“And I didn’t have breakfast so my empty stomach makes me hangry but eating breakfast also gives me stomach aches before important meetings so either way I’d be cranky and—” She stops, shuts her eyes tightly for half a second, and huffs.
“So yes. Sorry. That happened.”
My amusement bubbles before I can control it. Not mocking amusement—just the kind that fills your chest because someone is unintentionally funny without trying to be. I don’t know what I expected when I walked into the room, but it definitely wasn’t…this. This fiery little thing with expressive eyes, chaotic explanations, and a glare that would have fried me alive if she knew who I was earlier.
Finally—finally—she takes my hand. Her fingers are cold, a little shaky, and she stands with the confident chin-lift of someone trying hard to pretend she didn’t have a frontal emotional meltdown three seconds ago.
“Ishika Vyas,” she says, recovering some ground. Then she adds, “And in my defense, you also need to learn to be on time.”
My smile stretches wider. I can feel it, the pull of it in my cheeks, the way it lights something behind my ribs. It’s been a while since someone spoke to me like that—direct, honest, unfiltered. People rarely forget I’m a CEO; they treat me like one the second I walk into a room. They measure their words. They perform. But her? This woman scolded me before she even knew my name.
She’s intimidated—of course she is, anyone would be—but she’s not backing down. She’s holding her ground with the same stubbornness she clearly uses to survive this world. Gutsy. I like that.
“Please, sit,” I say, taking the seat next to her—absolutely not the seat I was supposed to take. But sitting next to her has the immediate effect of making her stiffen, her posture going rigid like a cat bristling at an approaching hand. The pink tint returns to her cheeks, and I have to stop myself from laughing because I’m not trying to embarrass her. Well…maybe I am. A little. She’s cute when flustered.
“And point noted, Ishika,” I say. “I’ll be on time from now on.”
She narrows her eyes in disbelief, as if she thinks I’m lying solely for dramatic effect. Which is fair.
She clears her throat and flips open her file. From the corner of my eye, I catch her stealing quick glances at me—checking if I’m judging, guessing what I’m thinking. It makes me soften. I want to put her at ease, but also…I don’t want her to stop reacting this intensely. It’s rare to find someone so genuine, so readable, and yet so fiercely trying not to be.
“So,” I say, leaning forward slightly, “what do you think about taking over the project? Jayesh says you know how he works. What do you have in mind that’s different from his approach?”
Her eyes snap to mine. Something steadies behind them—professional mode, I realize. She straightens, exhales, and the fluster evaporates just a little.
“Jayesh focuses on symmetry,” she begins. “He likes clean lines, minimalism, and a very structured flow. His work is great, obviously—I’ve learned a lot from him—but Evergreen doesn’t need more structure. It already has plenty.”
“Oh?” I prompt, interested. “And what do you think Evergreen needs?”
She pauses, chewing the inside of her cheek before answering.
“Warmth.” The word comes out softer than I expect. “Heart. Spaces that feel alive, not intimidating. A place where people don’t have to put their guard up the second they walk through the door.”
My breath catches for a second—not visibly, but enough that I notice it. How does she know? How does someone walk into a company and read its soul like that? That’s what I wanted from the start: human, not corporate. Warmth. Comfort. A sense of belonging.
“And,” she adds quickly, as if afraid she revealed too much, “the new office has a lot of natural light, so we should use that. Softer colors. Textures. Plants—not the fake ones every corporate office buys. Actual greenery.”
I smile. “I like it.”
She blinks, surprised. “Really? You do?”
“Of course. It aligns perfectly with what I want.”
She tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear—a nervous habit, clearly—and flips another page. “Look, I know stepping in mid-project is hard. And I’m not Jayesh. I won’t pretend to be. But if you trust me, I’ll deliver.”
She says it sincerely. Honestly. With a quiet conviction that doesn’t need volume. “And if I don’t trust you?” I tease lightly.
She straightens instantly, expression tightening. “Then…you should hire someone else.”
I grin. Oh, she’s fun. “No,” I say. “I like what you’ve said so far and have shown me.” I signal towards the files she has open, “And I think you’re capable. You’re…unexpected.”
Her brows furrow. “Is that supposed to be a compliment?”
“Yes.”
“It sounds like an insult.”
I laugh, leaning back. “Sunshine, it’s a compliment.”
