He walks in like he owns the place—well, technically, knowing him, he probably has a stake in it somewhere. Black button-down, sleeves rolled, that devil-may-care smirk on his face. And those eyes? Locked right on me.
Shit.
No. No, no, no, this isn’t happening. Why is he here? Why today? Why this meeting?
Abhimaan stands up to greet him, his posture straight, expression unreadable. “Aarav Malhotra,” he says, extending a hand. “Pleasure to finally meet you in person.”
Aarav accepts it, his smirk never faltering. “Likewise.”
I can’t breathe. My palms are clammy, knees weak. I press them together under the table and will myself to stay calm. Stay still.
Don’t react, Aditi. Don’t even blink weirdly.
“This is Aditi Rao,” Abhimaan says, gesturing toward me. His lips twitch. “My assistant.”
I swear to God, his mouth curved just a little too much when he said that. My name. My fake last name. The last name I’ve been hiding behind like a goddamn invisibility cloak.
Aarav’s eyes gleam with amusement. “Rao?” he echoes, his lips quirking upward. “Interesting.”
My jaw clenches. My eyes shoot daggers at him, a silent, violent threat: say one more word and I will personally poison your food tonight. And he knows it. That bastard knows it. His smirk deepens, but he doesn’t push.
For now.
I can feel Abhimaan’s gaze flicker between us, curious. Sharp. Observant. The kind that notices too much. I school my expression into professional neutrality and open my folder like it holds the secrets to world peace.
“So,” Abhimaan says, shifting his attention back to Aarav, “shall we go over the initial terms?”
“Yes, of course,” Aarav says, pulling out a chair across from me. “But first, just to clarify—Ms. Rao, was it? Any relation to the Malhotra Group by any chance?” He asks, “I feel like I have seen you somewhere.”
My throat locks. My pen stills. This fucker.
I look up slowly, meeting his smug expression, and tilt my head slightly. “No,” I say sweetly. “Common last name. Don’t you think?”
He chuckles, nodding. “Right. Of course.”
My foot finds his shin under the table and presses down. Hard. He barely flinches, but I see it. That tiny twitch of pain. Satisfaction floods through me for half a second.
“Shall we continue?” I say, plastering on my most cooperative smile.
The meeting carries on, but I feel like I’m in a pressure cooker. Every glance from Aarav is laced with unspoken words. Every question Abhimaan asks feels like a test. I try to focus, to be sharp, but my brain is on fire with panic.
And then—at the end—Aarav closes his folder and stands, stretching a little too casually.
“Well, this was fun,” he says, glancing at me. “I’ll see you back home for dinner?”
My soul leaves my body.
My fingers grip the edge of the table like it’s the only thing anchoring me to Earth. I feel Abhimaan’s gaze snap to me again. I nod quickly, like a broken bobblehead.
“Yeah,” I mutter. “Sure.”
And just like that, he leaves.
The door clicks shut behind him.
The room feels heavier now. Quieter. Just me and Abhimaan.
I don’t look at him. I can’t.
