The elevator doors slid open to the top floor with a soft chime that felt entirely too cheerful for the doom awaiting her.
Aanya stepped out, clutching her laptop so tightly her knuckles turned pale. The carpeted corridor was disturbingly quiet. No chatter. No footsteps. Just the thick silence that usually preceded major corporate disasters.
An assistant at the front desk looked up. "Ms. Kalantri?"
Aanya winced. Even hearing her name on this floor felt like a mistake.
"Mr. Vardekar is expecting you," the assistant said sympathetically, like someone delivering condolences at a funeral.
Expecting her.
Wonderful.
She hadn't emotionally recovered from the coffee incident, and now she was about to face an entire floor of people who probably thought she was either a menace or a liability.
She followed the assistant to a long glass-walled conference room where voices were already raised.
"…the stock dipped by four percent in under an hour, how is this not a crisis?" someone was saying sharply.
"We're stabilizing it," another replied. "But the video is everywhere. Every. Where."
Aanya's steps faltered. The stock dipped? Because of her?
Inside the room, ten people sat around an enormous table. PR heads, brand strategists, legal advisories, and two board members. Riyan sat at the head, posture straight, attention razor-sharp, another fresh shirt replacing the one she'd destroyed.
All eyes shifted to her when she entered.
Aanya wanted to shrink. Or dissolve. Dissolving sounded easier.
The PR Head, a woman in her forties with perfect posture and a gaze that cut through steel, offered a thin smile. "Ms. Kalantri, please come in."
Aanya slipped inside and took the empty chair near the edge of the table, praying no one could hear her heartbeat hammering inside her chest.
The PR Head tapped her pen. "Let's get straight to it. The video has over two million views already. The public has turned it into a narrative."
"Narrative?" Aanya squeaked.
"Chemistry," PR said bluntly. "Unexpected romance. Fate. All that."
Aanya stared. "I… what?"
A board member cleared his throat. "The public likes him more when he appears human."
"Human?" Aanya muttered under her breath.
Riyan didn't react, but she saw the faint twitch in his jaw. His version of embarrassment, she suspected.
Another board member leaned forward. "This clip is creating chatter. Chatter influences investor sentiment. Investors influence stock. We cannot afford volatility right now."
Aanya swallowed. Hard.
PR clicked her slideshow remote, projecting screenshots of headlines onto the wall.
"The Coffee That Melted the CEO?"
"Who Is the Mystery Woman?"
"Netizens Demand a Reaction from Vardekar Global."
"Aanya + Riyan = Trend of the Week."
Aanya physically recoiled.
"Why… why is that one pink?" she pointed at a particularly flashy headline.
The PR Head didn't even blink. "Because they think you two look cute together."
Aanya nearly choked. Cute? Her entire body was still vibrating from panic and humiliation.
PR continued, unbothered. "Given the circulation, the board agrees we must respond. Our approach is simple: soften the narrative, show unity, and display Mr. Vardekar as composed, relatable, and unaffected."
"Relatable?" Aanya whispered. "He doesn't even relate to the existence of office chairs; he stands half the day."
Riyan's eyes flicked sideways.
She wasn't sure, but she thought she saw the smallest spark of amusement.
PR ignored her muttering. "We recommend Ms. Kalantri accompany Mr. Vardekar to a series of public and internal appearances over the next week."
Aanya blinked. "Me? Why me?"
"Because," PR said, clicking again, "the public likes you."
A collage of screenshots appeared — messy ponytail, shocked expression, wild eyes — truly the worst possible freeze frames of her life.
Riyan exhaled quietly, perhaps also judging the slideshow.
PR continued, "You appear… genuine. Nervous. Relatable. He appears calm and composed. The contrast works."
Aanya pinched her forehead.
"Are you saying… I'm relatable because I panicked? That wasn't a brand strategy. That was survival."
"It doesn't matter," PR said professionally. "What matters is that the narrative is working—and we use it."
A board member tapped his pen. "We cannot control what they're saying. But we can guide what they see next."
Her stomach twisted. "So… what exactly do you need me to do?"
PR looked at her firmly. "Stand beside him. Walk beside him. Attend events. Maybe answer a few harmless questions. Nothing intense. Just a presence."
Aanya stared. "A presence."
"Yes," PR nodded. "You will humanize him."
Aanya glanced at Riyan. He was sitting perfectly still, hands folded, expression unreadable. But something in his eyes—deep, steady—told her he understood the weight falling on her.
The meeting rolled on. Strategies. Timelines. Appearance lists. Social media monitoring. Press filtering.
Aanya barely processed half of it, too overwhelmed by the fact that her Monday morning had escalated into a national trending event.
When the meeting finally adjourned, everyone filed out except Riyan and her. She stayed seated, letting out a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding.
Riyan stood first, adjusting his cufflinks with calm precision. Then he turned to her.
"Ms. Kalantri."
She inhaled. "I'm… really sorry. Again. I didn't mean for any of this to—"
"This isn't your fault," he said simply.
She froze. "But… the stock dipped."
"That isn't your fault either."
Her eyes widened. "Seriously?"
He nodded once. "The stock dips for everything. Investors panic if a chair creaks too loudly."
Despite herself, she let out a tiny laugh.
He continued, tone measured but sincere, "You handled the meeting well. Better than many would."
"Really? Because I felt like I was being slow-roasted alive."
"You spoke clearly," he said. "And honestly. People respond to honesty."
She wasn't sure how to respond to that.
He added, "You'll receive details from PR. Be ready."
"Do I… need media training?"
"You need to breathe."
She blinked. "That's it?"
"For now."
He turned to leave, but something made him pause near the door.
Without looking back, he said quietly,
"Don't take the comments online to heart. People will say anything for entertainment."
Aanya blinked, stunned that he even thought to say something comforting.
"Are people… saying something bad?" she asked nervously.
He hesitated.
Just a second.
It told her everything.
"Some. Ignore them."
She swallowed. "And the rest?"
He turned slightly, just enough for her to catch his expression.
"The rest think you're memorable."
Her heart skipped.
Then he left.
And as the door closed behind him, Aanya felt something shift—
a new weight, a new fear, and the strange beginning of something she couldn't quite name.
End of Chapter Two.