“Let’s do this,” I reply, pushing back my chair and grabbing my laptop.
As I walk past the glass wall, I allow myself one glance. Her figure is small compared to the open room, but she stands like someone who belongs exactly where she is. Focused. Determined. Lost in her world.
A tiny part of me warms in a way I don’t question too closely. Five minutes late or five minutes early—doesn’t matter. She’llwalk into that room, probably with a pen between her fingers and a smudge of graphite on her hand, and I will have to pretend I’m not more interested than I should be.
Fun. This is going to be…interesting. I straighten my shoulders, fix my expression, and head toward the conference room. Time to act like a CEO again.
Even though a part of me is already waiting to see what expression she’ll walk in with.
CHAPTER 10
ISHIKA
I knew this day would come. I prayed for a miracle—maybe I would get sick, maybe he’d be too busy, maybe the meeting would be canceled—but no, God clearly wants to see me suffer for whatever sins I committed in my past life. It’s the only explanation for why I find myself walking toward the conference room with a folder in my hand and a brick of dread in my stomach.
The week until now had been nice. Calm. Quiet. Just me, my work, some contractors, a ton of dust, and the occasional reminder to eat—which I ignored because priorities, obviously. No distractions. No unnecessary people. No drama. No irritating CEOs with green eyes and too much confidence for one body.
But today…today I have to give updates.
Normally I love giving updates. I like showing progress, I like getting actual feedback—constructive feedback, the only kind I take seriously. Rude feedback gets mentally tossed into a trash can inside my head because I’m not paid enough to listen to people’s personal frustrations disguised as criticism.
But this isn’t a normal client.
This ishim.
The man who made my brain short-circuit on day one, who confused me so deeply I genuinely wondered if I had left my intelligence at home. The man who called me Sunshine like he had every right to give me nicknames. The man who laughs at everything I do—not in a mean way, which somehow makes it worse.
So yes, I am dreading this meeting. Dreading it like exams. Like dentist appointments. Like social gatherings. Maybe even more.
I reach the conference hall and inhale once, because I refuse to look like a nervous intern. I push the door open.
And of course.
Of course he’s already there, sitting at the head of the table like he owns oxygen. His laptop is open, a pen in his hand, and his stupid rolled-up sleeves are back again. His assistant stands beside him holding a tablet, like Aryan is royalty and the rest of us are peasants here to present offerings.
Why is his assistant standing? Why can’t he let the poor man sit?
I take a seat as quickly as possible, lowering my head just enough to avoid the way Aryan’s gaze instantly locks onto me. I don’t even manage to get fully comfortable before a smirk forms at the corners of his mouth.
Great. Fantastic. The meeting hasn’t even started and I already want to leave.
“You said you valued punctuality,” he says in a light voice, glancing at his watch with exaggerated disbelief before raising an eyebrow at me.
I swear he was waiting to say this. Counting down seconds. I roll my eyes before my brain can form a polite alternative. My eyes do this a lot around him; it’s concerning.
“I was working,” I respond, trying to keep my voice even. “And I informed.” I glance toward the assistant, who gives me a polite, tight-lipped smile as if acknowledging that yes,I did my part, please don’t pull me into this.
“Okay, okay,” Aryan says, raising his hands like he’s surrendering. “Don’t scold me today, I’m fragile.”
Fragile. Right.
I look at him with a deadpan expression. “You’re the CEO.”
“Exactly. Very fragile,” he says, lower lip jutting out just a bit like he’s pouting.
A laugh nearly escapes me, and that is completely unacceptable. I clamp my lips into a straight line. He cannot find me funny. I MUST NOT find him funny. And I refuse to encourage whatever this dramatic nonsense is.
I open my file, ignoring the way he leans slightly forward as if genuinely excited to hear what I have to say. My hands are steady, thank God. My voice too, surprisingly.
