Page 4 of Not Safe for Work
‘Oh?’
‘Yeah. An intern will be joining you for two months,’ he said, beaming. ‘He can take the extra design tasks off your plate, so you can start focusing on the bigger picture.’
I blinked, caught off guard. An intern?Thatwas the grand solution?
Varun continued. ‘He’s from the CEO’s personal network, so you know he’s brilliant.’
Before I could react—or object—he launched into a speech about how even though he knew this wasn’t a permanent fix, it would buy us some time to make the hires. Plus, it was an opportunity for me to step up, show my leadership skills and prove to management that I was ready for something bigger. ‘You have good ideas, Kavya,’ he said, his gaze sincere. ‘I know you will do well in a marketing-first role. You just have to work with me so I can get you there.’
I knew what he was doing—dangling a carrot in front of me. So why was it working?
two
That’s the Intern?
Everyoneat work knew how protective I was of my morning office ritual. I would arrive at 9 a.m. every day, half an hour before everyone else, just so I could start my day in peace. As I ate the same kanda poha that Sarita didi made for me daily, I’d call my mom, letting her fill me in on the latest happenings back in Mussoorie and offer her snippets of my life here—whatever I could share without worrying her, that is. After that, I would find Tanya and we’d fetch a cup of coffee from the pantry. It always tasted like crap, but who was I to turn down free caffeine? Then came my favourite part: we’d scroll through Instagram for the latest celebrity gossip. Just a few moments to live vicariously through someone else’s drama.
Tanya had already DM’d me a post this morning from our favourite gossip account, @devilwearscolaba. I was itching to do a deep dive into whatever delicious fashion scandal awaited us on the other end. So you can imagine my annoyance when I walked up to my desk to find a stranger sitting in my chair.
Actually, scratch that.Lounging, not sitting. Dressed in a crisp white linen shirt and tan pants, a man was sprawled in my chair like he owned it. His head leaned against the backrest, dark brown wavy hair falling effortlessly over his forehead, while his long legs were stretched out under my desk. Thick eyebrowsframed his sharp features and, with his eyes closed and AirPods plugged in, he had the air of someone who was used to taking up space without asking for permission.
I shifted my weight from one leg to another, baffled at the sight in front of me.Who the hell was this?I cleared my throat once. Twice. When he didn’t move, I set my handbag down on the desk with a loud thump. His eyes snapped open.
‘Uh, hi?’ I said. He raised a hand in an apologetic gesture and mouthed something at me. I stood there impatiently as he removed his AirPods and placed them into their case.
‘Hey, Kavya, right?’ he asked, standing up to extend his hand towards me. He was so tall that I had to take a tiny step back just to look up at him.
Hesitant, I reached out and shook his hand. ‘Yes … and you are?’
‘Neil … Neil Desai,’ he said, smiling effortlessly, like he was used to making a good impression. When I continued to look at him in confusion, he added, ‘I’m supposed to intern with you?’
My eyes widened in surprise.No, that can’t be right.
I had been expecting a college kid—fresh, eager, maybe a little nervous. This guy looked like he ate interns for breakfast. He was confident, dressed to perfection and definitely too old for this position. If anything, in my flared cotton skirt and shower-damp hair, I looked like I could’ve been interning forhim.
‘How old are you?’ I couldn’t help asking.
An amused smile found its way onto his face as he said, ‘Twenty-five. Is that a problem?’
My intern was older than me. Only by a year, but still. ‘No, it’s just … unexpected,’ I said, motioning for him to take a seat.
He grinned. ‘Yeah, I get that.’
That’s it. No further explanation. As I pulled a vacant chair for him from the neighbouring desk, unoccupied since my teammates had quit, I wondered what this guy’s deal was. Washe a late bloomer? Maybe he was switching careers. I told myself to keep an open mind.
‘You’re quite early,’ I said, busying myself with arranging my desk. I switched on my iMac and the giant screen flickered to life. Pulling open my drawer, I retrieved my leather-bound notebook, then fished around in my handbag until I found a pen. His gaze followed my movements with interest, like he was observing me, studying me. I ignored the unsettling feeling and shoved my tote bag—the one with my dabba—onto the empty desk beside mine to make more space.
I couldn’t help but notice that he wasn’t carrying a tiffin. Only a smart leather bag for his laptop, which he proceeded to unzip. ‘Yeah I drove up early to skip the morning rush hour,’ he said.
‘Bet that was a nightmare, finding parking here,’ I said, shaking my head.
Our office was located in one of the busiest complexes in Lower Parel, with tall office buildings squeezed between high-end restaurants, noisy pubs and coffee shops that stayed packed from morning till midnight.
He shrugged with ease. ‘It wasn’t an issue. The office had reserved a spot for me.’
I blinked, confused. ‘HR gave you a reserved parking space?’
He nodded and said, ‘Mhmm.’
