A frantic rush of euphoria raced through my veins.This is it. I have won in life. When I’m on my deathbed thinking of all my life accomplishments, this one would be in the top three.
‘I do, too,’ Jai said.
I looked at him. His expression was inscrutable, but something had shifted in his eyes. Not surprise. Something closer to ... recognition.
‘It needs work,’ he continued. ‘But it has potential.’
A tender warmth stirred, catching me off guard.
The following murmurs of approval and praise stayed with me as Jai and I exited the meeting.
Since the workday was over, Jai told me to refine my pitch tomorrow. But I was too fired up. Ideas swarmed in my head, so I turned on my computer, cracked my knuckles and got to work.
Halfway through, a security guard came in carrying a large red box and placed it on my desk. ‘For the boss,’ he said before walking away.
At first glance, I thought it was an electronics box because of its matte finish and expensive feel. But the distinctive black logo on it told me it was from The Masala Box – Mumbai’s most coveted Indian fine-dining restaurant, infamous for its three-month waitlist and a strict no-delivery policy (I knew this because Rhea and I had tried and failed to secure a reservation). But of course, the rules didn’t apply to the rich.
My hunger flared at the thought of food. Maybe I should order something too. I picked it up and knocked on Jai’s door.
He was on a call, pacing in front of the floor-to-ceiling window. His suit jacket hung on the back of his chair, and the sleeves of his shirt were neatly rolled up to his elbows.
I paused. This was the most casual I’d seen him. Without the armour of a perfectly pressed suit, he looked ... younger. More human.
Which was annoying, actually. It was easier to resent him when he looked like a robot in corporate clothing.
He stopped when he saw me. ‘Let me call you back,’ he said and ended the call.
‘This arrived for you.’ I placed the box on his desk.
He took his seat, and I turned to leave.
‘Join me,’ he said, and I froze.
‘I … I shouldn’t. I have work to do. And I’m not even hungry.’
‘Sit down, Ananya,’ Jai said with such calm authority that I couldn’t help but obey.
I hated that. The way he thought he could... command me to sit. But I was starving, and I’ve wanted to eat The Masala Box’s food since it opened.
He started unpacking the box. The food came in brass containers. As the lids lifted, a buttery, spiced aroma drifted out. My mouth watered at the sight: creamy dal makhani, pulao topped with saffron and nuts, flaky laccha paratha, tandoori broccoli with pomegranates and rasgullas.
My stomach grumbled loudly.Traitor!
He raised an amused brow. ‘Not hungry, hm?’
‘Dal makhani does that to people,’ I said lamely. Thankfully, he let it slide.
I watched him set down our plates and bowls, trying not to notice the way his rolled-up sleeves revealed his forearms—Stop it.He’s your boss.
Your boss, who made you redo a report for no reason this morning. Your boss, whom you called a dick six hours ago. The fact that he’d caught you when you fell didn’t change any of that!
He served me first before helping himself.
The gesture caught me off guard. This morning, he’d been snapping at me about vendor lists. Now he was ... being nice.
I didn’t know how to deal with this version of Jai Advani.
‘I thought The Masala Box had a strict no-delivery policy,’ I said, trying to fill the silence.
