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𝓬𝓱𝓪𝓹𝓽𝓮𝓻 12:- 𝓐 𝓑𝓸𝓵𝓭 𝓒𝓱𝓸𝓲𝓬𝓮, 𝓐 𝓗𝓲𝓭𝓭𝓮𝓷 𝓖𝓪𝓶𝓮

"In a world of business suits and cool stares, she stood out-her tradition clashing with his power, yet drawing him closer with every bold step she took."

Misti's POV:
~~~~~~~~~~~~

It's Sunday night, and I'm on the phone with Nisha, my best friend. We've known each other for almost three years, and now we're both studying the same stream.

"So, how's the hot-cold Foster?" Nisha asks, her voice teasing.

"Shut up, Nisha! I'm already stressed. How am I supposed to be confident there? I'm a fresher, for God's sake, and I'm going to learn while the *actual* Ivan Foster is sitting right there. No, no, no. I can't do this!"

"Calm down, Misti! You're the baddest bitch I know, remember? Adventure is the ultimate goal-that's your motto! Plus, you're getting a chance to be around Ivan Foster, the *hot* and *young* billionaire. Though... what's the age gap again? You're 19, and he's 26, right?"

"Seven years, yes, but what does that have to do with anything?" I groan.

Nisha laughs. "It's *oddly* hot, don't you think?"

"Nisha! I'm sweating bullets over here, nervous as hell, and you're shipping me with my *boss*! Where's your common sense?"

Nisha snickers. "Relax, babe. The best part is, Foster Industries doesn't have a dress code, so..."

I raise an eyebrow, intrigued. "So what?"

"You're Indian. Wear something traditional. Something that'll make you feel like *you*."

"Are you serious? Nisha, we're in New York!"

"Girl, screw New York! Wear whatever makes you comfortable. Own it."

She hangs up before I can argue, leaving me with a thousand thoughts racing in my mind. Eventually, exhaustion takes over, and I fall asleep.

---

Monday morning:

I stand outside Mr. Foster's office door, my heart pounding in my chest. I've chosen a traditional Indian salwar-kurti, complete with a small bindi on my forehead, bangles jingling softly at my wrists. I can feel every eye in the office on me, men gawking like they've never seen an Indian woman before. I knock on the door.

"Come in," his deep voice calls out, steady and commanding.

I walk in, my pulse quickening. Ivan Foster's eyes briefly widen in surprise as he takes in my outfit, but he quickly recovers, his expression cool and unreadable. He gestures toward the chair in front of his desk.

"I see you decided to add a touch of culture to your look today. It's... quite different from your usual style."

I sit, trying to steady my breathing. "For me to work my best, I need to be myself. And this-" I gesture at my outfit, "-this is me. Just taking advantage of your company's no dress code policy."

His eyebrow arches slightly, the corner of his mouth lifting in the faintest hint of amusement. "Interesting. So, this is the 'real' you. I must admit, it's a bold choice."

He leans back in his chair, his eyes never leaving mine. "I take it you feel more confident this way?"

"Yes," I manage, though my voice trembles a little.

His nod is slow, almost approving. "Confidence is a valuable asset. But I want to be clear-no matter what you wear, I expect the same level of dedication and professionalism. Understood?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good," he says, his tone firm. "Remember, appearance might change, but your commitment should stay the same. I won't tolerate any drop in performance just because you're 'comfortable.'"