’ll just scribble down my rough ideas for my romance. I can flesh them out into proper paragraphs when I’m at home.
I focus on the white paper and abandon myself to the love story shaping in my mind. The words flow from the tip of my pen, and my previous worries quiet down.
Perhaps I should be grateful for the sensations Devon stirs up in me, since they seem to help me depict the attraction my protagonists feel for each other.
After I’m done recording everything, there’s still no movement from Devon’s office.
My stomach growls, signaling what I already know. It’s late, and the best thing would be to go home and have dinner.
I straighten and grab the tea mug I brought to the office. It shows my favorite scene from Disney’s Beauty and the Beast remake—the dance.
The cup was a gift from Eva. My cousin joked that if I drink from it every day, it will remind me that I shouldn’t settle for anything less than my own fairy tale.
I trot to the kitchen. Some warm liquid in my belly should curb my appetite. I choose the Winter Nights tea blend, because I’m attracted to its Christmas-y fragrance, and pour hot water on it.
Chelsea always scolds me that I use too much water for one teabag. She claims it dilutes the aroma. But I can’t help it. I have an esthetic need to see a cup full. Not filled to half or two-thirds, but brimming.
I inch toward my desk, wondering when Devon will decide to call it a night. My chest stutters as I imagine his tall figure stepping out of his office. I squeeze my mug tighter and blink at the cartoon characters.
Yes, I’ll settle for nothing less than my own fairy tale. Definitely not for a fleeting sensation of heat.
Chapter 17
(Laia)
“Careful or you’ll spill it.”
Devon’s voice spooks me, and it’s only by a miracle that I don’t slosh the hot liquid on myself. I lower the mug to my desk and glance up.
He’s sitting in my chair, legs crossed, back in a relaxed posture. And, horror of horrors, he has a piece of paper is in his hands.
My piece of paper. My outline.
I silently pray that he hasn’t had time to read anything yet.
But as my eyes move to his scrutinizing expression, I know my prayer is in vain.
Devon holds out the paper and his lips curl up. “I didn’t expect the briefing about the HGT Sportswear campaign to sound this…huh, what’s the word…romantic.”
Heat rushes to my head, and I launch forward, snatching my notes from him. I hide the paper behind my back, while I drop my gaze to my keyboard.
“The HGT briefing is done, and so are the other two files you requested. I uploaded them all to the server and sent an email to notify you.”
“I know. I read your message.”
“You did? Then why did you snoop around at my table?”
I didn’t intend for my voice to sound quite so accusing. Devon is the owner and, as such, has every right to check what I, or any other employee, is doing at their desk. I can only blame my harsh tone on
my embarrassment.
Devon read through my romance notes. I could sink into the ground.
Devon jumps up from my chair. “I’m sorry, Laia. I didn’t mean to pry into your private business. I wanted to congratulate you on finishing your briefing documents so fast. But since you weren’t here, I decided to sit and wait for you. Then that interesting title drew my attention. Love’s True Power…”
He murmurs the provisional title of my book with such a throaty baritone that the little hairs on the back of my neck rise.
He tilts his head, his eyes searching mine. “Are you writing a novel?”
There is no point in negating the evidence. He’s already read my whole plot outline.
At least I’ve switched the hero’s eye color into a trustworthy brown, instead of the cornflower shade I initially envisioned.
I slide my mug toward my screen, so I can lean my hip on the desk without the risk of capsizing my tea. When I feel the support of the massive wooden table, I peek up at Devon.
“Yes, I’m trying to put together the first draft. Writing a book has always been on my bucket list. It’s a romance, but you must’ve figured that out from the title.”
Devon nods. “I have. Interesting…so you want to become a romance writer?”
His tone is full of curiosity, and there’s no hint of reprimand in it, even if it could be understandable. He caught me working on a private project during my working hours.
I decide to answer honestly. “I’d love to write the stories that are in my head, yes. Do I want to become a full-time author? Maybe. For now, I’m just treating my novel as an occasion to turn a dream into reality. Once it’s ready…or rather, if it ever gets ready, I’ll think about what to do with it.”
Devon furrows his brows. “Why the ‘if’? Your outline seems pretty detailed already. Having a strong story grid is a substantial step for a great novel. A bit like a briefing document for an ad campaign.”
“Yeah, well, it isn’t so much the plot, but the characters that will give me pain.” I lower the paper to my desk.
“Why is that?”
I shrug. “I’ll only be able to draw upon my fantasy when I can describe—”
I stop just in time, realizing my lack of experience with men isn’t a topic I should be discussing with Devon.
First, because I’m his assistant, so my extra-curricular activities (or the entire lack thereof) don’t concern him.
Second, Katja warned me to stick to professional topics with Devon.
And, third, that unsettling warmth in my belly I thought I’d banned for good is back now, stronger than ever.
“Describe what?” Devon’s smile grows bigger.
He obviously isn’t out of his element in this discussion.
“Describe how…” It feels losing oneself in the kiss of a man. “…how a man, uhm thinks.”
Devon lifts a brow. “How a man thinks?”
“Yes.” I hurry to consolidate my excuse. “I’m planning on using dual points of view, so I’ll do chapters from the heroine’s and from the hero’s angle. But I fear that depicting how a man reasons could become a challenge.”
Phew, I think I managed to correct my slip.
And what I said is even real. I do fret how I’ll be able to identify with a male protagonist.
Devon pulls my notes closer to him and scans my writing. “Why don’t I help you with that?”
“With what?”
His eyes leave my outline, and his gaze locks with mine. “Teaching you how a man thinks.”
“That’s not possible,” I mumble, inching backward ever so slightly.
“Why not? I’m a guy.”
“Yes, I know that you’re a guy.” I force my voice to sound even.
We are, after all, discussing my ambition to write a book, and not something that should make me blush, even if the warmth is already oozing into my skin.
“But you’re also my boss. It would be bizarre to pick your brain about how I should set up my male protagonist.”
Devon stares at me as if he doesn’t see a problem with it at all. “I, on the other hand, think it could be fun. I love artistic challenges, and there are only a few things more creative than conceiving a novel out of thin air.”
I shake my head. “No, it’s not worth your time.”
“Nonsense,” Devon waves, “you said that writing a book is on your bucket list, right? If you embrace your dream, you’ll reap great benefits. You can even channel your creativity into your work here. So, as your boss, I feel obliged to help you. What do you say? Can I coach you to become an expert on men’s thoughts?”
Chapter 18
(Devon)
My offer isn’t that big of a deal, really.
When the idea of Hudson Communications first popped into my mind, I didn’t have anyone to bounce my ideas off. It was a lonely, agonizing process of birth.
Much like what Laia will face if I don’t give her a hand.
It won’t cost me much effort to introduce her to a male’s perspective on life and women. But it’ll make her feel empowered when she writes her story.
Laia stands still, glaring at me.
I meet her gaze as nonchalantly as I can while I wait for her answer.
“I don’t know, Devon.” Laia shakes her head. “I’m trying to write a love story.”
I nod. “Yeah, boy meets girl. Girl meets boy. They make love. I know what romance entails.”
“Do you really?” The question pops out of her lips so abruptly, it’s as if it hijacked her conscious approval process.
My hunch is confirmed when her eyes widen, and her fingers fly to her chest, spreading into a fan. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean for it to sound as it did. I don’t want to insinuate that you don’t know what romance is. In absolute terms, at least. Though I do believe that you aren’t the kind of man who knows much about the romance I like and want to write about.”
“And what type of romance is that?”
“The only real one, I suppose…” Laia avoids my gaze and picks up her mug from the table. Her tea must’ve cooled off because she drinks four avid gulps before continuing. “The finding your soulmate kind.”
I snort bemusedly. “That’s not very realistic on your part. There is no such thing as a soulmate.”
Laia sets her half-empty mug back on her desk and crosses her arms over her chest. “Of course there is.”
Her naivety is disarming and annoying at the same time.
I shake my head. “I probably have more experience under my belt than you do, so take it from me—soulmates don’t exist. If you want to use this mushy concept in your novel, go for it. Unattainable fantasies attract people. Just know that what you’re describing doesn’t exist in real life.”
Laia’s nostrils flare. Her chin tilts up with determination. “Devon, excuse me for my harsh words, but that is one of the most patronizing and cynical things I’ve ever heard. And believe me, I’ve been talked down to a few times in my life.”
Guilt worms through my chest.
I should have phrased my comment more carefully. I didn’t want Laia to feel snubbed. “Laia, I—”
“By the way, just because you didn’t find your soulmate yet, it doesn’t mean that you should doubt her existence.”
My meeting with Morgan and the total absence of any kind of longing toward the woman I used to worship pops into my mind.
No, I’m sure there are no such things as soulmates.
It pains me to be brutally honest with Laia. I can tell from the emotion tinting her last phrase that she really believes in this I-was-made-to-love-you bunkum.
At the same time, I don’t want to see her get hurt over her childlike beliefs. I’ve become strangely attached to her.
“Laia, what you’re saying is a thing of Hollywood blockbusters.” I pat her elbow soothingly.
A tingling invades my palm and I pause for a short breath. I drop my hand and let it hang lose behind me while I add, “In reality, you don�
��t have a person you’re destined to be with. You might meet someone attractive and enjoyable. You may even decide to spend your life with that person, for lack of a better alternative. But that doesn’t make him your soulmate. I’m sorry.”
Laia’s gaze darkens.
Right now, her eye color doesn’t remind me of Cat, but instead of a wild animal. Perhaps a deer.
The glint in her eyes is innocent but enigmatic at the same time. As if Laia is privy to some kind of secret I’m not.
“It’s not me you should feel sorry for. You enjoy women’s company only when there are no strings attached and—”
“Please, don’t say I should feel sorry for those women. My partner always knows what she can or cannot expect from me. I do pleasure and fun, but no emotions. I don’t pretend to want the happily-ever-after deal.”
Laia snorts. “Not that your sincerity makes it less hurtful for anyone, but I wasn’t talking about your flings. No, I think the person you should feel sorry for is you.”
Me?
“Please enlighten me. Why.”
Laia picks at her nails. “I think we should stop this conversation, Devon, and agree that we disagree. I’m your assistant, and it’s not my place to tell you what you should or should not do in your private life.”
“It’s a little too late for that, don’t you think?” I bend slightly closer to her capturing her gaze. “You’ve dropped a you-should-feel-sorry-for-yourself bomb on me. You got me curious.”
“Okay, if you really want to know…robbing a relationship of commitment and emotions is wrong. It turns it into something shallow and pointless.”
“Well, it isn’t entirely pointless, you know…”
“Yeah.” Laia snorts. “You’re in it for one thing only.” A delicate color seeps into her cheeks, but her voice doesn’t waver. “There is nothing exceptionally deep or meaningful about that.”
I want to shoot back a resentful comment, but my eyes flick to her mug, and my irritation fades.
A princess and a monster…
Law #2: Don't Play with a Player: A Sweet Office Romance Story (Laws of Love) Page 13
