Page 2 of Okay Boss
“Rahul will manage until I hire someone new. Considering an intern. Film school graduate. I’ll interview her later.”
“Her,” Kavita repeated, raising an eyebrow. “Maybe try hiring a man this time.”
“Gender isn’t the issue. Professionalism is.” Vikram said smoothly. “Besides, men fall in love with me too. Equal opportunity heartbreaker.”
Kavita sighed dramatically. “One son married to business. One son married to his own reflection. Meanwhile, my friends are becoming grandparents.”
“Mom, please.” Vikram groaned. “Not tonight.”
“Riya seems sensible,” Harshit commented, seemingly casual but eyes sharp. “Known her family for years. Good people.”
“Riya and I are friends. Co-stars. That’s it.”
“Friends who look very cozy on Page Three,” Kavita noted.
“That’s called promotion,” he replied, already glancing at his phone to end the topic. “Which I’m going to be late showcasing if we continue this conversation.”
Harshit nodded, accepting the deflection. “Your brother called. Said he’d try to make the after-party but can’t promise. Some crisis at the Singapore office.”
“Of course.” Vikram wasn’t surprised. Raghav, his twin and polar opposite, practically lived at Khanna Consolidated headquarters. “Tell him he missed a great performance.”
“I’ll add it to his list of regrets.” Harshit’s dry tone couldn’t hide his pride. One son ran the family business empire; the other conquered Bollywood. The Khanna legacy was secure on multiple fronts.
“The car is waiting,” Vikram said, heading toward the door.
“Give Riya my love,” Kavita called after him. “I like her though.”
Vikram pretended not to hear, already focused on the night ahead. He slid into the waiting car, adjusted his cuffs one final time, and felt the familiar surge of anticipation.
Another premiere. Another triumph. Another perfect night in the life of Vikram Khanna.
His world, ordered exactly as he liked it, with himself at the centre.
???
The red carpet stretched ahead like another step towards success. Barricades lined both sides, packed with fans three rows deep. Phones were already raised, recording even before anything happened. Photographers stood on ladders, crouched low, balanced on stools. Reporters adjusted their hair and lipstick, rehearsing their opening lines.
Vikram’s car slowed to a stop. The crowd recognised it instantly. The screaming doubled. Before the door even opened, his name was already in the air.
Showtime.
He stepped out calmly, not rushing, not posing too hard. The noise crashed into him like a wave. Flashlights burst one after another, turning the night silver. Fans pushed forward against the metal barricades, hands stretched toward him, some shaking, some holding posters, some just trying to touch his sleeve.
“Vikram! Vikram! Vikram!”
His name rose and fell like a chant.
He lifted his hand in a relaxed wave. Not overly excited. Not distant either. Just enough to say, I see you.
Three girls in the front row started crying instantly. One of them swayed, her friends grabbing her before she collapsed fully. Security removed her gently but quickly.
Vikram smiled, but only halfway. This was only the beginning.
“Vikram! This side!”
“Sir, look here!”
“Over the shoulder, please!”
