CHAPTER THREE

“They told me to dress for the job I want. So I wore confidence, sarcasm, and a hint of chaos.” – Chaavi Mehra

Ruhan’s POV – 10:30 AM

He couldn’t focus.

Not on emails. Not on spreadsheets.

Not when she was sitting outside his cabin, organizing things like she’d been born with a planner in one hand and a highlighter in the other.

Yesterday, she was chaos in sneakers.

Today, she looked like an editorial intern from Vogue Business.

But what really got him?

She was trying.

Not just pretending. Actually trying.

To show up. To shut them up. To change.

Why?

And why did he care?

---

Chhavi’s POV – 11:15 AM

She wasn’t doing this for anyone.

Not for Ruhan.

Not for the gossiping interns.

Not even for her own self-respect.

She was doing it to remind herself she could.

Because if a birthday disaster, a wardrobe malfunction, and an espresso assassination couldn’t kill her spirit—she figured, might as well weaponize it.

But she was still her.

Still spreading unsolicited inspiration to the receptionist.

Still stealing mints from accounting.

Still leaving inspirational sticky notes on office doors like:

“Keep your chin up. Or double chin. Either way, own it.”

“If coffee can survive being ground and boiled, so can you.”

“Monday is a concept. Be a rebel.”

She was Chhavi Mehra.

Just a little more… dangerous in heels.

12:00 PM – Le Meridien, South Mumbai | High Stakes Meeting

Crystal chandeliers. Suits sharper than knives. Espresso in porcelain cups too tiny to satisfy any real caffeine need.

And then—heels clicked in. Heads turned.

But not for the usual reason.

Because the woman walking in wasn’t just stylish—she was stormy. Pin-straight hair pulled into a sleek bun, black pencil skirt hugging her curves, maroon blazer hugging her confidence. Minimal makeup. Maximal attitude.

Chaavi Mehra had arrived.

A new woman on the surface.

But the moment she tripped slightly on the plush carpet and caught herself with a whisper of “bloody luxury trap,” Ruhan didn’t even flinch. Because he knew. Deep down, she was still there.

His walking-talking headache. Wrapped in heels.

“Glad you could join us,” he murmured without looking at her.

She smiled sweetly. “Glad you didn’t fire me yet.”

Author’s POV

The meeting was with a French luxury brand looking to enter the Indian market. Half the boardroom looked like a page from GQ. The other half looked terrified of accidentally using the wrong spoon.

And then there was Chaavi—taking notes with a glitter pen.

“Can we also suggest a collab with desi influencers?” she asked, mid-discussion. “Like, imagine high-end meets high-on-spice. Your perfume bottle with a little ‘mirchi’ charm attached—BOOM. Viral.”

One of the French execs blinked. “Euh… mirchi?”

“She means chili,” Ruhan translated dryly.

“Oh,” the man nodded. “Interesting.”

Ruhan side-eyed her. “You’re aware this is a billion-rupee pitch, not a Dilli Haat flea market?”

“And you’re aware viral marketing doesn’t come with a tie and an accent, right?”

Touché.

The French guy smiled. “Actually… I like it. Very bold. Very local.”

Chaavi winked. “Bold is my accidental middle name.”

Later – Rooftop Café Meeting Spot

Ruhan had agreed (reluctantly) to a post-meeting debrief over coffee. It was partly networking, partly damage control, and mostly because he was afraid she’d pitch “perfumed gol gappe” next.

“I’m impressed,” he admitted, sipping espresso. “You managed not to embarrass us.”

She beamed. “That’s the nicest insult you’ve ever given me.”

He looked at her—really looked. “What happened, Mehra?”

“To what?”

“This.” He gestured. “The hair. The outfit. The lipstick that looks like it came with a ‘don’t mess with me’ label.”

She smiled faintly. “Let’s just say… I remembered who I am. And also, that Harsh threatened to break my scooter if I didn’t dress like a human adult.”

Ruhan chuckled under his breath. She heard it. And froze.

Did he just… laugh?

Nah. Must’ve been a hiccup.

8:30 PM – Chaavi’s Apartment

“Harshhhhhh!” she yelled on the phone. “He laughed. I swear he did.”

Her best friend’s voice crackled through the speaker. “I don’t believe it. Was it, like, an evil laugh or a ‘maybe-I-have-a-heart’ laugh?”

“Half-half. Like a budget villain having a soft moment.”

Harsh cackled. “He’s catching feelings.”

“Shut up. I’m catching deadlines.”

---

Meanwhile – Ruhan’s Penthouse

Ruhan stared at the campaign proposal she’d edited. Somehow, her goofy suggestions had actual strategy. He flipped a page, frowned, and muttered, “Unbelievable.”

Zoya, his housekeeper, peeked in. “Sir, everything okay?”

He nodded slowly. “Yes. Just trying to figure out if my assistant is brilliant… or accidentally brilliant.”

She smiled. “Can’t she be both?”

He didn’t reply. But the idea lingered.

Next Morning – Kapoor & Co. HQ

The office was buzzing. Word had spread that “The Intern-Turned-Tornado” had slayed in the meeting.

“Is it true she shut down Mr. Malhotra’s ego with a pun?”

“Did she really compare French couture to samosas?”

“She’s a legend.”

And Chaavi? Walked in like none of it mattered.

Still stylish. Still unbothered.

Still spilled her coffee three feet from her desk.