The corner of my mouth nearly betrays me. Nearly. I look back down at my notes.
“Bring coffee,” I say instead. “I like it black. No sugar.”
She mock-salutes. “Yes, sir. The slavery starts.” She spins on her heel, muttering something about a caffeine dictatorship, and heads out. Her footsteps are lighter than I expected—like she floats just above the ground, riding on purpose and sass.
I lean back in my chair. God help me. I check our stock price and feel a bit satisfied that it's still rising. We haven't seen a downfall in at least six months, and I take it as a win considering how volatile the Indian market is.
Three minutes later, Aditi returns. Still no knock. She’s carrying a sleek ceramic cup like it’s a peace offering.
She places it in front of me with flair. “Here. Your majesty’s coffee.”
I lift the cup, take a cautious sip—
And immediately frown. “This isn’t what I drink,” I say, tone flat.
“Exactly.” She beams. “It’s what you should drink.” There's at least a ton of sugar she has added in my coffee, not to mention the milk I can taste.
I stare at her. “Did you just reform my coffee?”
“Someone has to keep your arteries intact.” She shrugs. “I figured it might as well be me.”
There’s a beat of silence as I study her. She’s completely at ease—shoulders relaxed, face open, like she’s delivering a wellness intervention instead of challenging the CEO of a multimillion-dollar company. “You’re very confident,” I state slowly.
“You hired me for that, didn’t you?”
I don’t answer. I take another sip, and to my annoyance, the coffee actually doesn't taste that bad. Balanced, strong, but less acidic. Irritatingly smooth. Like her comebacks.
Before I can respond, my phone vibrates.
Unknown number.
I glance at her. “That’ll be all.”
She tilts her head. “Dismissed? Already? And here I thought we were bonding.”
“Out,” I say, already picking up. I have waited for this call for a month.
She rolls her eyes as she walks out. “You’re welcome for the coffee upgrade.”
The door clicks shut. I let out a breath and press the phone to my ear.
“Yes?”
A male voice, low and urgent, replies, “We’ve found Lakhan.”
My spine straightens. My pulse starts to thrum. My jaw tightens. Finally, we are getting somewhere.
“Where is he?”
“Lower East Side. Godown number 14.”
I clench my fist, knuckles cracking. “Capture him. I’ll meet you there in thirty.”
The line disconnects.
I rise from my chair, movements sharp and focused. I smooth my shirt and grab my phone, already sorting through what needs to be handled before I vanish for the next few hours.
I step out into the hallway. She’s there. Leaning against the wall like she’s been waiting just long enough to annoy me.
