A Bargain Made with Frosting

Ch-6 From Pastry Chef to Potential Wife?

An incandescent rage burned within Annika.  She curtly informed Mrs. Patel, "Aunty, I'm leaving early today," and stormed out of the bakery before Mrs. Patel could even utter a word. Mrs. Patel watched her go, shaking her head at Annika's impulsive behavior.

Frustration clouded her judgment, and Annika marched towards her phone, her finger tapping furiously as she searched for Shivay's office address. Thankfully, finding information about such a prominent figure wasn't difficult. Within minutes, she had hailed a cab and was on her way, determined to confront him.

The moment she arrived, Annika's jaw dropped. Towering before her was a magnificent skyscraper, its sheer height causing her to crane her neck all the way back just to glimpse the top floor. Stepping inside, she was met with an air of hushed opulence. The lobby was all clean lines and gleaming surfaces, with a single receptionist desk and plush waiting chairs. Five imposing barriers guarded the entryway, manned by security guards who swiped employee cards to grant access.

Beyond the barriers, a vast expanse opened up, boasting a grand staircase and three elevators on either side. The sheer scale and grandeur of the place made Annika feel like she'd stepped into a scene straight out of a movie. Approaching the receptionist, Annika, with a forced confidence, requested a meeting with Shivay.

The receptionist, a woman whose perfectly manicured nails tapped a disdainful rhythm on the desk, gave Annika a once-over that could curdle milk.

"Do you have an appointment, miss?" she inquired curtly. "We can't just let anyone see Mr. Oberoi."

"No appointment," Annika retorted, her temper simmering just beneath the surface. "But tell him Annika Sharma is here. I'm sure he'll want to see me."

The receptionist scoffed. "Why on earth would Mr. Oberoi want to meet someone like you? But fine, if it'll burst your bubble, I'll put you through." Picking up the phone, she dialed a number and spoke in clipped tones, mentioning Annika's arrival. A curt nod later, she slammed the receiver down.

"Raj!" she barked, and a young man scurried over. "Take this young lady to Mr. Oberoi's office," the receptionist instructed, her voice dripping with condescension. Raj, bewildered by the sight of Annika in their midst, silently followed orders. Without a word Raj led Annika past the barriers, his ID card granting them passage.

They entered an elevator, and Raj punched in the number '56'. An elevator ride to the 56th floor? The grandeur of it all was starting to overwhelm Annika. The elevator doors slid open, revealing a vast office space with rows of cubicles. Heads swiveled in their direction, eyes filled with a mixture of curiosity and amusement as Annika, the lone visitor, walked with determined strides behind Raj.

Finally, they reached a door. Raj knocked, and a gruff voice boomed from within, "Come in."

Pushing open the opulent office door, Raj gestured for Annika to enter first. The stark contrast between the sterile cubicles outside and the spacious, luxurious interior hit her immediately. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a panoramic view of the bustling Mumbai cityscape. Raj shut the door behind her as he departed.

Fury crackled in her voice as she confronted him, "Mr. Oberoi, explain yourself! What's the meaning of this?"

Shivay, enjoying his coffee with a scenic view, turned towards her. The sight that greeted him sent a snort of laughter erupting from his throat. Annika, accustomed to his arrogance, had never witnessed such mirth. Her anger simmered further.

"Is something funny?" she snapped, her voice laced with annoyance. "Do I resemble a clown?"

Shivay, struggling to regain his composure, chuckled, "Annika, I certainly expected you, but not like this." He gestured towards her with a mischievous glint in his eyes, "Did you even glance at a mirror before rushing here?"

Annika's frustration mounted. What did he mean? She'd checked her reflection before leaving the house, confident in her appearance. Confused, she followed his gaze towards the expansive window. It doubled as a giant mirror, reflecting her disheveled state.

Her mouth gaped open in horror. Flour dusted her clothes, the apron a canvas of colorful frosting splatters. Her hair, haphazardly piled in a messy bun, held traces of flour too. Icing adorned a few unexpected spots on her face. In her haste, she'd completely forgotten to check herself after leaving the bakery.

Turning a fiery red, she asked curtly, "Where's the bathroom?"

Shivay, a hint of amusement lingering in his eyes, pointed towards a door. Annika practically sprinted inside, intent on transforming from a pastry chef nightmare to a composed visitor. Five minutes later, she emerged, muttering curses under her breath, and plopped down in a chair opposite Shivay's desk.

He, now composed, leaned back in his chair. The urge to tease her further battled with a newfound respect for her fiery spirit. "Annika," he began, a playful smirk threatening to resurface,"you were so eager to see me after learning about our marriage that you couldn't even spare a glance in the mirror?"

The rosy flush on Annika's cheeks hadn't fully faded. Glaring at Shivay, whose playful glint only intensified her annoyance, she retorted, "Marriage? Mr. Oberoi, what marriage are you even referring to?" Her voice teetered between amusement and barely contained anger. "Did the luxury finally get to your head? I told you flat-out yesterday, I have no interest in marrying you."

Shivay raised an eyebrow, taking a slow, calculated sip of his now lukewarm coffee. "The feeling's mutual, Annika. Marriage isn't exactly on my agenda either."

Annika's confusion deepened. "Then why did Mrs. Patel call, claiming we're getting married?"

A sly smile played on Shivay's lips. "Because, well, we are. But hear me out – a marriage of convenience."

Annika's jaw dropped. "A marriage of convenience? What does that even mean? And why in the world would I ever agree to something like that?"

Shivay, his business persona now firmly in place, leaned forward. "Let me explain, Annika. You see, you're the first woman I've met who outright rejected me. You weren't swayed by my money or the fame that comes with being my wife. Plus, the bonus is you don't seem particularly keen on marriage in general. So, here's the proposition: we get married, but on our terms. We live as separate entities under one roof, no interference in each other's lives. To the outside world, we're a blissful couple. Think about it, Annika. No more blind dates for you, complete freedom to pursue your life as you please, and the same goes for me."

Annika found herself momentarily drawn to the idea, then quickly dismissed it. "Look, I already told you I'm not interested. On top of that, I barely know you. How can I trust your word? Who's to say you won't turn into a tyrant after the wedding, or worse, a serial killer?"

Shivay chuckled, clearly amused by her paranoia. "That's where the contract comes in, Annika. We'll lay out our expectations, our boundaries – a legal document ensuring we both get what we want out of this arrangement, since there are clearly no romantic illusions involved."

Annika sighed. Why was this man so fixated on marriage? "Why are you so desperate to get hitched anyway?" she finally asked.

Shivay mirrored her sigh. "It's my grandmother's wish.  And frankly, I can't refuse her."

A flicker of understanding dawned on Annika's face. Family obligations. It was a weakness she could understand, even if it came wrapped in an infuriatingly arrogant package.

"Alright, Oberoi," she said finally, her voice laced with a challenge, "tell me more about this contract. What are the terms? What exactly would I be getting myself into?"

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