Sam glanced around her cosy cabin at 'Brilliance' headquarters. The company was one of the top jewellery designers in Manhattan, and its shares were sky-high. She had learned an immense amount from her seniors, and she loved her job.
But deep down, she knew this was as far as she could grow here. She had sincerely hoped that "Dare to Dazzle" would be her next career step—until everything went wrong.
It had been three weeks since that godforsaken interview, and she was still haunted by it. Nightmares of Asher glaring at her with those piercing grey eyes had woken her up three times this week, drenched in sweat. But something told her that fear wasn't the only reason she couldn't stop thinking about him.
She pushed a few strands of her hair behind her ear and crossed her feet. She had chosen to wear a black dress today giving her a girl next door look. His pink lips closed around a pen she was chewing on....her focus was back on the man of her unwanted dreams.
Did he have to be that handsome? Something about him had stirred her in ways she hadn't expected. The showstopper she had designed during the interview was like nothing she had ever created before. The challenge he posed had pushed her to give her best.
She looked at the digital version of the showstopper on her laptop—a diamond ring that looked timeless and elegant. It was delicate, yet it commanded power. It screamed class, magnificence, and strength.
Any woman wearing it would look like a queen, ready to marry her king. Even to her critical eye, it was stunning. But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't recreate the excitement she had felt during those moments with Ansh.
The anger, the shock, the hint of a crush—and something else—had driven her to excel. She wanted to impress him, to shock him, to irritate him. Yet, she also craved his praise, his recognition, his approval.
Was it for her sketch—or for her? She groaned inwardly. That one meeting had sparked a ridiculous crush on him, even though she hated him for his audacity. The conflict churned inside her.
Frustrated, she crumpled the sketch she had been working on and aimed it at the waste paper basket, where dozens of discarded sketches already lay. Nothing felt right. She sighed heavily.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the ringing of her telephone. The operator informed her that she had a caller on line two.
"Whoever it is, tell them I'm busy," Sam snapped, irritation seeping into her voice. The last thing she needed were more interruptions.
"I tried, madam," the operator hesitated, "but he said the call was extremely important. And you would definitely answer if I informed you that…"
"Informed me of what?" Sam prompted impatiently.
The operator hesitated again. "He refused to give his name but said to tell Ms. Samantha that 'an arrogant loser' is calling."
Sam sat up straight, her curiosity piqued. There was only one person she used that kind of language on. "Connect him," she said almost immediately, wondering why on earth he was calling her now.
"You're a very difficult woman to track down, Ms Carter," came a short, clipped statement on the other end of the line.
"Stalking is a crime punishable by law, Mr. Asher," she replied in the same tone.
"Still a fire-breathing dragon, I see," he tsked.
"Still the frigid ice lord I presume?" she countered.
There was silence on the other end. Sam felt a surge of victory, convinced she had won this verbal sparring. Just as she was about to hang up, thinking it didn't matter why he had called, three words from him made her blood boil all over again.
"Quit your job."
"Excuse me?"
"I know you heard me the first time, Ms Cater," he said, his tone infuriatingly calm.
"And why exactly should I do that?"
"Because starting tomorrow, you work for me."
"Ha ha. Good joke."
"You should already know by now—I don't joke."
That's when Sam realised something unsettling. He wasn't just talking to her on the phone anymore. He was standing right outside her office door. All Sam could think was, God the man was hot!
Dressed in an impeccable black suit that fit him like a glove, his hair gelled but a few strands falling on his forehead. He looked like he had walked out of a fashion show. Rather from a superhero movie set.
Hello Superman, her heart sang. She cursed her inner voice.
The security guard burst into her cabin, gasping for breath. "He wouldn't listen, madam... I tried stopping him," he wheezed, clearly winded from chasing after Asher. But Asher, on the other hand, looked cool and collected, not a hair out of place.
"It's okay, Mr Gupta. I'll handle this," Sam reassured the guard.
The guard hesitated, shooting Asher a hard glare before reluctantly leaving.
By that time, Asher had already made himself comfortable, pulling out a chair and sitting down. He glanced around her spacious office with a bored expression. "Go on... call your boss and tell him you quit."
"I will do no such thing."
"Alright then," he shrugged. "I'll call him myself and ask him to lend you to me. It happens all the time—companies 'borrow' employees. All for a price," he added, raising his hands in mock quotation marks.
"I'll quit and find a job elsewhere. Manhattan is a big city," she pointed out.
"You're already working for the second best, Ms Cater. Your next move is Dare to Dazzle. I'm offering it to you on a platter."
"I don't work for—"
"—Arrogant losers?" he finished for her.
"That's right," she spluttered, exasperated.
The nerve of this man.
"If you quit and don't work for me, how will you make your monthly down payments?"
"What payments?"
"On the apartment you just put a down payment on," he said coolly, raising Sam's hackles.
"Excuse me?"
"The call should come right about now," Asher said, checking his watch. Right on cue, the phone rang.
Sam picked up the receiver, slightly dazed but curious.
"Congratulations on your new home, Ms. Cater! We are so happy for you. One of our assistants will be with you this evening to sign the necessary documents. Mr. Asher has collected the keys on your behalf. The penthouse is a perfect choice—you're one lucky woman. There were only two apartments available in this project, and you're the proud owner of one of them!"
"What are you talking about?" Sam asked the overly cheerful woman on the other end. "What apartment... What penthouse?"
There was a long pause. "Am I speaking to Ms. Samantha Cater?"
"Yes…"
"Madam, you put down 300,000$ as a down payment for the penthouse apartment on Sterling Towers— Manhattan." The woman's words left Sam stunned, she gasped and dropped the receiver.
She collapsed onto her chair, dazed, and took the glass of water Asher was holding out for her, drinking as if she had crossed a desert.
"What did you do? How did you know?" she asked, still in shock.
"Like I said... everyone has a price, Ms. Cater. And you're no exception," Ansh said, smiling for the first time ever.
Sam felt herself melt at his smile but quickly realised he had crossed too many lines.
"You violated my privacy..." she whispered, then her anger flared. "You hired a private investigator?"
"Indeed."
"How dare you! I can sue you for this!" she yelled.
"I bought you your dream house, and you want to sue me? I thought you'd be grateful... maybe thank me even," he said, nonchalantly. "By the way, you're welcome."
"Excuse me?" she spluttered.
"You're not excused. Go on and quit already." he insisted.
Sam looked at him exasperated.
"I will do no such thing! And you can take that house and shove it up your behind!" she snapped, standing up, her arms folded across her chest. The movement made her chest more prominent, and she noticed Asher took a second too long to look away.
Asher was confused, What was wrong with this woman? He had bought her a bloody penthouse! The very one she'd been dreaming of for five years. Why was she turning it down? He wondered.
Jason had warned him she'd react this way. He had put a bet with him that she wouldn't accept the offer and Asher had countered that she would accept the offer in seconds. Now he had lost that bet, too... damn it.
Who said no to an expensive apartment!
Sam was seething. He thought he could buy her? Like she was some commodity on sale? Oh, he was in for a huge surprise!
"Get out," she hissed.
Asher looked at her with vary eyes. This woman knew how to push his buttons.
"If you didn't like the house, you'll definitely hate the next call even more."
"What did you do now?" Sam cried out as the phone rang.
"Hi, sweetheart..." she heard her mom's voice on the other end.
"You finally bought the house? We're so proud of you!" Her mom's excitement was palpable. For the second time that afternoon, Sam gasped and sank into her chair.
"We always believed in you, sweetheart," her father's voice chimed in, and Sam held the receiver closer, her heart sinking.
"We'll come down to the city next week to celebrate your new home and your new job. Congratulations once again! Did we mention how proud we are?" Her mom sounded so happy, it almost broke Sam's heart.
"Love you, doll," her father beamed.
"Guys, I'll call you later," she practically whispered, too embarrassed and appalled to share the real details.
She slowly put the receiver down and glared at Asher with all the anger brewing inside her.
"You..."
"Amazing guy?" he replied.
"You... you..."
"Life saver?" he suggested.
"You... you..."
"Awesome boss?"
"You... you..."
"Gift from heaven?" he said.
"You asshole! How dare you involve my parents in this... this... bribe that you're offering me!" Sam hissed.
"I'm being persuasive."
"You're being an asshole! Leave now, or I will murder you with my bare hands!" she yelled, her voice rising with fury.
"Calm down, Ms. Cater. Violence isn't the solution," he said smoothly, placing a small box on her desk. "Here are the keys to your new penthouse. I took care of everything for you. Take a look at it before you decide on anything," he added with a smile.
That did it. His smile—so innocent, so magical— it was entirely out of place on the devil incarnate that he was. She grabbed a paperweight, her anger flaring.
"Now, Ms. Sam..." Asher tried to pacify her as he edged towards the door.
She aimed the paperweight at his head, but he caught it with ease.
She reached for a snow globe next.
"No need to get so angry... I'm leaving," he said quickly, jumping out the door just as the snow globe crashed against it.
He waited a few seconds, then popped his head back in. "Just for the record... you are priceless. The penthouse isn't the price I'm putting on you," he said with all the seriousness in the world. "You sell yourself short," he whispered, then disappeared.
He marched out of the building with as much dignity as he had entered it, but in his heart, he knew he was in trouble.
His heart was beating a mile a minute, and his face wore an expression it rarely did—he was smiling from ear to ear. He immediately schooled his features. He never smiled and he had done it thrice in the past 30 minutes he realised.
Emotions were painful; they took too much effort. He needed Sam, period, and that was the only reason he was bending over backward for her.
Really? It's not because she makes you feel things? A tiny voice whispered deep down, but he killed it immediately.
He needed Sam. He had conducted a dozen interviews and met at least a hundred designers. None had the confidence, the desire, and the passion like the woman he had just left fuming in her office.
She had magic in her fingers, and Asher needed that magic right now. With Sierra in her condition and orders piling up, he needed someone fast. Someone who could design effortlessly and at a moment's notice.
Sam was the complete package, and he wanted her.
His features twisted into a scowl as he entered his parked car. Jason sat in the driver's seat.
"Well?" Hasan inquired.
"I owe you 10,000 bucks," Asher replied, his grimace deepening.
"I knew it," Jason guffawed and started the car.
"I need that woman, Jason," Asher sighed, realising his plan to buy her out had been a catastrophe.
"Did she promise bodily harm?" Jason asked, amused.
"She aimed a snow globe at me," Asher replied with another scowl. His friend guffawed again.
"Did you leave the keys with her," he asked, getting serious.
"Yes, I did. Total waste of time. She won't accept..." Asher trailed off.
"Sometimes talking to the heart is better than using logic, Ash," Jason remarked, knowing his friend had no use for matters of the heart.
"I don't do feelings, you know that very well," Asher replied, giving him a warning look through the rearview mirror. He had good reason to not love, to trust only himself.....love was for the weak.
Jason sighed and let the matter drop.
For now.
"Where to?" He asked to change the topic.
"Home," I have a headache that needs to be taken care of.