Ishani had faced a lot of terrifying things in life—Physics practicals, her mom’s chappal-throwing accuracy, and once, a monkey who stole her ice cream. But none of them compared to Dante Valenti’s death glare.
As the meeting dragged on, she tried—emphasis on tried—to focus on the agenda. But really, how was she supposed to care about floral arrangements when Mr. Broody McSuitpants was sitting there looking like the human embodiment of a “Touch her and you die” meme?
“Miss Mehta,” his voice cut through the room like butter through a hot knife—wait, wrong metaphor—like a knife through butter. Damn, even her brain was glitching. “Your thoughts?”
Ishani blinked. "Uh…" Think, Ishani, think. Something smart. Professional. Preferably not stupid.
“I mean, roses are basic. We should go for orchids. Classy but not ‘I-might-marry-a-politician’ vibes. Unless that’s the aesthetic you’re going for—then full support, boss."
The room went dead silent. Somewhere, a cricket was probably filing for overtime pay.
Dante’s cold gaze lingered on her for a beat too long. “Orchids, then.”
Wait—what? Did he actually agree with her? Was this power?
Alain shot her a murderous glare, which only made her sit up straighter, smug as hell. She risked a glance back at Dante, and his face? Blank. Emotionless. Stone-cold mafia king vibes.
But there was something in his eyes—like he couldn’t decide whether to fire her or… something else.
Not her problem.
Meeting: survived. Dignity: mostly intact.
As the others filed out, Ishani gathered her things, already half-dreaming of a croissant and a nap. Just as she reached the door—
“Miss Mehta.”
Oh, crap-basket.
She turned slowly, plastering on her best “I’m innocent” smile. “Yes, Bossman?”
Dante leaned back in his chair, the very picture of power and disapproval. "You seem… distracted."
"Me? Distracted? Pfft." She waved a hand. "Multitasking queen. I could probably plan this event in my sleep. Which—bonus—means no overtime."
His lips twitched, but the smirk never quite landed. "Is that so?"
"Absolutely." She tilted her head. "Besides, I’m pretty sure I just saved this event from being a floral disaster. Honestly, you should thank me."
Dante rose from his seat—tall, sharp, and way too intimidating for someone who probably drank his coffee black with a side of human tears. He strolled toward her, stopping just close enough that her heart did a weird little tap dance.
“You have an interesting definition of professionalism.” His voice dipped lower, smoother. Dangerous.
Ishani, because she had zero survival instincts, smirked. “And yet, here I am. Still employed.”
A heavy pause. The kind where you either win the argument or end up jobless.
Finally, Dante’s mouth curved into something that almost looked like amusement. “For now.”
And just like that, he turned and walked out—Mr. Tall, Dark, and Dangerous, leaving Ishani alone with her thudding heartbeat and a single thought:
Yeh toh zyada hi intense hai.
—
TBC.
***Download NovelToon to enjoy a better reading experience!***
Updated 7 Episodes
Download
Like this story? Download the app to keep your reading history.
Comments