9. Office Chaos
This chapter is a bit short-2200 words. I usually write around 3K, so please bear with me today. I've been so stuck with everything, not able to write with my full focus. The floods are affecting so many states... and mine too. I just hope you're all safe. Please take care.
Two hours.
That's how long the meeting dragged-debates, strategies, contingency plans. By the time I finally leaned back and dismissed the room, my throat felt like sandpaper and my head like a war drum.
And then I opened my cabin door.
What. The. Hell.
The space that once displayed boardroom files, first-edition books, and more awards than I cared to count... had turned into a rainbow apocalypse.
My cabin looked less like an office and more like a crime scene of crayons, glitter, and chaos.
I wanted to bang my head against the wall. Seriously, what kind of little hurricane had Samarth been babysitting all these years?
I'm done. I'm so done.
"Dhwaniiii..." I stepped forward, every nerve in me screaming to lose it, but somehow I kept my tone steady. Barely.
And then she looked up.
That smile. That fucking smile.
God, I swear, it just flipped everything upside down.
One second I was ready to murder her for turning my cabin into a goddamn Holi festival, and the next, I wanted to.
.. I don't even know-jump off this office building, probably.
Because how the hell do you stay angry when she throws that at you?
I mean, what kind of sorcery is this? That one damn smile, and it just disarms me like I'm some idiot standing here with zero control over my own brain.
I fucking hate it. And love it. And hate that I love it.
She crawled closer, while sitting on my damn desk. Blue, white, black-her fingers were stained with colors, a mess that should've irritated the hell out of me. But when those same arms slipped around my neck, nothing else mattered.
That warmth. It seeped into me, calmer than any strategy meeting, louder than any applause I'd ever earned. I gave up resisting. My arm circled her waist, pulling her against me, and my fingertips brushed her bare skin.
Her breath ghosted over my ear, her smile pressed close enough to wreck me all over again.
Then she parted away, still smiling. Her stained fingers lifted, showing me her hands like a kid showing a secret.
"What?" I asked, already fucking restless because that smile wasn't leaving her lips.
She pointed at the paper kept right there on my damn desk, and the moment I looked at it-fuck. My eyes just stuck.
I grabbed it, fingers holding the sheet so delicately.
It was me.
Painted.
So fucking beautifully.
Every line, every shadow, every damn detail screamed how much she noticed me, how much she saw me.
I didn't know what to say. My chest tightened, my jaw clenched, and fuck, I couldn't look away.
"You made this painting... of me?" I asked, my voice quieter than I meant it to be.
She nodded, smiling-eyes gleaming like she'd painted not just a face, but someone she held close.
And fuck... I'd been taking her for granted all along. I never knew she painted this well, never knew she saw me like that.
My gaze fell to her hands-small, soft, stained with colors. For the first time, they didn't just look messy or careless. They looked... beautiful. Like every stroke of paint had been worth it.
I gently took her paint-stained hands into mine, holding them as if they were something fragile. Leaning down, I pressed a kiss to her fingers, tasting the faint trace of colors she'd spilled on them.
"It's so beautiful," I whispered, looking back at her-though I wasn't sure if I meant the painting or her. "I didn't know you could paint like this."
"You don't even know how special you just made me feel. It's like... I'm having a totally new feeling, like I've finally been seen by someone." Hearing me she leaned and kissed my cheek, shook her head, fake wiping her tears as if telling me don't start crying now.
I took that painting, placing it carefully on my desk and setting a paperweight on its side. The colors were still fresh, and I didn't want them to get smudged. I was fucking serious-I was going to get it framed and hang it in my room for real.
I came back toward her, her bare legs now dangling off the edge of the table, creamy skin flashing under the soft light.
"Tell me, what do you want in return?" I asked.
She tilted her head back, staring at the ceiling as if lost in thought.
Then, with a sudden spark in her eyes, she snatched the notepad and pen from my desk.
Her fingers danced quickly across the paper.
When she turned it toward me, I read her words written in bubbly, slightly messy handwriting, decorated with tiny doodles of hearts and stars:
? "I want to see every corner of this big, bossy office...
? I want to paint here-lots of messy, colorful paintings...
? And I want a permanent pass to come here regularly, whenever I feel like."
At the bottom, she even drew a tiny smiley face sticking its tongue out. "Done. You're getting everything you want. But, in return you have to do something." I said, leaning closer, my voice low.
She furrowed her brows, curiosity glinting in her eyes as if asking what? "You have to make... more paintings like this," I whispered, brushing my thumb across her knuckles.
Her smile widened, lighting up her whole face. She nodded eagerly, still smiling. That smile never faded from her lips. And I guess, now I fucking wanted to be the reason it never would.
I diverted my eyes from her face, forcing myself to breathe, to think straight. But the moment my gaze drifted away from her and landed around the room-fuck. My subconscious stabbed me right in the chest.
The carpet-ruined, blotched with water stains and streaks of blue. My once-polished desk-turned into a painter's battlefield. Files, contracts, and goddamn award certificates-still scattered across the floor like they were garbage.
It was like waking from a dream only to realize the house is on fire. One part of me was drunk on her smile, her warmth, the painting she'd made of me. The other part wanted to scream into a pillow because my office looked like a kindergarten art class gone rogue.
I get it. She was making a painting, she needed space. Fine. But for God's sake, she had the entire damn couch, the coffee table, even the carpet if she wanted... Why my desk? My beautiful, polished, award-winning desk that had never seen a scratch, now smeared in every shade of disaster.
I ran a frustrated hand through my hair, staring at the mess like I'd walked into the aftermath of an earthquake.
"How did all this even happen?" I asked, tilting her face up by her chin.
She blinked at me, wide-eyed, lips parting into a perfect little O-as if she was just as shocked by the destruction as I was. Her gaze drifted, roaming around the mess before landing on the table. She lifted her hand and pointed.
My photo frame lay there on the edge, half-buried under paint tubes and crumpled papers.
She'd been looking at my picture, trying to paint me, and in her madness hadn't even noticed when she swept half the things off my desk. And the colors on the carpet? Yeah, I could already imagine her knocking those over without a second thought.
Then, like a small child caught red-handed, she lifted her paint-stained fingers and held her ears, her eyes wide and guilty, silently mouthing an apology.
My damn heart just... melted. This girl, this walking, talking hurricane-had the audacity to wreck my entire cabin, and still, with one little gesture, she managed to make me forget every curse that had been brewing on my tongue. Her antiques... they were going to kill me one day.
"It's okay..." I murmured, gently taking her hands from her ears and lowering them. "Come on, let's wash your hands and face, you're covered in colors."
She tilted her head, then suddenly stretched her arms out, wordlessly asking me to pick her up.
I sighed, wrapping an arm around her waist, lifting her easily from the desk. But the next second-fuck.
Her legs hooked around my waist. Tight.
For a full second, my brain short-circuited. Her soft body pressed flush against mine, her warmth seeping into places I didn't want to acknowledge. Her core, right there, brushing exactly against the part of me that had no business reacting like this.
Holifuckingshit.
Every cell in my body screamed to let her go, but my arms... didn't move. Instead, they held her tighter.
Her hair brushed my cheek, her breath warm against my jaw, her tiny hands gripping the back of my neck for balance.
I somehow held myself together, tightening my grip on her thighs as I carried her straight to the restroom. Pushing the door open, I stepped inside and set her down carefully on the marble counter.
I twisted the tap, cold water rushing out. "Wash your face and hands," I told her, voice lower than I meant.
She gave me that obedient little nod and instantly splashed water over her face. I frowned, catching her wrists mid-air. "Hands first," I muttered, pulling them beneath the stream.
Her fingers twitched in mine, soft-too damn soft, like I was holding a piece of silk instead of skin. My thumb brushed over her knuckles as I rubbed away the paint stains, and it was ridiculous, but it felt like I was washing some fragile, living doll.
Her hair drooped forward, weak with the water running down, and I caught them in my fist to steady her.
With my other hand, I cupped water and splashed it gently on her face.
The red streaks melted, dripping down her jaw, tracing the curve of her throat.
Droplets clung to her skin, sliding down the length of her neck, slow, deliberate, making me want to follow the trail with my lips.
I gritted my teeth. Fuck. Not now.
I turned the tap off, water hissing into silence, and grabbed a handful of tissues.
My fingers moved over her skin slowly, dabbing away the droplets clinging to her cheeks.
Her breath fanned over my face, warm, unsteady, ghosting across my lips.
Every nerve in me screamed to just close the distance,just one damn kiss.
I forced myself to move lower instead, sliding the tissue down the curve of her jaw.
Tilting her head slightly, I brushed along the delicate line of her neck.
She swallowed hard, her throat bobbing, and I swore I felt the shiver run through her.
The closeness wasn't just wrecking me-it was hitting her too.
My hand lingered longer than necessary, wiping away the last streak of paint. I crumpled the tissue, tossed it into the bin behind me, but my eyes didn't leave her for a second.
Her lashes were damp, her lips parted, chest rising and falling faster than before. And fuck... the air between us was thick, like it could snap if either of us moved an inch closer.
And holy fucking shit, regret hit me like a sucker punch the moment I stepped this close. Every damn second my body screamed for her, my gut cursed me for it. What the hell was I doing?
Each time I let myself near her, it felt like I was crossing some invisible line, one I wasn't supposed to touch.
My chest tightened, guilt crawling under my skin.
Because no matter how much I wanted to deny it, every time her breath touched my face, every time her skin brushed mine.
.. it felt like I was betraying Samarth.
And that thought has been burning me.
She opened her arms again, silently asking me to hold her.
"No," I snapped before I could stop myself. "You have to walk now. I'm not carrying you always, you're not a child."
The words came out harsher than I intended.
Her face fell, the light drained from it. Pale. Silent. Without a sound, she slid down from the counter, her small feet hitting the floor with a soft thud, and walked out of the restroom.
The door swung shut behind her, and I was left staring at my own reflection. My fists clenched, the urge to smash the mirror boiling in me. The bastard was mocking me, showing me a man who didn't even know what the hell he wanted.
°°°
Ik the chapter was really short, so sorry.
I also came across a comment asking what the exact storyline or context is. Don't worry, a big twist is coming soon. I know I haven't been able to focus and write this book the way I want to, but everything will start unfolding in Chapter 11. I just need a clear mind to give it justice.
Please vote and comment.