Book #1 of Blinded series
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──
Sign the papers! She said
I'm not into child marriage Miss Mishra! Shaadi karke mujhe jail bhejne ka irada hai? He said
Can't you be serious with me at least for once Avyan!!
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──
Avyan Chauhan- 28 ye...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Working as Daksh's personal assistant was like being in a never-ending battle. Except I was unarmed, and he had a full arsenal of sarcastic comments, impossible requests, and that infuriatingly smug smile that could charm a rock if he wanted to.
Today, however, felt like he had decided to level up in his mission to drive me insane.
"Kritika!" Daksh's voice echoed from his cabin.
I glanced at my laptop, mid-email. Maybe if I pretend I didn't hear him, he'll go away.
"Kritikaaa!" His voice was louder now.
I gritted my teeth, pushed back my chair, and stormed into his office. "Yes, sir?" I said through clenched teeth.
He looked up with a mock-innocent smile. "Ah, there you are. Could you get me the Verma file from the cabinet?"
I stared at him. "The cabinet that's literally two steps behind you?"
"Yes, that one," he said, gesturing vaguely over his shoulder.
For a moment, I fantasized about throwing the chair he was sitting on out the window-with him on it. Instead, I turned on my heel, stomped to the cabinet, and retrieved the file. "Here's your file, sir," I said, slamming it on his desk.
"Careful," he said, raising an eyebrow. "The furniture is company property."
So is my sanity, and you're ruining it.
"Anything else?" I asked, my voice dripping with sarcasm.
He tapped his chin thoughtfully. "Actually, yes. Coffee. Black, no sugar."
I froze, my glare sharp enough to cut glass. "You couldn't have asked for that when I was already up?"
He shrugged. "It didn't occur to me then."
"Of course, it didn't," I muttered under my breath as I stomped to the pantry.
While waiting for the coffee machine, I whispered, "One day, I'm going to slip rat poison into his mug. Just a little. Enough to scare him but not kill him."
When I returned with the coffee, I slammed it on his desk. Some of it splashed onto his perfectly organized papers.
He raised an eyebrow. "Having a bad day, Kritika?"
"Oh, no," I said, glaring at him. "It's just delightful working for you."
He smirked. "Good to know."
Barely fifteen minutes had passed when his voice rang out again. "Kritika! The printer isn't working."
I rolled my eyes so hard I almost saw my brain. "Coming," I called out, resisting the urge to throw something.
When I entered his office, he was standing next to the printer, poking at it like it was a wild animal.
