Chapter 5
1926 Words
About the Offer
Alex’s POV:
Morning sunlight slashed through the curtains far too early for my liking. I forced my eyes open, irritation rolling through me as my mind replayed the scene from last night. That girl—"that infuriating little menace"—had the audacity to push me at the club, glare at me like I offended her, and walk away without a care.
It was ridiculous that a stranger had managed to get under my skin. I, Alexander Black King, who never lost a night’s sleep for anyone—not even for billion-dollar losses—had spent half the night thinking about her annoyed eyes and sharp tongue.
I shoved those thoughts aside as I got out of bed. Today’s schedule was full: the meeting with Mr. Rusello at 10:00 AM about the textile company shares I had recently invested in, followed by the review of his new expansion proposal. After that came the meeting with the interior designer Fiona insisted on—some Ms. Khanna.
Fiona rarely pushed her opinions in business, but when she did, she usually backed them with unshakable confidence.
"This designer must have impressed her somehow."
Still, I had made it very clear:
"If her work doesn’t impress me, she doesn’t get the project."
I dressed in charcoal black, grabbed my watch, and left the penthouse with Wilson already waiting downstairs.
But halfway to the company, the irritation from last night clawed its way back. I needed coffee. Strong, black, bitter—something that didn’t talk back or pick fights. Normally, Wilson fetched my coffee, but the restlessness inside me demanded movement. So, I told him to stop near a café close to my company.
The moment I stepped in, every pair of female eyes followed me. It was a reaction I was used to—envy from some, desire from others—but it meant nothing. I didn’t have time for attachments, distractions, or the messy entanglement called romance.
As I approached the counter, people automatically moved aside, forming a path without me asking. That was the power I carried. The presence. The status.
And then—
**SLAP.**
A sharp sting exploded across my back.
I froze.
Someone—"a girl"—had slapped my back.
The entire moment passed in barely half a second, but enough for my blood to boil. When I turned around, my jaw clenched so hard I almost cracked a tooth.
There she was.
"The same girl from the club. The only girl in years who dared raise her voice at me."
She looked equally shocked to see me, but before I could even speak, she blurted a rushed, “Sorry!” and darted out of the café like a frightened cat.
No one saw it except a single man whose face turned pale when I glared at him. He instantly understood to keep his mouth shut.
My anger simmered dangerously.
"How dare she? Twice—TWICE—she challenged me without fear."
No one behaved like that with me. Not employees, not business rivals, not women I rejected, not even board members of powerful corporations.
And that was why she bothered me. She wasn’t scared. She wasn’t starstruck.
She treated me… like a normal man.
No, worse—like an "annoyance."
I stormed out of the café and headed straight to the company.
The King Pvt Ltd building grew quiet the moment I walked in. Heads lowered. People stood straighter. Every employee in the lobby greeted me with formal, fearful respect—except the new blonde receptionist, who attempted a flirtatious “Good morning, Mr. King,” which I ignored.
I usually took the private lift. Today, unfortunately, it was under maintenance. So I stepped into the public lift with Jake, my head of security.
“Sir, one girl is coming,” he warned. “Should I hold the door?”
I nodded silently.
The girl entered, thanked Jake, and then her voice hit my ears like a shockwave.
"No way."
I lifted my head.
Her.
Again.
She froze, eyes widening, her expression a combination of panic, disbelief, and pure bad luck.
“By any chance… do you work here?” she asked.
My blood pressure spiked so fast I almost saw stars.
--Do I work here?--
In my own company.
In my own elevator.
In my own building named after me.
Before I could respond, the lift reached my floor. I stepped out without a word, but my mind spun.
Why was she here?
Who was she meeting?
And how many more times would this girl cross paths with me in the same day?
I brushed the thoughts aside and prepared for the designer meeting on the 58th floor. My designers gathered, lights dimmed, projector ready.
I entered the room.
“All right. Start the presentation, Ms. Khanna.”
The projector flickered.
And the universe laughed in my face.
I stared at the screen, completely taken aback.
""Ms. Khanna was the same girl.""
The slap girl.
The club girl.
The café chaos girl.
The elevator girl.
"This" was my sister’s recommendation?
She stepped into the light, suddenly transformed—professional attire, hair neat, posture poised, voice steady. The rude, chaotic storm of the previous encounters vanished. Before me stood a confident designer, composed and capable.
And damn it, it annoyed me that the transformation affected me.
She began her presentation—clear, precise, bold. Her ideas were simple yet striking, something fresh compared to the repetitive patterns my usual designers pitched. She remained calm while answering challenges thrown at her.
Unlike other designers who trembled in front of me, she didn’t waver.
She didn’t fear me.
That irritated me… and impressed me more than I liked.
When the lights came on, she turned and finally saw me.
Her expression of shock was priceless.
I hid my smirk and spoke loudly, “I will give you this project.”
“What?” she stuttered.
“You will work with us on this project,” I repeated.
After discussing with my designers, I moved to my office. I expected her to hesitate, maybe be scared. Instead, she walked in, nervous but standing tall.
“Good afternoon, Ms. Khanna,” I began.
She apologized. For the club. For the café. She explained everything—including that yesterday’s push wasn’t intentional, and today’s slap was because the man misbehaved with me.
But the apology didn’t soften my irritation.
Because she did something no one ever did.
"She rejected my offer."
I stared at her, stunned.
No one rejected me.
People fought for the chance to work under my name.
But she shook her head and said "she didn’t think she was qualified enough."
She claimed she wasn’t famous enough
That angered me.
Not because of pride.
But because she insulted her own talent.
I leaned forward, voice deep.
“Let me clarify something, Ms. Khanna. I do not choose designers based on fame. I choose them based on talent. And you have it.”
Then she began questioning me.
I decided to make things clear.
“First question,” I said, watching her closely.
“From where did you find out about me?”
She blinked, unsure.
“You are recommended by my sister, Mrs. Fiona Carter,” I explained. “She liked your decoration at her penthouse. So when I decided to renovate the building, she suggested you.”
She absorbed the information quietly.
“Next,” I continued.
" I am a local designer and not famous. Why give me the offer?”
I leaned back in my chair.
“No one is famous at the beginning until they get the chance to show what they can do. You’ve worked in small areas, but your talent is exactly what I require. If you didn’t have talent, I would never give you my dream project.”
Her eyes widened slightly.
“Next question,” I said, my tone sharper.
“Why are you giving this offer?”
I folded my arms.
“I have famous designers in my company. If I wanted, I could hire world-renowned names. But I require something new, fresh. A different ideology. If I hadn’t known about you, I would have gone with my usual designers. But now that I’ve seen your skills, there’s no reason to refuse you this project.”
She opened her mouth, searching for words.
“So,” I said, leaning forward again.
“Is there any problem if I offer you this project?”
She hesitated. Then answered honestly—another thing people rarely did around me.
“I don’t want to work under any company. For that sake, I started my own designing.”
Her answers were honest. Too honest.
She nodded slowly, acknowledging the fairness of it.
Finally, she asked, “May I ask some questions to clarify my doubts?”
“You can,” I replied.
Her professionalism returned.
“Can I have my batch work with me here? We have nine members. We work as a group. For that we need a separate cabin. If that’s not possible, we can arrange it in my office and give daily updates through mail.”
I respected her loyalty to her team.
“It’s okay to have your group here,” I answered. “I will provide a separate cabin for the group and individual cabins for all of you. It’s better to work here so communication is smoother.”
Her face lit up, though she tried to hide it.
“It is a great honor to work with you, Mr. King,” she said, offering her hand.
“We’ll finalize the contract and payment tomorrow,” I said, shaking her hand. “Be here at 11:00 AM.”
Her hand was small, warm, and confident when she shook mine.
And there—just for a second—I felt something unsettling. A spark.
I dismissed it immediately.
She thanked me and left.
By the time I left the company at 9 PM, I asked Wilson for a background report.
Her file was impressive—top education, successful small business, several projects at once.
My mind whispered:
*You’re not reading this because she’s an employee.*
*You’re reading this because she intrigued you.*
I shut the file, pushing away the thought.
But the truth remained.
For the first time in years, a woman had managed to irritate me… challenge me… surprise me…
and impress me.
All in one day.
---
Ana’s POV:
When Fin explained that Alex was her brother, I thought my soul left my body. No wonder he looked familiar at the penthouse.
But the fact that he offered the project based on my skills—not because of his sister—relieved the knot in my chest.
My team was ecstatic. They hugged me, jumped around, and promised to give their absolute best. We discussed deadlines, current work, and upcoming designs before leaving.
Later at home, Jen teased me endlessly.
“You’re becoming famous,” she laughed.
I rolled my eyes. “Shut up, Jen. I only accepted because he promised not to command me.”
“But he’s hot.”
“Jen!”
We talked through dinner until fatigue finally won. As I drifted into sleep, my mind replayed the moment he shook my hand.
"Mr. King."
Ruthless, arrogant, sharp-tongued…
But strangely respectful.
Tomorrow, everything would begin.
The restaurant, my projects, and the biggest challenge yet—
"Working with the man I accidentally slapped. Twice."
And God help me…
I had no idea how much my life was about to change.
- Writer
