chapter 4
1827 Words
PRESENTATION
ANA’S POV
The piercing trill of my alarm sliced through the quiet morning, dragging me back from a sleep I desperately wished I could cling to for a few more minutes.
I groaned, threw the blanket aside, and forced myself out of bed. My legs felt heavy—today was going to be a long one. I moved to the bathroom, splashing cold water on my face, trying to shake off the last threads of sleep.
As I brushed my hair, I mentally listed everything waiting for me: checking on the restaurant, visiting my clients to show the new house design concepts, and finally… the meeting with King’s Company.
The biggest, most powerful corporation in New York. A meeting completely outside my comfort zone.
People often ask why I don’t have a personal assistant to manage all this for me. The truth is simple—I don’t like depending on others. When you depend on people, they lie, cheat, disappoint, or mess up your work. And I refuse to give anyone that kind of control over my life.
I’ve learned to schedule my own projects, make my own calls, and handle every single detail myself.
Once I got ready, I headed to my restaurant. The comforting aroma of freshly baked pastries greeted me as I entered.
Manager immediately came over, and we spent a few minutes discussing daily requirements, ingredient shortages, and pending orders. Everything seemed under control, which was a relief.
By 10:30 AM, I had reached my clients’ home. I opened my laptop and showed them the concept designs I had worked on, explaining each section and suggestion carefully. Their eyes lit up with excitement. Not only did they approve the ideas—they handed me the advance payment on the spot and asked me to begin work immediately.
I stepped out of their house with a small, satisfied smile.
One task down.
My company, Khanna Interior Designing, though small, was filled with talented, creative minds. I had eight designers working with me, and recently, I had welcomed two more recruits. They were fresh but passionate, and I loved how differently they thought.
I divided the team into two groups: one already buried deep in a commercial project, and the other now assigned to the new one. After briefing them and reviewing their initial plans, I left them to handle the rest. That was the best part—they were independent, responsible, and skilled enough to make my job easier.
When I finally checked the time, it was already 12:15 PM.
My meeting with King’s Company was at 1 PM.
I reached the towering building with time to spare. My stomach growled, reminding me that I hadn’t eaten anything since morning. I looked around for a quick lunch option and spotted a café.
I didn’t have the luxury of time, so a cappuccino would have to do.
I joined the queue, minding my own business, when I felt the man behind me brush against me. Once could be ignored.
Twice… maybe accidental. But the third time, he leaned closer. Too close. He pretended someone behind him was pushing him, but there wasn’t even anyone standing directly behind him. His hand slipped around my waist.
That was it.
My patience snapped.
Without a second thought, I turned and slapped him—hard.
Except… I missed it.
Because the creep shifted aside at the very last second. And the person my hand landed on wasn’t him.
It was someone else.
A tall man in a perfectly fitted suit, stunningly handsome with a sharply cut jawline and piercing blue eyes—the same man I had bumped into at the club the previous night. The same man who probably hated me already.
My blood drained from my face.
“Oh my god,” I whispered, covering my mouth with both hands. “I—I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”
I didn’t wait for his reaction. Embarrassment heated my entire body, and I rushed out of the café, praying no one had seen that humiliating moment. Luckily, the place was crowded. Everyone seemed too busy with their orders to notice me.
Perfect.
No food and a second humiliation in less than 24 hours.
I reached the building entrance and stared up.
It had at least sixty floors. Maybe more.
In massive bold letters, it said:
KINGS PVT. LTD.
I inhaled deeply, squared my shoulders, and walked in.
At the front desk, a blonde woman with heavy makeup and a way-too-revealing outfit looked at me with a forced smile.
“Good afternoon, ma’am. How can I help you?”
“I have a meeting with Mr. King at 1 PM.”
She made a call, nodded, and said, “Take the elevator to the 58th floor. Mr. King’s secretary will receive you.”
I thanked her and headed toward the elevator area.
Just as I approached, the doors began to close—until someone stopped them. I stepped inside and murmured a polite “Thank you.”
Then I looked up.
My stomach twisted.
There he was.
Again.
The man from the club.
The man from the café.
The man I slapped.
What kind of cosmic joke was this?
Before I could stop myself, I blurted, “Do you… work here?”
He gave absolutely no reaction.
No blink.
No expression.
Just a cold, unreadable face.
When the elevator dinged open, he stepped out silently.
Rude, I thought but kept it to myself.
By the time I reached the 58th floor, my nerves were fraying. A woman in her late thirties welcomed me warmly and introduced herself as Mrs. Charles, Mr. King’s secretary.
She guided me to the conference room and told me I could prepare while the board members arrived.
One by one, people entered, but the lights were dimmed for the presentation, so I couldn’t see their faces clearly.
Then a deep, firm voice from the head of the table said:
“Begin the presentation, Ms. Khanna.”
That voice…
It felt familiar.
But I dismissed the thought.
I inhaled and began.
I introduced myself and began walking them through the resort design.
I described how I wanted the overall structure to blend effortlessly with the natural beauty of the Maldives ocean.
I explained the visual flow I intended to create—from the lobby to the private rooms—using warm sand-beige shades, white polished stone, and subtle textures meant to mimic the coastline.
As I spoke about the natural lighting, I tried to make them imagine sunlight spilling through massive glass panels, illuminating the soft wooden tones within the space.
I brought them into the world I had imagined—a world where every guest stepping into the resort would feel an immediate sense of calm, as though the ocean itself were embracing them.
I then transitioned into the second design direction, painting a picture of a richer, deeper tone—dark wooden beams balanced with lush greenery woven through vertical plant walls, creating an environment where the island’s tropical warmth met modern luxury.
I described the soft amber lighting that would cascade down bamboo-inspired fixtures, creating a serene ambience perfect for relaxation.
Next, without listing points, I seamlessly led them toward the most contemporary concept, describing the sleek matte finishes, clean architectural lines, and smart lighting systems that shifted between warm evenings and cool mornings—a design style meant for elite guests who preferred subtlety and sophistication.
For nearly twenty minutes, I brought each space to life—lobbies, suites, spa rooms, private decks—explaining textures, materials, colors, furniture contours, sustainability choices, sound control, and budget placement.
Every detail had a purpose, and I made sure they understood why.
By the time I ended, I felt strangely proud of myself.
Some executives asked follow-up questions—technical clarifications, cost considerations, timeline expectations. I answered each one calmly.
Mr. King, however, said nothing.
When the lights finally came back on, I turned
And froze.
It was him.
The man from the club.
The man from the café.
The man in the elevator.
The man I slapped.
Alexander Black King.
I felt the floor tilt under me.
I convinced myself instantly that I had lost the project. No way would a man I slapped—twice accidentally—give me anything.
But then he said calmly:
“I will give this project to you.”
I stared.
My brain stalled.
“What?” I blurted.
He repeated, even more firmly,
“I said, you will work with us.”
I nodded awkwardly, trying to mask my shock. He left with a small smirk as if he enjoyed my confusion.
Everyone congratulated me, but there was a knot in my stomach.
What if this was revenge?
What if he wanted to make me regret slapping him?
No. I had to clear this now.
I went to his cabin. The door had his name in bold lettering.
MR. ALEXANDER BLACK KING — CEO
I knocked.
“Come in.”
I stepped inside—and immediately regretted noticing how annoyingly attractive he was. Broad shoulders. Strong jaw. Blue eyes that looked like they could freeze oceans. Every part of him looked like it was carved with intention.
His office was massive—bigger than my entire apartment. The glass wall behind him offered a breathtaking view of the city. The soft lighting made the space feel warm yet intimidating.
“Good afternoon, Ms. Khanna,” he said.
“Good afternoon, Mr. King,” I replied quickly, forcing confidence into my voice before he could speak again.
I apologized—rapidly, sincerely—explaining everything from the club to the café incident. I didn’t pause to breathe until the end.
And then, heart pounding, I told him I wanted to decline the project.
I barely turned to leave before his deep voice halted me.
“I want to talk to you, Ms. Khanna.”
I froze.
He stood, walked around his desk, and stopped in front of me. Not too close, but close enough for me to feel the intensity of his presence.
“I didn’t choose you out of charity,” he said, his voice calm but undeniably authoritative. “Your presentation was far better than the seasoned designers who usually come here. You see details others ignore. You structure ideas with clarity. And you visualize with purpose.”
I swallowed.
“You don’t get to walk away from a project I already approved.”
My breath hitched.
He lowered his voice slightly—not threatening, but deeply commanding.
“You have talent. Real talent. And when I see talent, I don’t let it slip away. I want results, Ms. Khanna. And you will give them to me.”
His eyes held mine challengingly.
“So tell me,” he said, his tone dropping to a velvety firmness,
“are you going to accept the project…
or do you plan reject my proposal?”
- Writer
