Devil Has a Face
“Sir, isn’t it hot today?”
Shanaya whispered in a sensuous tone, taking off her shrug. The bare skin of her shoulders and arms was now on display, with only a pink tube top covering the basics on her torso. The metallic-grey mini skirt offered a luxurious view of her long slim legs up to mid-thighs. Settled in her chair, she moved one knee over the other, slightly leaning ahead.
Virat Malhotra, Managing Director of the Malhotra Group of Industries, had been dictating a formal letter to his newly appointed personal assistant, Shanaya Smith, before she decided to distract him.
She had disregarded every advice from her colleagues to mind her own business inside the MD’s cabin and to speak only when spoken to. Virat Malhotra preferred people stay within their limits, restricting themselves to work and only work while dealing with him.
He had been kind enough to allow a casual atmosphere in other parts of the office premises, for being in the fashion industry, he understood the need for freedom in creativity. But all informal interaction was strictly meant to be limited within the staff. Not with the management. And never with the boss, Virat Malhotra.
Shanaya was warned that Virat was a hard-headed taskmaster with zero tolerance for frivolity or lack of professional ethics. He didn’t appreciate delays, failure, breach of deadlines, gossip, or loose conversation. Virat listened only when it was about work or else, he was not interested. He carried himself with an unrivalled aura that left little room for anyone to mess with him.
He didn’t care what rapport his staff enjoyed as a team as long as he received results on his desk. On his part, he stayed aloof and didn’t mingle with employees on a personal level. The staff avoided him if it wasn’t necessary to see him. Difficult to please, he had an unpredictable temperament.
The ability to read people, an eye to construe their intentions – as if people were made of clear, transparent glass – was both an asset and a curse. It took away the innocence required to trust others. Consequently, Virat had no friends in the office. Even outside the office, he had only one childhood friend, Samir.
Shanaya had ignored every bit of cautioning and dared to pull this stunt before Virat. Her mission was right before her eyes. The target wasn’t easy. But then, he wasn’t supposed to be. He was the man a significant lot of women in Paris desired.
His charisma wasn’t limited to his swanky businesses, fancy cars, or the magnificent mansion he lived in. He had more to offer. Six-and-one-foot tall stature, well-toned physique and bronze-tanned skin, along with an impeccable grooming and matchless style defined him. His expensive watches, customised shoes and designer sunglasses were
avidly discussed among his admirers. He was a package worth every effort.
Shanaya had never failed before. And she was sure to win again. The first step was to sit sensuously while she took dictation. The second step followed soon, and she took off her shrug.
Standing at the far end of his cabin, facing the tall French window overlooking the Tour de’ Eiffel, Virat dictated the contents of the email to a prospective business partner. His mind worked around calculating the risk- benefit ratio of the business deal they were about to sign when the untimely idiotic question by his new PA came like an annoying mosquito buzz. Disturbed, he clicked his tongue and turned around sharply. The very next moment, his expressions changed. The creases over his forehead and the cleft in his chin deepened. His masseter tightened as he threw a stern stare at Shanaya. His ruthless, dark-brown eyes darkened a shade further, and he folded his arms across his chest, thoroughly evaluating the circumstances of this audacity.
Shanaya blushed when she found him quiet. “I knew you’d become speechless.”
Virat twisted his lips. “I am…truly speechless, Miss Smith.”
“Won’t you say something?” She stood up.
“Of course!” His eyes narrowed, reduced to transverse slits, before he shot daggers out of them.
She giggled, hoping to hear sweet nothings from him. “I’m waiting.”
Virat took a deep breath, opened his arms and slipped his hands in the front pockets of his trousers before speaking in measured, composed words.
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