Chapter One
‘Wait, taxi!’ a voice shrieked. A tousled head followed by the body of a young girl emerged from the porch of Madison Hotel. She dragged one foot awkwardly as she pushed through the massive revolving doors and limped out onto the pavement. A jagged rip ran down one side of her skirt. One stiletto was lacking a heel—hence the limp.
The taxi driver took one look at her, hit the accelerator and drove off in a cloud of dark exhaust, a look of utter disgust on his face. Not another one of those in his vehicle! They never seemed to have enough money to pay the fare.
Her hair was short and curly, and looked like a nest of noodles that had had a run-in with a sandblaster. It stuck out in wild wisps, framing her face, making her look a bit like a scarecrow. Clutching a handbag and a manila folder in one hand, she hurried away from the hotel at top speed. And yet, despite her utter dishevelment, a cheeky little grin played about the corners of her mouth and her eyes twinkled.
Not that the weather was helping any! The wind had picked up and a stormy-looking sky threatened to rain down buckets any second. Her valiant efforts to keep the shreds of her skirt together failed. As its hem edged up her thigh like an unwanted hand, she became even more flustered.
A couple of pedestrians gave her quizzical looks as she hurtled down the busy street, clutching what was left of her clothes and her belongings tightly. But even so, the expression of sheer glee written all over her face was unmistakeable. After all, she’d just walked out of an interview—perhaps stumbled was a better word—and she had aced it.
Okay, maybe aced it wasn’t quite correct. She chuckled to herself. Frankly, it had been a total disaster, but the point was that she had got a job, wasn’t it? Who cared about the rest? Because tucked away in that manila envelope, underneath her sweaty armpit, was the all-important appointment letter with her name, Kia Kant, on top, and the flourishing signature of Aayaan Malhotra, the owner of Madison Hotels, at the bottom.
Poor Aayaan Malhotra. He had no idea what had just hit him. He had had no intention of hiring her either. In fact, if it hadn’t been for dear Mr Verma insisting that Aayaan meet Kia, he wouldn’t have given her a second look.
Minor detail. She hadn’t given him much choice, had she?
Kia was running late for her interview at Madison Hotel. Her sixth interview this week. And what did she have to show for her efforts? Not even one offer. She was desperate.
The polished steel doors of one of the hotel’s elevators slid open, and she charged across the lobby to snag a spot before the doors closed again—just as the bellboy crossed her path, wheeling a heavy suitcase behind him.
Her foot hit the hard Samsonite. She was flung across the hallway, right into the waiting elevator, crashing straight into a barrel-like chest. Her arms windmilled as the man in front of her tried to avoid getting clawed by her nails. She grabbed the first thing she could hold onto, which happened to be his monogrammed breast pocket, which had a natty silk pocket square sticking out of it.
She ripped that pocket right off his jacket, bringing him to his knees in the process.
His chest was heaving, squished beneath her, as her knee dug into his neck. She heard him let out a hissing breath. She looked up, dazed.
She found herself staring into a very angry face, which was turning a deeper and deeper shade of puce with every second. What have I done now? she wondered, trying to catch her breath. It occurred to her that this wasn’t the moment to wait and find out. Scrambling off his chest at top speed, she backed out of the elevator just before the pinging doors slammed shut behind her.
Whew! As she wiped a bead of sweat off her forehead, she gazed ruefully down at her ripped skirt and stiletto-less shoe. Oh well, too late now to do anything about it!
Ten minutes later, when she hobbled into the boss’ cabin, she almost turned and ran out immediately. It was him, the man from the elevator, looking murderous. The ripped pocket dangled from his jacket by a thread. She was mortified. Had she lost the job before she’d even got it?
