Page 5 of Not Safe for Work
I froze, my pen mid-air. Reserved parking? Forhim?Are you kidding me?There were maybe ten spots in total, and they were practically heirlooms, handed down from one department head to the next. The rest of us could only dream of getting there someday. If we owned a car, we had to park at the mall down the road and trudge the 1.5 kilometres to the office in the heat. I hadbeggedHR last year for a scooter parking spot and they’d turned me down without an ounce of consideration. But sure. Mr Intern waltzes in and on day one they roll out the red carpet.
Whowasthis man? I decided I needed more intel.
‘So Neil, where are you from?’ I asked, swiveling in my chair to face him. His dark brown eyes met mine and I was taken aback by how unbelievably long his eyelashes were.
What a waste on a guy,I thought.
I ran a hand through my damp hair, fluffing it out in a half-hearted attempt to fix it. Today would’ve been a good day to actually use that blow-dryer my mom had gifted me for Diwali last year.
‘Bombay only. I live in Worli. And you?’ he asked, polite but distant.
Of course he lived in Worli. I bet he had a sea-facing house too. ‘I’m from Mussoorie,’ I said, then swiftly changed the subject, moving on to business. ‘Since I didn’t get a chance to interview you, why don’t you start by telling me a bit about your previous work experience?’
Nice. Establish your authority.
‘Well, I haven’t worked in a setup like this before, if that’s what you’re asking,’ he said, then added, ‘but I’ve tried my hand at a few things.’
I raised an eyebrow. ‘Such as?’
He folded his arms in front of his chest and I allowed myself a split second to notice the outline of his biceps through his shirt before diverting my eyes and shoving away the thoughts that followed.
‘Helped a friend open his bar in Goa last year. DJ’d at gigs across the country. Did an advertising course a while back. Modelled a bit. And, you know, spent a lot of time networking,’ he said.
So, just a whole bunch of random, rich boy things. Networking? That was just a fancy term for partying. Did this guy have any real designing skills or had he just been taken in to look pretty and fill up an empty seat?
‘You do know how to use Photoshop, right?’ I asked with trepidation.
‘I’m a quick learner,’ he said, a careless grin spreading across his handsome face.
Unbelievable.
‘Okay, but counterpoint … he’s hot,’ said Tanya as she helped herself to a bite of my vegetable uttapam.
The lunchtime buzz at Santosh Sagar was in full swing—steel plates clinking, waiters yelling out orders and the comforting sizzle of dosas crisping up on hot pans. The air was thick with the scent of coconut chutney, strong filter coffee and just the slightest hint of burnt butter.
‘How does that even matter?’ I scoffed.
Ten minutes before lunch time, I had shown up at Tanya’s desk and muttered our code: 404. Her eyes had lit up in anticipation of fresh gossip and, without a single question, she had immediately slammed her laptop shut. We only went out for lunch once or twice a month, exclusively on days when we hadn’t brought our dabbasfrom home. But today was an exception. The office pantry was far too small to handle the full extent of our commentary on the new intern. So we walked out of the office and made our way to the local south Indian joint, abandoning our tiffins on our desks.
‘Of course, it does. Do you know how many terrible interns we’ve had? At least this one is easy on the eyes. It’s a service to the workplace,’ she said, leaning on her elbows placed firmly on the sticky plastic table.
‘He’s not an art installation,’ I said, dunking a piece of uttapam into the sambar.
‘No, but if he were, he’d be bloody expensive,’ she said, leaning further in.
‘Hedoeslook expensive, I’ll give you that,’ I said, remembering the Air Jordans he’d been wearing. Definitely limited edition.
‘Why do you think he’s here?’ she asked, waving at the waiter to ask for some more sambar. In classic Mumbai fashion, he completely ignored her and moved on to the next table. As consolation, I slid my half-empty bowl in front of her.
‘No clue. He clearly doesn’t know a thing about graphic designing. I spent all morning teaching him how to resize images on Photoshop,’ I said, rolling my eyes.
Okay, maybe I was exaggerating. To his credit, hehadcaught on fairly quickly. But instead of finishing the simple task I’d given him—resizing all the website assets for our new launch—and freeing himself up to take on more work, he had spent a lot of that time mindlessly scrolling through YouTube. Which made one thing very clear to me: He was here to do the bare minimum. And that told me everything I needed to know about him.
‘And, he’s not on Instagram. Or LinkedIn,’ she said, picking up her phone to try looking him up again. But there was no point. He was some kind of social media ghost. Part of me was impressed by his ability to stay off the grid but, mostly, I was just annoyed that I couldn’t dig up anything on him.
‘Varun said he was from the CEO’s “personal network”. So he’s probably just a nepotism hire,’ I muttered.
‘He’s not related to him, right? Oh my God, what if he’s Rajat’s son, in undercover mode?’
