I narrow my eyes. “What do you mean bygirls like me?”
“I mean, goody two-shoes like you usually pick boring boys.”
“Well, not just girls like me. Any girl would pick boring boys over someone like you and your brother, who get a thrill out of playing with people’s emotions,” I shoot back.
Something flickers in his eyes. Hurt. Challenge. Something darker.
“Sweetheart, your words are really tempting me to change your mind,” he drawls with a smirk that grates on me. I refuse to carry this conversation any further. I won’t give him that satisfaction.
“Move,” I say sharply.
“Make me.”
Just then, the elevator jolts and shudders back to life. I exhale in relief but keep my glare fixed on him. Smiling, he drops his hands and steps back. The next moment, the doors slide open, and just as I am about to step out, his voice stops me.
“I am lucky that I got to spend even a few minutes with you.”
I pause at the threshold and turn just enough to look at him.
“You surely were lucky it was only a few minutes,” I fire back, my voice icy-sweet. “Because if it had been any longer, I would’ve definitely ended up killing you.”
His grin widens. “Careful with threats, sweetheart. I don’t take them lightly.”
I roll my eyes and walk out, my heart hammering in my chest, almost beyond my control.
Storming into my cabin, I slam the door shut behind me. I throw my bag onto the desk, my pulse still racing.
I pull in a deep breath, then let it out slowly, trying to reset myself, when the door bursts open, making me jump and spin around.
“What the hell is Dev doing here?” Samarth demands, his eyes sharp with irritation.
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Creating a nuisance. It’s what he’s good at.”
Samarth shuts the door behind him and steps closer. “Are you okay? You look—”
“Fine,” I cut him off, even though I am anything but. And it’s all thanks to that annoying Dev. Just a few minutes with him is enough to throw me off balance.
His brows knit together, but before he can ask anything, a knock interrupts us.
We both turn as Mr. Keshav pushes the door open and walks in.
“Meera, I need you to take an interview,” he announces, standing in front of me.
“Interview?” I ask. “Who is it, sir?”
A voice answers from behind him.
“Me.”
My heart skips a beat, then another, as I glance over his shoulder and see Dev leaning casually in the doorway, hands in his pockets, his eyes locked on me. Samarth stiffens beside me instantly.
Mr. Keshav nods, looking at him and then back at me. “Yes. Mr. Dev Rathore. He’ll be our feature for the weekend column. We are very lucky to have him.”
Dev smirks lightly, walking further in. “The pleasure is mine.”
I swallow hard. “Mr. Keshav, can’t someone else—”
“No,” he cuts in. “You’re the best journalist we have. And Mr. Dev Rathore insisted he’d only speak to you.”
