“Yes.”
Laia speaks again, but the guy pretends it was me. He puts a hand on my shoulder, guiding me toward the stage.
As we step closer, the rotation stops. The salesman climbs up and waves for me to follow him.
Laia stands there with her lips pressed into a line. It’s clear she dislikes the way the man is ignoring her.
“Ladies first.” I smile at Laia and hold my hand out to her.
Though she isn’t wearing heels, but flat sandals, the podium is much higher to her than it is to me.
Laia’s lips curl up, and she takes my hand. She lands on the stage with an agile jump.
I try not to focus on how her blue jeans tighten around her hips as she moves, but even with my best effort, I forget my eyes on her curvy lines a second too long. Just enough time for my heart to give a beat out of sync.
While I get on to the stage myself, I begin to fear something is seriously wrong with me. I’ve known numerous women, but none, including Morgan, has ever messed with my cardiac rhythm as far as I can remember.
Maybe I’m having a relapse of my childhood condition? That would explain my unusual shortness of breath.
If it’s not that, then…then that would mean that I’m beginning to desire my assistant.
Could this be the reason I gave permission to Laia’s friend to date Howard?
The salesman finally decides to give Laia some attention and smiles at her. “What do you think, miss? Are you picturing this all-season family hauler in your house? You could drive your kids to soccer practice in it. I assure you, all the other moms would be totally envious.”
A deep purple spread on Laia’s cheeks.
I don’t know whether Laia feels uneasy because Richard assumes we’re a couple planning a family, or if she’s bothered that he thinks her only interest in this vehicle is to show off in front of soccer moms.
The phrase that Laia said about being used to people talking down to her pops into my mind, and I curse myself for not exploring her puzzling statement any further.
I expect Laia to correct Richard’s misconception, but she surprises me by giving the guy a flat-lined smirk.
“Yes, that’s exactly what I have in mind,” she replies.
What?
Laia seemed irritated when I insinuated to Morgan that she was my girlfriend. And now she’s accepting that a salesman has us married? Isn’t she going to negate that we’re in a relationship?
The fact that Laia goes along with this roleplay puts a smile on my lips. I grin at her and wiggle my brows to show that I’m game.
When she exchanges my gesture with a wicked smile, I know she’s plotting to grill poor Richard a bit.
The sight of the unexpected naughtiness in her irises makes me question why I used to think tall, blonde women were the prettiest. Brunettes and tiny frames are way more appealing.
“Are you sure, honey, that this wagon will be large enough for us?” I ask Laia, then shoot an apologetic glance to the salesman. “We only have one boy for now, but we’d like to have a large family.”
Laia struggles to keep a straight face but tops my comment by adding, “Yeah, a bit like The Brady Bunch. Though I suppose, for the first few years, this car could be okay.”
Richard’s tense face smooths out. “You won’t find a better one in this entire car show.”
Laia points at the engine and bats her lashes, as if she can’t count to two. “How fast can this vehicle go?”
Richard caresses the car’s top. “The performance is bewildering. I don’t want to annoy you with exact numbers, but let’s just say you’ll feel like you’re in a race car.”
Laia bobs her head and pretends to murmur just to herself, but her voice is loud enough for us to hear. “Audi quoted a 0-62 mph sprint of 3.5 seconds and a 0 to 124 mph run of 12 seconds, but with the top speed being electronically limited to 155 mph…it’s not race car range.” She peers up at Richard. “But if we got an optional carbon-ceramic brake package, we could up that limit to 190 mph, right?”
Richard stares at her, too flabbergasted to even say a word.
I chuckle and pat the salesman on his arm. “Don’t take it personally, Richard. My wife can put any man in his place when it comes to cars. That’s why I make her decide any time we invest in a new ride.”
Richard’s eyes fill with new respect, and he begins to explain the cylinder specifications, price packages, and all optional benefits to Laia.
After a thorough presentation, where all Richard’s efforts are focused on Laia instead of me, we wave good-bye.
Laia giggles as we leave Richard’s stand behind. “Oh, that was fun. Do you think he believed that we didn’t purchase because we’re waiting for the ultra-exclusive 25th Anniversary Edition to come out?”
“I think he realized he was dealing with a real aficionado in your person. When you said you adored the bright Nogaro Blue in which those vehicles will be painted, he probably bought your fib.”
Laia’s expression turns somber. “Oh, by the way, I’m sorry I invented that whole story about our wedding taking place at the Monaco Grand Prix. Or even having said that you and I were a couple.”
I stop and reach for her elbow. I turn her to me. “Don’t apologize. I had as much fun as you did. You weren’t the first one who pretended that we’re more than just a boss and his assistant. But we aren’t more…or are we?”
Laia startles me by saying. “Well, maybe we are.”
Her eyes lock with mine, and there’s a shy smile on her lips.
My mouth turns dry.
So she, too, feels this magnetism between us?
“Yeah.” I hit the most seductive tone I can muster, despite the itchiness in my throat. “Do you want to tell me what we are?”
Laia cocks her head to the side, without releasing my gaze. “Future friends, perhaps?”
Despite my will to keep my features composed, my face falls.
Laia’s eyes immediately widen. “Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean to be inappropriate. I just thought since we have some things in common, that maybe someday…” She adjusts her ponytail with a hasty motion.
I had been picturing Laia’s naked flesh, and she thinks she’s inappropriate by suggesting that we could be friends? How can this girl be so danged sweet?
I would enjoy hanging out with Laia outside of work. Our afternoon so far has been the best fun I’ve had in a while. But she unleashes some pretty intense physical reactions from me. I care about what she thinks and what she likes.
Would this draw I feel for her grow stronger if we became friends?
I don’t want to arrive at a situation where I’ll become so desperate to woo her that I’ll squeeze myself into a bunny costume like Hayley did with me.
Before I can answer, a cheerful squeak interrupts us. “Ah, Devon, love! I’m so glad you could make it.” Vanessa’s blond bob appears beside us from out of nowhere. To be fair, she could have been standing here without me noticing. I was too absorbed by my conversation with Laia.
Vanessa wears a white top and a black pencil skirt. Her hair is side-parted and meticulously flat-ironed, which accentuates her pointy chin.
She casts her arms around my neck and leans in to give a short smack on my mouth—her usual greeting each time we meet.
I turn my head so her lips land on my jawline. I don’t know why, but I would hate for Laia to see me act flirty.
Laia stiffens as she eyes Vanessa’s arms around my neck.
Vanessa releases me and introduces herself to Laia in her buoyant style. Laia shakes her hand formally.
I thank Vanessa for the tickets once more, and we exchange a few shallow words. After the minimal courtesy, I excuse us.
Unoffended about being cut short, Vanessa says she needs to get back to her PR duties. She salutes us with an energetic wave before hurrying off to one of the stands to talk to a hotshot reporter.
Laia and I walk to the exit in silence.
As we reach my car, Laia says, “Y
ou could have told me you got the ticket from your…uhm, current companion.”
“Vanessa and I aren’t seeing each other. We had a thing at some point, but it’s over. Now, we’re kind of friends,” I explain.
Calling Vanessa a friend may be a bit of a stretch, but I’d like Laia to see me as a man who isn’t only capable of entertaining flings. I want to show her I’m not as superficial in my interactions with women as she might have thought.
Laia shakes her head. “You don’t have to justify yourself in front of me. You obviously aren’t thrilled about the idea of becoming my friend so…”
Her words bug me enough to disregard my previous doubts. “No, on the contrary. I’d love to.”
“Really?” Laia’s mouth moves into a little circle. “Even if you’re my boss?”
“Sure.” I can’t back out on my own stupid words now. “Also, who knows how long I’ll be your boss, right? Once you become a best-selling romance author, you’ll surely quit Hudson Communications.”
“Ah, that’s still further down the road, but yes, there might be a point where I can’t stand working for you any longer. Uhm… keep. I meant keep working for you. This heat confused my tongue,” she adds with a short chuckle.
“Shall we get into my Audi then?” I point at my car. “The AC should cool us off fast.” While I propose this, I realize my afternoon with Laia is about to come to an end.
“Ah, that would be lovely.” Laia smooths down her blouse, and her movement accentuates her upper body’s silhouette.
My throat feels parched at the sight of her.
I search desperately for a good excuse to extend our time together, but when Laia takes her first step to my Audi, I still haven’t found one. So I blurt out the first idea that comes into my mind. “Before going to your sister’s, we could drop by my apartment. I corrected your briefing reports yesterday, so if you’d like, I could give them to you right away.”
“You corrected my documents on your free day?” Laia’s brows arch. “But they weren’t that urgent.”
Why couldn’t I invent something smarter than persuading Laia to work on a Sunday?
“Well”—I shrug nonchalantly—“I wanted you to have my feedback as soon as possible. But if you’d rather wait till Monday, no problem. Your sister might be waiting for you, right?” I hurry to make my silly offer as easy as possible to refuse.
She shakes her head, giving me a smile. “No, that’s super kind of you. I’d love to read your comments today if the detour to your house isn’t too much trouble. Alicia isn’t expecting me before dinner, anyway.”
The way Laia’s lips curl up sends my blood racing in my veins, and I can’t stop myself from trying to lift her mood even more.
“What do you say if you drive?” I hand her my car keys.
Laia gapes at me then bobs her head. “I’d love to.”
As the warmth in her voice triggers a familiar, delicious pull in my belly, I wonder why I offered her the wheel again. But I choose to leave this puzzle unsolved.
For the benefit of my soul.
Chapter 21
(Laia)
“Okay, so we go to your place then?” I light the engine and pivot to Devon.
He is checking something on his phone, but as he hears my question, he jerks back. “Excuse me?”
“I asked whether we go to your place then,” I repeat.
Devon’s lips move into a mischievous grin, and he winks. “Sure, let’s go to my place.”
That’s when I realize that his saucy playboy brain is joking about the way I phrased my sentence.
I know I should feel irritation, but the only sensation his tongue-in-cheek remark unleashes is a certain longing that he meant it for real.
I’m really going nuts here.
First, I propose to my boss that we should be friends. Friends! As if I could ever be pals with a man whose values about love are in diagonal opposition to mine, but whose fleeting touch makes my bones all mushy.
And now I even feel disappointed that Devon is only inviting me into his apartment to give me back my reports, instead of… No. I need to not think about this any further.
I step hard on the gas, forgetting I’m sitting in his Audi and not in Chelsea’s Pontiac. The engine howls, and we shoot out of the parking with the force of a jet.
“Huhu, slow down a bit, Laia! I’m glad you’re feeling more in your element. You looked a little tense a moment ago. But we shouldn’t get a ticket, if possible.” Devon chuckles.
“What makes you say I was tense?” What reason would I have not to feel at ease?
Just because I can sense his tantalizing cologne, a clean musky scent with a hint of green, without even trying to? Or because his body irradiates such a heat toward me that I feel like fanning myself?
No, all is good with me. Peachy even.
Devon clears his throat and points at my hands.
I follow his gaze. My skin plays in a bluish-white as my fingers clutch the wheel. I release the pressure and roll back my shoulders. “Okay, maybe I had a pang of jitters because…mhm…I’m nervous about the remarks you made on my briefing reports.”
My professional responsibilities couldn’t be further from my mind as we roll through the traffic, but it’s a plausible excuse.
“No need.” Devon reaches out and pats the hand I just moved to the gearstick. “You did a good job with them.”
His gesture is friendly but sends tingles up to my shoulder.
“Turn left here, please, then take the second to the right.” Devon points. His arm almost brushes my shoulder, but I press back to my seat to avoid the contact.
If I get any more thrills on my skin, I’ll feel like I’m sitting in the middle of a termite mound—a bizarre sensual kind.
We arrive at a high-rise, and Devon calls out, “Stop here. That’s where I live.”
I park the Audi near his building.
Devon lives very close to the Arts and Willo Historic District, my two favorite areas in this city. I would trade our flat in Laveen Village for this location in a heartbeat. And I’m sure Chelsea would too.
Devon can literally walk to theaters, museums, and art galleries, and he has countless fancy shops at his disposal, a fact that enthuses me less but would probably be the primary motivation for my roomie to move here.
An elderly doorman keeps watch in front of his place. He greets Devon with a wide smile. Devon exchanges his cordial salutation with a friendly wave.
Once we’re in the hall, Devon pauses. “Wait, Laia, let’s go back for a second.”
We trot to the door, where Devon puts his hand on the doorman’s shoulder. “Philip, this is Laia. Laia, this is Philip, my building’s guardian.”
Philip and I shake hands, both of us somewhat taken aback by this spontaneous introduction.
Why does Devon’s doorman need to know my name? I’m not planning on coming here frequently.
Philip has white, thick locks, cut short like a sheep’s fur. His face is covered in deep-creased wrinkles, but his eyes glimmer with the spirit of youth.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Flores,” he says, his full lower lip twisting upward. “It’s good to see that Mr. Griffin finally has some company. I’ve been wondering whether I should introduce him to one of my nieces so he won’t get lonely.”
Lonely? Doesn’t Devon’s doorman read the tabloids?
“Oh, no.” I shake my head. “I’m just his assistant. We’re here to pick up some documents.”
Philip blinks at Devon with disapproval, while he taps at his own cheeks with both hands. “Mr. Devon, only an assistant? What will Ms. Ellie say to this? She frequently inquires whether I see you with someone, and I always have to say no and no.”
Philip turns to me, a warmth overtaking his features. “And when I finally meet a pretty, young lady at your side, it turns out that it’s all work-related.” He rubs his neck. “Oh, my, oh, my…”
“No need to worry about me, Philip.” Devon touches t
he doorman’s hand but doesn’t comment any further on his complaints. “Have a great day.”
Devon guides me back to his building and toward the elevator.
As we wait and watch the bright red numbers decreasing on the monitor, I have a hard time wrapping my head around what’s just happened.
The doorman’s voice didn’t hint at a joke, and his face was more concerned than mocking when he scolded Devon.
Devon studies me with furrowed brows. “Everything okay with you, Laia?”
“Sure. I’m just wondering about something.”
“About what?”
I’m tempted to say that it doesn’t matter, but number eight on my bucket list, “Become as feisty and strong as Eva,” comes to mind. Biting back my questions is certainly not helping me with this goal.
“Why did Philip say he should find you a date? Aren’t you one of the city’s ultimate playboys?”
Devon’s expression steels, and a vexed glint seeps into his eyes. “Is this what you think of me?”
“I…I…” I play with my left earlobe, not knowing how to formulate my next phrase. I know it should be an apology, but I can’t seem to find the right words.
What has gotten into me? My label for Devon was too harsh.
There’s a difference between being courageous and spirited and blabbing out things without checking their level of hurtfulness first.
Could my blunder be the work of that Lilliputian fraction of my soul that still feels resentful about seeing Vanessa almost-kiss Devon?
Devon shrugs, withdrawing his glance from me. “You know, things are never as black-and-white as they seem.”
The elevator arrives, and Devon enters.
I march behind him, while my cheeks burn as if I just opened the oven on those delicious cinnamon rolls my mother used to prepare for us as afternoon snacks.
Only this time, my churning stomach isn’t caused by the yummy fragrance but by my foolish behavior.
It’s not just my poor choice of words that makes me feel guilty. My hasty comment betrayed that I’m more than interested in Devon’s private affairs.
Law #2: Don't Play with a Player: A Sweet Office Romance Story (Laws of Love) Page 15
