The rain was pouring down in Kolkata as Ishani stood in front of the massive glass building of 'Roy Industries.' She was drenched, her cheap umbrella failing against the wind. Today was her big day—an interview for a junior graphic designer position. She had practiced her introduction a hundred times in front of the mirror.
"Please, God, let me get this job," she whispered, clutching her portfolio folder.
Inside the building, the marble floors were so polished she could see her own nervous reflection. She was late. Very late. Panic started to rise in her chest as she looked at the clock. It was 10:15 AM. Her interview was at 10:00.
She ran toward the elevators, but they were crowded. Seeing a sign for 'Office - Floor 12,' she decided to take the stairs. By the time she reached the 12th floor, she was breathless, her hair a mess, and one of her heels was making a clicking sound.
She saw a large mahogany door at the end of the hallway. There was no nameplate, just a gold handle. "This must be it," she thought and knocked twice.
"Come in!" a cold, deep voice commanded.
Ishani pushed the door open. The office was massive, overlooking the entire city skyline. Behind a huge desk sat a man in a charcoal-grey suit. He didn't look up from his laptop. His jaw was tight, and his dark hair was styled perfectly. This wasn't a panel of interviewers; it was just one man. And he looked terrifyingly handsome.
"You're late," he said, his voice like ice. "The previous assistant lasted only two hours. I hope you're more competent than her."
Ishani froze. Assistant? "Sir, I think there's a mistake. I am here for the—"
"I don't care why you're here late," he interrupted, finally looking up. His sharp brown eyes pierced through her. "I have a meeting in ten minutes. My coffee is cold, my schedule is a mess, and the Japanese delegates are arriving at noon. Can you handle it or should I fire you before you even sit down?"
Ishani opened her mouth to explain that she was a graphic designer, not an assistant. But then she looked at his desk. A nameplate read: Aryan Roy - CEO. She realized she was in the lion's den. If she told him she was in the wrong room, he would probably have her kicked out of the building. But she desperately needed a job. Her rent was due, and her mother's medicines were expensive.
She looked at the cold coffee on his desk. "I... I can handle it, Sir."
Aryan smirked, a cold, characterless expression. "Good. Get me a fresh espresso. Black. No sugar. And find the file for the 'Elite Project.' It's somewhere in that pile." He pointed to a mountain of folders on a side table.
Ishani's heart hammered against her ribs. She didn't know anything about being an assistant, let alone for a billionaire CEO. But as she walked toward the coffee machine in the corner of the room, she made a choice.
"I'll do it," she thought. "I'll be his assistant until I can find a way to show him my designs."
She didn't know that this one 'accidental' step into the wrong room was about to change her life forever. Little did she know that Aryan Roy wasn't just a cold boss—he was a man with a past that was about to collide with her present.
As she handed him the coffee, their fingers brushed for a second. A spark, like an electric shock, flew between them. Aryan frowned, looking at his hand as if confused.
"The file, Miss...?"
"Ishani. Ishani Bose, Sir."
"Well, Miss Bose," Aryan said, leaning back in his leather chair. "Welcome to hell."