You call this fate?

Chapter 5

He leaned back against the desk—a golden-brown monstrosity with swirling lines and curves. Its lighter colour seemed light a blot in the otherwise shadowy room.

"So, Miss Mahal," he said, the curve of his lips putting me in mind of secrets hidden, "why don't you sit down and we can get this pointless excursion over with."

I took a seat on one of the plush obsidian couches, trying to look confident and calm—everything I didn’t feel. "You are the one looking for a secretary. Surely for you this must not be pointless."

He raised an eyebrow. Damn, how did people do that? "Do I detect a certain vibe in that statement that you, in fact, consider this pointless?"

I raised my eyebrows too—both of them. What was he, a mind reader? "No, you do not. This is an opportunity for me, no matter how ill gotten. I intend to make the most of it."

"And you think you have it in you to be what I am looking for when so many others before you have tried and failed?" He smiled in a decidedly patronising manner.

Wasn't that a line in a movie? "I have it in me to try," I said shortly.

He took his time replying. Where before his eyes had shown nothing but disdain for precious time wasted, now there was definite interest in the slant of his brows. He was studying me, taking my measure—examining my worth. I squared my shoulders and glared back.

"Fair enough," he said after a while. "I guess it is only fair to give you a chance. If only," he added, winking, "to see you fail."

My eyes flashed.

"So, Miss Mahal—" He stopped. "I'm pronouncing it right, aren't I?"

I shrugged. "As right as you could ever possibly manage it."

"Adequate." He nodded. Picking up a giant cut glass paper weight from the table, he rolled it between his hands. "Miss Mahal, where are you from, exactly? You don't look or sound from here in the least."

I had to smile. "I didn't know there was a look here." There wasn't. The history of this godforsaken country, as everybody knew, was riddled with migrations and settlements till the original blood was nigh on gone, sadly.

He looked blankly back but I could have sworn something moved in his face. "I must be confused. I meant to say, you don't sound from here in the least."

"I see." I folded my hands in my lap. "Maybe because I am not."

The paper moved from right to left. Then left to right. And then back.

"I am from Pakistan."

I can honestly say I surprised him. "Really? I would have guessed Arab."

"And you would have guessed wrong. Now, is this part of the interview?"

His lips thinned. "Maybe, maybe not," he answered vaguely. "Now, where exactly in Pakistan are you from?"

"How is that relevant?"

The glass ball stopped. His eyebrows jumped up, high enough to disappear into his hair. I watched with interest as a pink blotch seeping up his pale skin, like water level rising in a jug, and wondered if the time for straightforwardness was long dead. Somewhere in the back of my mind the realisation that my actions were perhaps hopping the limits did rear its head, but I was in mood to court reasonable thoughts right now.

"I am just trying to get a feel of what I am to expect from you. That seems reasonable enough to me." His voice was still calm, thought his preternatural stillness was anything but.