CHAPTER 5
ARYAN
There are very few moments in my adult life when someone stuns me into silence.
I’m usually the one doing that to other people, not the other way around.
But right now—seeing her stare at my outstretched hand like I’ve asked her to hold a venomous snake—I feel something warm and ridiculous spread through my chest.
She looks up at me, eyes wide, pupils blown in panic, lips parted just slightly.
The flush climbing up her neck and cheeks is instant and honestly it's kind of adorable.
Not the childish sort of adorable. More like the kind where you want to watch what she does next because every twitch of her expression is unexpectedly captivating.
Her hair catches my attention next—an unmistakable shade of red that shouldn’t work on most people but suits her in a way that feels…
intentional. Not loud, not rebellious—just her.
Framed around her face, the soft waves give her a sort of fierce softness, like she’s trying her best to appear put-together but the world keeps messing with her, and she keeps showing up anyway.
I notice the tiny silver nose pin glinting on her left side, subtle but impossible to miss, and the kajal rimming her eyes that makes them look sharp, alert, expressive.
She looks small but somehow takes up the entire room.
Her fingers twitch once—barely a movement, but enough to show she’s arguing with herself. I wait. I don’t move. I don’t rush her. Partly because I don’t want to scare her, and partly because watching her panic spiral is easily the most entertaining thing that has happened to me this entire month.
When she finally does speak, it comes out in a flustered rush.
“I just—I had been sitting here since—you know—half an hour,” she says, voice wobbling like she’s trying to sound mature while her brain is tripping over its shoelaces.
“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.”
Her eyes widen in pure offense and she gasps softly. “Don’t call me that!”
“Why not?”
“Because—I am not sunshine.”
“Oh, you absolutely are,” I say with a dramatic nod, mostly because watching her bristle is delightful. “You walked in here and lit up the entire room.”
“That is the worst line I’ve ever heard,” she mutters.
“Says the woman who called my coffee a crime.”
“It was.” She huffs and clenches her jaw, “Golden boy,” she adds suddenly, glaring at me.
I choke on air. “Golden boy?”
“Yes,” she says, lifting her chin, cheeks slightly pink. “It fits you.”
I burst into laughter. Actual laughter. Not polite, not practiced—just real amusement spilling out. Golden boy. That’s new. And honestly? I don’t hate it.
“I get on your nerves, don’t I?” I ask.
She doesn’t answer. But her twitching eye answers for her.
Her reactions are adorable. Her frustration is adorable.
Her attempt to remain unaffected is adorable.
But that’s not why I’m hiring her. The truth is—she actually knows what she’s doing.
She understands design intuitively. She sees the company the way I want it to be seen.
And she has ideas that aren’t recycled or safe. She sees more than the surface.
“Alright,” I say, shifting into CEO mode but keeping my tone warm. “On your way out, my assistant will give you the contract. You can go through it and sign it so we can start as soon as possible—if that works for you?”
She nods instantly. “Yes. That works.” She closes her file, gathers her bag, and stands.
She still looks slightly dazed—as if she hasn’t fully recovered from the embarrassment of earlier.
I stand as well, mostly out of habit, and gesture toward the door.
She reaches for the handle, and I can’t resist.
“Ishika?” She pauses, turning her head slightly.
“Next time,” I say, voice light, “maybe don’t insult the CEO before you know who he is.” Her eye twitches again. I hear the sharp inhale she tries to hide. Her lips part like she wants to argue but also wants to sprint out of the room, so she decides to smile, a very fake one and I almost laugh.
The door closes behind her with a soft click. I lean back in my chair, exhale, and a laugh finally escapes me without warning.
This…this is going to be fun. I settle deeper into the chair, a smile tugging at my lips.
Very, very fun.