I give him my best innocent shrug. “You said 9 AM. Technically, it’s still the morning.”
“It’s 9:32.”
“Well, it depends on your time zone.”
He stares. I blink. We stare. I don’t know how long we stand there, but I cough, and he breaks the silence, “Meeting in ten minutes. Suri clients. You’re coming.”
“I’m sorry—what?”
He’s already walking away. “The brief is on your desk. The marketing rollout section is yours. Try not to choke.”
“Oh, that’s sweet,” I mutter, flipping open the folder like it might bite. “I didn’t know you cared.”
Ten minutes later, I’m in a car with him and his giant silence. I’m skimming through numbers, strategy slides, and bullet points so fast my eyes hurt. I was supposed to be his assistant. Someone who manages his chaos, not presents part of a pitch to one of our biggest clients. But nope. He just casually tosses me into corporate fire like it’s his version of team-building. But then again, I can’t believe I am saying this, but I am thankful he is; this is a learning opportunity, Aditi. Please remember.
We arrive at this swanky business club where the lighting is so dim that I almost call Aarav to order some lights for them. The boardroom is glass and wood and cold as hell. The Suri team is already there. Two older men in suits that scream legacymoney, and one woman who looks like she’d eat my resume for breakfast and still be hungry.
I sit beside Abhimaan, back straight, heart doing jumping jacks, because I heard Radha say Suri’s are their worst clients. I would not be worried if they were hard to impress or something because come on, I impressed Abhimaan; I can impress these people, but unfortunately they seem to have orthodox thinking—that’s all Radha said—and now I am left to think of the worst, because that’s what I do.
Abhimaan dives into the presentation like he’s reading bedtime stories—calm, deadly, hypnotic. I listen, absorb, and wait for my cue. And when it comes, I speak. “With the current demographic nearing saturation, we suggest expanding laterally—targeting emerging middle-income segments with emotionally resonant campaigns rooted in cultural nuance rather than urban detachment.”
They look at me as if they cannot decipher a word, but I still keep going.
“Think of Diwali ads where the house isn’t perfect and the dad actually finishes the mithai ka dabba. Something that makes people say, “That’s us.” I try to explain with an example.
One of the men raises a brow. “Interesting perspective. Someone’s been doing her homework.”
“She always does,” Abhimaan says, eyes still on the screen.
I fight a smile.
Then the second guy—Suit #2—leans back in his chair and chuckles. “Impressive pitch. You must’ve had help from Mr. Abhimaan.”
I pause. That’s the moment. The you’re-just-here-to-smile moment. Every woman knows it. I do smile, but I don’t hold back. “Actually, he had nothing to do with it.”
And then comes the real gem.
“You’re quite enthusiastic but still just an assistant,” he adds, with this smirk that makes me want to throw a stapler at his face. “Don’t usually see secretaries with so much… confidence.”
My spine goes rigid. I open my mouth. But before I can even form the words, Abhimaan speaks.
“She’s not just anything,” he says. Calm. Low. Controlled. “If it weren’t for her, this pitch wouldn’t exist. You’ll speak to her with the respect she’s earned.”
Silence surrounds us. Actual silence. Even the AC sounds like it’s holding its breath.
I glance sideways. He’s not even looking at me. Just straight ahead. Like he didn’t just drop a truth bomb that reset the whole room’s energy. I am proud of him. Mental note: Pat your boss on the back, maybe thank him or give him a KitKat because he has been a good boy.
Abhimaan winds up and finishes the pitch. The Suris only nod; the woman actually takes notes. The air feels so charged, and I am pretty sure everyone here wants this to end as soon as possible. I am eager to leave because I want to punch Suit #2, Suris—because they seem uncomfortable after Abhimaan calling them out, and Abhimaan…well, he doesn’t like humans, so I guess that makes a perfect reason?
After we leave, I try to keep pace with his long-ass legs as we walk down the corridor.
“You enjoy stealing thunder, don’t you?” he says without looking at me.
“I enjoy earning mine,” I reply, casually flipping my folder closed. “You should try it sometime.”
He stops walking and looks at me. Really looks.
“I did,” he says. “Every drop of it.”
