Decided by Destiny

Chapter 8

Reyansh's POV

I push open the door to my office cabin, expecting to be greeted by the familiar quiet that usually accompanies my early morning routines. Instead, I'm met with a sight that takes me by surprise. Vihaan, my best friend, is lounging comfortably on the couch beside my desk, looking as if he owns the place.

"What the hell are you doing in my cabin?" I ask, my tone laced with genuine confusion as I step inside and close the door behind me.

Vihaan, ever the epitome of nonchalance, grins widely as he leans back, crossing his legs with exaggerated ease. "From today, I am your personal assistant," he declares, standing up and mockingly clearing his throat as if ready to get down to business.

I raise an eyebrow, still trying to process the absurdity of his statement. "Why? Don't you have your own company to run? And besides, I already have a personal assistant," I remind him, squinting my eyes in suspicion.

Vihaan just shrugs, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. "My company made enough profit from the last deal, so now I don't have to work every day. So, I thought I'd help you out," he says with a grin that can only be described as annoyingly playful.

I let out an exasperated sigh, knowing full well that Vihaan's idea of "helping" usually involves anything but actual work. "Fine," I mutter, rolling my eyes. There's no point in arguing with him when he's set his mind on something. And besides, he's my best friend—I've learned to tolerate his antics, even when they mean I'll get absolutely nothing done.

Vihaan plops back down on the couch, clearly pleased with himself. He starts talking again, launching into a story about something that happened the other day. I can already feel my concentration slipping away. It's not that I don't enjoy his company—I do. But Vihaan has this boundless energy, this endless need to talk and joke, that can be a bit much, especially when I'm trying to focus.

As he continues to chatter, I move behind my desk, setting down my briefcase and pulling out the files I need to review. I give him a pointed look, hoping he'll get the hint that I have work to do. Of course, he doesn't.

"Did you know," Vihaan begins, his voice taking on that tone he uses when he's about to share something particularly scandalous or ridiculous, "that the barista at the café downstairs has a crush on you? She asked me about you the other day."

I groan inwardly. "Vihaan, I really don't have time for—"

"Oh, come on! It's hilarious," he insists, cutting me off. "She was all like, 'Does Mr. Reyansh have a girlfriend?' and I was like, 'Do you want to be his girlfriend?' You should've seen her face!" He laughs, clearly finding the entire situation far more amusing than I do.

I give him a look that's half-amused, half-annoyed. "Vihaan, you know I don't mix business with personal stuff. And besides, I'm not interested."

Vihaan waves his hand dismissively. "Yeah, yeah, you're all work and no play. But seriously, Reyansh, you've got to live a little. You can't just bury yourself in contracts and meetings all the time."

I ignore his comment, knowing full well that Vihaan's idea of "living a little" often involves trouble I have no interest in getting into. Instead, I focus on the documents in front of me, hoping he'll eventually tire himself out and let me work in peace.

But, of course, that's not Vihaan's style. He hops up from the couch and wanders over to my desk, peering over my shoulder at the papers I'm reviewing. "What's this?" he asks, pointing at a particularly dense paragraph of legalese.

"Nothing that concerns you," I reply, not bothering to look up.

He leans closer, his curiosity clearly piqued. "It looks boring. Why don't we do something fun instead? Like, I don't know, go out for lunch or hit the gym or—"