She straightened, wiped her face and folded her hands.
“Fine,” she said, to the goddess, to herself, to the chaos she had not invited and did not yet understand. “Fine. I notice him. I am furious about it. Moving on.”
She rose, adjusted her dupatta, lifted her chin.
He wanted a personal assistant.
Fine.
She would be the most relentlessly efficient, impeccably professional, deeply inconvenient assistant he had ever known. She would follow every instruction to the letter, and make him regret issuing them.
And she would find a way to make him see this Haveli for what it truly was.
One way or another.
She turned, shoulders squared, and stepped back into the morning.
Behind her, the lamps burned on. Steady, patient, waiting.
Chapter 9
The summons came an hour after the confrontation.
Meera was handling the afternoon flow of devotees when Rajan arrived, breath uneven. “Meera Didi. Hukum wants you. Main living room.”
Her stomach tightened. She ignored it.
Abhinav stood near the window when she entered. A laptop lay open on the side table. His phone pressed to his ear as he spoke in rapid English about schedules, delays and slipping timelines. He lifted a hand, asking her to wait, his gaze still fixed ahead.
She did, while he dismantled the person on the other end with clean precision. Each sentence was calm and controlled, but it cut deeper than the last.
His voice changed in English. Sharper. Edged. It caught her attention before she could stop herself.
The call ended. He turned. “I need an office.”
No greeting. No buildup.
“The administrative office?” she asked.
“Too public. I need a private workspace. Calls with Dubai, Singapore, London. I’ll manage my companies from here.”
‘Of course. Because selling the Haveli clearly wasn’t enough to occupy him.’
“Set it up today. Desk. Proper seating. Fast Wi-Fi.”
A dozen responses rose to her tongue. None left her mouth. “What kind of space do you prefer?”
“Private. Quiet. Good natural light for calls.”
“Of course, Boss.”
His gaze narrowed at the easy acceptance. “Have it ready by evening.”
She inclined her head and walked out.
Three hours later, Meera stood at the entrance of the room she had chosen.
Technically perfect.
