The Promise (6 page)

'Well, I will have to take a look at the designs you have in mind to confirm.'

'Or maybe you would consider looking at some other work I have done before?'

'And why would I want to do that?' Mr Datta raised an eyebrow unkindly.

'Umm ... you know-as a sample? To see the kind of work I do?' she said and pushed her portfolio onto the low centre table between them.

'Is this a joke, Ms Sen?'

She decided to stay shut, not knowing what she had done to anger him.

'I do not have time to look at pictures of pieces of furniture I do not have anything to do with. Show me what you want from me and I'll decide whether or not I want to do it. I do not want to look at samples. Understood?'

'Yes,' she murmured, but it did not come out loud enough to reach his ears. She repeated. 'Yes. But doing all the designs will take time. I'll get back to you in-'

'I do not mind looking at the samples of work you want me to do. I just have a problem looking at the work you have previously done and has nothing to do with me. You can show me a preview of your vision for this mansion in question.'

'Sure. I'll get back to you in a couple of days with a sample of my idea for the mansion. Thank you,' she looked up and smiled at him, wanting some of the tension in the room to evaporate. Now that the worry of getting him to listen to her plans was off her shoulder, she observed him closely for the first time. The broad, muscular frame-no doubt built from all the wood carving and furniture-building-covered by his crisp light blue shirt looked vast and very inviting. What? Did she just think 'inviting'? Where did that come up from?

His eyes were deep set, jet-black, with eyebrows that looked stern, but in a half-good half-bad way. A long, straight nose, over the thin, perfect lips and a strong chin. Dark complexion and hair which made her want to run her fingers through it. A square jawline and high cheekbones, which made him look like a ramp model.

She was astonished that she had not noticed all of that in the first glance. Maybe she had been too nervous about her proposal, and he had done nothing to make her feel comfortable. In fact, he had done everything to make her feel unwelcome and anxious. But when the apprehension faded somewhat, she finally did notice the killer looks and could not take her eyes away from him. She had never been beautiful. If she dressed up and put on a right amount of make-up, she agreed she would look pretty, but she could still not use the word beautiful. She just wasn't born to look good.

And when she saw him, she almost felt jealous of his good looks. Some people just have it all. He was born as Mr Datta Senior's son, that too looking like Adonis. What more can anyone ask for? Though, she agreed that it was a good thing he had decided to keep the legacy going and build every design himself before sending it to the manufacturing department. The kind of muscles one makes from physical labour is unmatched.

'Anything else?' Mr Datta asked, looking at her expectantly, a little annoyed by her presence, she thought.

'Oh ...? No. No, no. I'm good. I should ... I should take my leave now,' Shambhavi stammered.

'Let me know when you are done with the designs. Here's my card.'

'Thanks,' she said and got up. She contemplated picking up her portfolio, but decided against it, not risking infuriating the man further. 'Just one thing -do you want me to get in touch with you directly?' she pointed to his visiting card and asked.

'Yes. Is that a problem?' he held her eyes with his and asked.

'No, of course not. Just that-your assistant and secretary said you were pretty much booked for life, so ...'

'Call me, Ms Sen. I'll remember you.'

She almost fainted when she felt the touch of his hand on hers. A handshake had never felt so heavenly.

It is amazing how a person's talent surfaces, when properly motivated. The drive to impress often yields unmatchable outputs.

ili, you won't believe this,' Shambhavi shrieked, as soon as she saw her friend, partially hidden by the stained glass partition in her office. She walked happily towards her friend, who looked like she could faint any second.

'Shambhavi? What are you doing here?' Mili whispered loudly in return.

'As of now-walking towards you. Duh.'

'But why?'

'Because it would not be appropriate if I keep shouting from the other end of your office, would it?' Shambhavi replied. She looked around herself and motioned to the employees at their desks, in tiny cubicles and said, 'People are working here. I don't want to disturb anyone.'

'Shut up. You know what I mean. Why are you here?' Mili asked.

'I had something exciting to tell you.'

'Can't it wait till I get out of office? It's just a few hours.'

'Why do you worry so much? Your boss will not eat you up and swallow you whole if she found you talking to me for a few minutes, you know?' Shambhavi teased. She knew Mili took her work seriously-a bit too seriously-and she enjoyed having fun at her expense.

'She might; you don't know her. Now tell me quickly what it is and leave.'

'Never mind. It's not important. It can wait.'

'No. Tell me,' Mili exclaimed, and held Shambhavi's arm to stop her from leaving. The fact that Shambhavi came to her office to tell her something'exciting' had definitely piqued her interest in the whole thing, even though she was still worried about her boss.

'Okay,' Shambhavi jumped back on the horse immediately. 'Get this-I went to Datta Enterprises today to meet Mr Datta. And guess what I found out?'

'No idea.'

'Mr Datta is not an old man. He's twenty-nine, and totally gorgeous. I first thought that he was the son of the man who started the company. But I was wrong. Tutul told me later that he started the company, not his father. It has been just twelve years, and by everything I heard about DE, I had assumed that it must have taken them several decades to get there. But nope. Just twelve years. The man is a total legend.'

'Wait-I'm confused-are you gushing about this Datta guy as an entrepreneur or a man?' Mili interrupted.

'Both. More as a man, though. You should see him-he's so ... perfect. Though, he looks older than he is. Mature. Maybe because he has seen so much in his life-death of his parents as a teenager, poverty, starvation, betrayal. I think that's why he's so ruthless.'

'Betrayal? What do you mean?'

'I don't know much, but I heard a girl broke his heart. She was there when he first started out; they were close. And she left him for someone else, or something like that,' Shambhavi said. 'But whatever. The point is that ... he is something out of this world. Nothing like anything I have ever seen before.'

'Aah! Shambhavi Sen has fallen for a guy. This should be interesting to see.'

'Shut up. I have not fallen for him or anything. I just ... like him.'

'That's the first step. Wow. I can't believe this. Finally,' Mili said, grinning from ear to ear.

'It is going to be a one-sided attraction, Mili. He did not even look at me properly, you know? Why would he? I look like a toad in front of him. He's handsome. I'm ugly'

'You're not ugly.'

'Compared to him, I am,' Shambhavi said sadly.

'Really? I would like to see,' Mili said and they both rushed to Google images of the man. 'What's his first name?'

'I don't know,' Shambhavi said.

Mili rolled her eyes and typed 'mr Datta owner Datta enterprises' in Google search bar. The name immediately popped up. Arjun Datta. Mili went on to search for his images, while Shambhavi murmured the name over and over again. She rolled it over her tongue; it felt oddly nice.

'Wow. He really is stunning,' Mili breathed.

But Shambhavi was not listening to her. She had her eyes fixed on one of Mr Datta's pictures in the search results, and his name on her lips.

'What?' Mili shook her.

'I ... like his name,' Shambhavi replied softly.

Shambhavi had never worked as much in her entire life as she did in the next two days. She woke up nights and worked tirelessly on the designs for the interiors of the Ahluwalia mansion. She had never before been so driven. But she had good reason to be so now.

Arjun Datta. The man had practically ruled every second she was awake-and asleep, for that matter-ever since she had come out of that meeting. She was a woman on a mission. A mission to impress. She worked and worked and worked on the design, and once done, she glanced through them. She knew the kind of wood carving Mr Datta did and the kind of designs he was particularly fond of. He was the only designer in his company. She had done her research, and she knew he was going to like her designs.

There had never been an occasion on which Shambhavi had given her hundred per cent to something and it hadn't turned out to be anything less than perfect. And there was no reason for her not to give her hundred per cent on the designs; she accepted that after the first few times Mrs Ahluwalia shot down her suggestions, Shambhavi had started to show her all the bad ones, just to get on her nerves. It was too risky for her to pull such a trick, but it had been so much fun. That was who Shambhavi was-reckless, independent, instinctive. And passionate-when it was about something she really loved.

And she was really loving designing and a certain Mr Datta at the moment.

'Go to the crazy woman and make her love my designs,' she told Tutul.

'How can I make her do that?'

'Well, hit her on the head if you need to,' Shambhavi said and perched on the kitchen counter and bit into a green apple. Tutul had been considerate enough to bring for Shambhavi's recovering-from-sickness father.

Tutul opened the folder and started flipping through the pages. By the time she reached the last sheet of paper, roughly but still beautifully sketched, she was in awe of Shambhavi. She had suspected some real talent underneath the rash demeanour that Shambhavi exhibited, but even she had never imagined her to be capable of what Tutul then held in her hands.

'What?' Shambhavi asked, studying the look on Tutul's face.

'How ...? When ...? Where did you steal these from?' Tutul managed to ask. She seemed to be in shock and was trying to find out ways to justify what she was seeing. It just didn't make sense.