#Book 5 of Rathore's Series
Adyansh Singh Rathore is insanely in love with his childhood best friend, his fiancée, Samaira Sharma. A mishap, a few misunderstandings ended up creating a chaotic whirlwind of circumstances leaving a baby in the hands...
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The clicking of Jetter pen resonated in the still meeting room. As my eyes swayed between the projecting screen and the marketing department head of Arundhati, sweats of bead could be traced on the poor employee's face. He was nervous, as he should be. The middle-aged man had not only been lacking in work but also dishonest with statistics.
As suggested methodically, a monthly meeting was called in for all the seven in-land branches of Arundhati Textile groups. Instead of the regular supervisors who governed the meeting and later drafted a letter to the main branch, i.e., the CEO's hub, this month the meeting was looked after by the devil incarnation himself- Adyansh Singh Rathore.
"So, you are trying to convince me that there is nothing wrong with the profiting margins of Ambala branch." He made a dramatic pause, making the tension palpable. "On the contrary, you guys earned a profit cent of 19%, a margin even larger than Jaipur branch, Mr. Prajapati?" Mr. Rathore asked. His brown orbs traced the man's face with a certain amount of coldness that could even freeze the glaciers melting due to global warming in Antar-fucking-ta. He raised his eyebrows in question when the silence etched for a longer duration.
Sighing heavily, Mr. Rathore let his eyes sway from the manager to the supervisor. The man who had been busy drafting letters that consoled us about the regular functioning of the department rather than actually taping the employees.
"Mr. Sheikh? 19%?" He asked, emphasizing on the figures. I chewed at the corner of my bottom lips. My back has been paining because of the uncomfortable chair. Standing up amidst a stressful scenario only to adjust my chair and rest my ass back the fuck down like I am enjoying the show telecasted would be awful. I squirmed quietly in my seat, trying my best to adjust myself without drawing any unnecessary attention. Only if I had been blessed with even an ounce of luck in my stars.
"Ms. Rudraksh?"
"Yes, sir?" I asked with my spine straight as a ruler. "Can you please stand up?" Mr. Rathore requested. I nodded my head, pushed my chair back and stood up at my place.
"Wonderful. Now adjust your seat according to your height and sit down. Make sure you are comfortable enough to go for next thirty minutes and be ready with your notepad, please." He asked me with formality and respect lining his voice. My cheeks flared hot due to embarrassment as thirty-nine me in the meeting room had their eyes trailed at my action.
"Eyes on the fucking board! Stop making the lady uncomfortable, assholes." I heard my boss grit out.
The best part about being Adyansh Singh Rathore was the respect you get as a woman. To be on his good books all you have to do is be honest and not meddle in his personal affairs.
Being his personal assistant, being around him for the large part of your working tenure and being present at his beck and call while handling both his personal and professional lives, it is difficult to maintain a formal line between assisting with care and meddling in his business. Most people tend to forget their limits and end up losing their jobs within a few months or even weeks of joining the post. A partial reason as to why you are asked to sign non-discloser agreements with an armful of sincere best of luck but not given a fixed tenure of working period, per se so that he can fire you any moment he wants to kick you out of his premises.
