THE ARROGANT BILLIONAIRE AND HIS INDIAN ASSISTANT

Preete Sharma has had her face glued to her screen for over 47 minutes It was on a Monday by 2:13PM. Her laptop was open to the Same cover letter she had rewritten 12 times. Her rent notice was taped to the fridge behind her. It was due in two days. Her roommate Arjun had left a letter on her kurta: you got this. She’s been scouting for a stable job for 7 months now. Seven months of rejection from different companies. It’s always “we’ll call you” or “you’re overqualified” or something. She was a 26 year old, Indian-American, first-class degree in Business admin from UCLA, living in a tiny flat in Birmingham. She has a mom who’s sick in America and her father was gone. So to her this job wasn’t just a job. It was hospital bills. It was rent. It was proof that she wasn’t a failure. By 2:34PM her phone buzzed. She almost fell off the chair It was an unknown number - “Hello? Hello, is this Preete Sharma?” A lady with a British accent. “Yes! Yes, I’m Preete Sharma!” “Ms Sharma, this is HR from Vance industries. You applied for the position of personal assistant to Mr. Jamie Vance.” Her heart stopped. We were very impressed. Mr. Vance has reviewed your profile and you got the job, you’re to resume tomorrow by 8AM sharp, don’t be late! Mr. Vance hates lateness.” Preete couldn’t breathe. “Yes! Yes! Thanks you so much! I will be there, I promise, thank you.” The line cut. She just sat there. Then she screamed. Then she cried, she was overwhelmed with emotions because to her this was a very big win. Then she called Arjun. “I GIT IT! ARJUN, I GOT THE JOB!” The next morning at 7:30AM, preete was already at the front of Vance industries, it was a mighty building made up of glass, fifty floors, Men in suits walking like they owned the world. She wore her best kurta - white with little blue flowers, her mother’s favorite. Her hair was tied neatly. Her hold handbag which held a notebook, two pens, and a small Ganesha keychain. She got to the receptionist. “Personal Assistant to Mr. Vance?” Fifth floor. Good luck. You’ll need it.” “Quite strange” she thought to herself On the fifth floor, everyone went quiet when she walked in. Three girls at desks stared at her with pity. “You’re the new PA?” One whispered. “I’m Sarah. I was PA before you. I lasted just three weeks.” “Three weeks is record,” another said. Li lasted four days.” Before preete could ask why, the elevator dinged. A man walked out He was tall. 6’2. Black suit, no tie, top button open. Dark hair, perfectly messy. English, sharp jawline, eyes cold grey. He didn’t walk, he commanded the floor to move for him Jamie Vance. A 31 year old billionaire, the CEO of Vance industries. He didn’t look at anyone. He walked straight to his office, which was made of glass walls. Sarah pushed preete. “Go. Take him his schedule.” Preete’s hands shook. She picked up the printed schedule and knocked. There was no answer. She knocked again “Come if you know how to open a door, Ms. Sharma.” His voice. Cold. You could tell he wasn’t the jolly type. She opened the door. His office was huge, cold. No photos. No plants. Just a desk, a view of Birmingham, and him sitting like a king. He didn’t look up from his laptop. “You’re late,” he said. “It’s 8:01 -“ “I said 8AM sharp. Sharp means before, not after. “Are you Indian?” “Indian-American, sir.” “Your job is simple. Don’t talk unless I ask you. Don’t touch my desk unless I say so. Bring me black coffe, no sugar, 80 degrees, not 80, not 79. And go and re-do this.” He threw a file across the desk. It slid and fell to the floor near her feet. It was a 40-page financial report. “There are 17 errors in it. Find them. You have 30 minutes. The board meeting is in 25.” Preete bent to pick it up. Her kurta touched the floor. “I…. I didn’t do this report, sir, how would I -“ “You’re my PA. Your job is to fix my problems before I know they exist. 19 minutes now!” He finally looked at her. His eyes were empty. No anger, no kindness. Just…. Nothing. Like she was a furniture She ran out, file in her hand, her heart beating like a drum. Int the open office, Sarah mouthed: told you. Preete sat at her tiny desk outside his glass office and opened the file. Her eyes scanned through it. She was smart. She has always been smart. Error one, page two. Error two, page five She was on error 11 when the elevator dinged. A woman walked in. She was tall, blonde, red lips, a very tight dress. She smelled like expensive perfume and entitlement. She walked straight to into Jamie’s office without knocking. “Jamie baby!” Jamie didn’t smile. “Tara” Tara Blake was his girlfriend. Everyone knew her from social media. Preete came into Jamie’s office to submit a file. Tara saw pre and smirked “Oh you must be the new help,” she said looking at preete’s kurta. “Cute. Very… ethnic. Jamie, did HR run out of normal girls?” Preete couldn’t feel her cheeks. Jamie said nothing. He just watched. That was worse. “You can leave Ms. Sharma” Jamie immediately excused her “Who is she?” Tara whined. “She keeps staring at you.” “She’s my PA. She doesn’t stare.” “She is staring. And what is she wearing? Tell her to wear normal clothes, Jamie. She looks like she just came from a temple. Preete was on her desk staring at her file. 17 errors. She had found 14. Her eyes filled. She would not cry. Not on day one. She found the 17th error at 19 minutes 30 seconds. She printed it, stapled it, and knocked. Tara was sitting on his desk now, leg over his leg. Jamie looked annoyed. “What?” He asked “The report, sir. Corrected.” He took it, flipped through, said nothing. Tara rolled her eyes. “Page 12 is still wrong. You missed a decimal. Re-do it. And Ms. Sharma -“ He looked at her kurta. “-next time, wear something professional. This is an office, not a festival.” Preete nodded, took the file, and walked out. She went straight to the bathroom and let test the tears fall silently. She was quite the emotional type. On the other side of the wall, in his office, Jamie looked at the CCTV on his laptop. Camera 4 showed the bathroom hallway. He saw her run In. He frowned. For a second, his cold face cracked. Tara touched his shoulder. “Baby, you’re so hard on her. Poor thing.” He shrugged her hand off. “Get off my desk, Tara.” Outside, preete wiped her eyes, looked in the mirror. And whispered to herself in Hindi, “preete, tu kar legi. Keep going for mum.” She walked back out Jamie was standing at her desk, holding his empty coffee cup. “My coffe. 80 degrees. Now.” At this point preete hated him. Really, really hated him. But she had no idea he was standing there because he wanted to say sorry but didn’t know how to.