Mishti hums manoeuvring through the kitchen as she prepares Samrat's morning coffee: Two shots of espresso, one sugar and half cup milk, not too far from how she likes her own coffee, just with a bit more sugar.

She has to go by her name now, doesn't she?

Preparing a set of toast and placing it on the tray by the coffee, Mishti makes her way to the dining table where Samrat sits, though today he isn't scrolling through some news or his professionally managed insta feed as he usually does at this time of the day, but is sitting with a laptop open in front of him, murmuring to himself, tapping the end of the pen at his temple.

"- shipping will be done on Friday, would reach the recipient till Sunday...... Saturday would be good for placing order for the raw Material, Monday to buy stak -"

"Sir, your breakfast," Mishti states, placing the tray in front of the man, holding the cup of coffee in her hands, placing it on the saucer, the caffeinated fumes aromatizing the room.

"Not now, Preeti." He mutters, momentarily stopping the tapping of his pen in favour to look up at her, irritated at his train of thought getting interrupted.

"Sir, but you haven't -"

"Yes, yes I know but I'm busy right now and don't want any distractions, alright? Now where was I?" Samrat grumbles, scrunching his eyes shut to remember whatever he was saying.

"You were thinking about placing the order on Saturday for raw material since Friday would go on shipping the furniture and would reach the recipients till Sunday, and Monday to buy the stakes."

Mishti doesn't know why she replies but she does, her eyes glimmering with mirth as she is finally able to get Samrat's attention to herself, or on the cup of coffee to be precise that she once again sends his way, placing it right under his nose as he slowly pushes away the laptop from himself and graces her with a look that can be identified as amused, his lips twitching to some extent, the furrow between his brows vanishing.

"Thanks." He remarks, and takes the cup of coffee from her hands.

Mishti releases a relieved breath.

"It's my job, sir." She answers but the twitch on his lips doesn't get perturbed as he murmurs, "Not quite."

Mishti rushes back into the kitchen after that, and doesn't come out until the sun goes down, and a guest that had arrived in the house not too long ago is getting ready to leave.

"It was lovely to have you here, Mr Singhania."

"You too, Mr Agnihotri. Your company designs the best furniture in the market. Someone like you trusting and investing in our shares, and becoming our company's stakeholder is a great news for us."

Mishti observes as her employer smiles with his chest puffed and his head held high when his would-be business partner praises his company. It doesn't come as a surprise to her because even before she had come into this house, before the agency had zeroed on Samrat as their target, they all had heard about SEPIA, one of the leading furniture manufacturing companies in India. And currently, Mishti can't help but replicate the prideful smile.

"Oh, and before I forget, the food that was served was excellent. I would personally like to give compliments to the chef." The man in the suit says and Mishti's eyes widen, her gaze immediately flitting to the not so professional dress that she's wearing under her apron, no chef hat on her head and no culinary degrees under her belt. The last thing she wants is to make Samrat lose that pride on his face because of her when she has already once seen him at his worst.

The moment Singhania says those words, Samrat looks at her through the kitchen window, an uncertainty flashing through his eyes.

Mishti doesn't miss it even if she wants to.

She catches his eyes, her own wide, and flails her hands in the air, shaking her head into a no as she tries to make him refrain the other man to come towards the kitchen who looks intent on doing so.

And even though Samrat doesn't get the meaning behind her weird sign language, he still complies, albeit confusedly, huffing out a forced chuckle as he steps in front of Singhania, reaching out to shake his hand.

"I'm sorry to inform you but the chef.... the chef went on a break after the lunch. Though I'll be sure to extend your compliments. You have nothing to worry about." He says and stumbles through his words as he thinks of a lie.

Stumbles - something that he didn't even do as a toddler.

Lies - the one thing that he hates the most in this world.

But Singhania seems to buy it, his gaze stopping on the kitchen for a few seconds before turning back.

"Oh, yes, that'd be great. And oh, look at the time, I must really leave right now but I'll see you in your office tomorrow."

"Definitely."

And then Mishti awaits her death, it's messenger walking into the kitchen in the form of a narrowed eyed Samrat, arms crossed across his chest, one foot crossed over the other.

The only thing missing are the horns over his head.

Samrat raises a brow. "Would you like to tell me what was all that about?"

His voice lacks hostility but has equal amounts of irritation and confusion. Mishti doesn't think it is something to be relieved for.

She doesn't meet his eyes when she states, "I didn't want to meet him."

The furrow between Samrat's brows grows at that, his confusion turning into exasperation. "Surely meeting him for five seconds and listening to some compliments wouldn't have hurt you? But that's ok, I guess I expected too much from you." He states dryly, turning upon his heels ready to step out of the kitchen.

But Mishti can't let him have the last word, not when all she had done was for him, and he was the one who looked hesitant on letting her meet the man in the first place. Not to mention the insecurity in her mind was all his doing.

"Sorry to say but it was you who didn't want me to meet him. Don't think that I missed your reluctance at his offer." Mishti replies haughtily making the man turn back towards her.

Samrat at least has the decency to look guilty. Mishti doesn't focus on his rapidly reddening ears as he tries to look for an answer, though once he finds it, he goes back to looking poshly bored.

"I thought you'd be uncomfortable coming out in front of him since you're not obliged to do so. But then I thought there'd be no harm listening to some compliments as he clearly just wanted to do that. You should be appreciated... at least from someone."

"If not me" goes unsaid.

The last of his words comes out as a mumble, but hears it loud and clear, quickly realising that the hesitance in his eyes was for her sake and not because she was not some grand chef.

She hums, her features simpering. "Well, I thought your guest wouldn't have appreciated the fact that your chef is a female who seems like a roadside stall cook, who, might I add, can't even pronounce the name of the dishes you'd demand, and is not a Michelin star chef, something that you wanted originally."

Mishti keeps forth her reason behind the action, surprised at how these words have still been nested in her mind.

However, opposite to what she expects, Samrat's words don't follow up hers but his silence does as he intently stares at her as if trying to look right into her soul, something that has a shiver running down her spine.

Mishti breaks the eye contact.

"So, you heard it..... that day?" He asks, his fingers tapping against the counter, almost nervously.

Mishti nods, her gaze still downcast.

"I guess you'd be wanting an explanation?"

She shrugs this time.

"Well," Samrat says sighing a little as he does. "In the States, I only had male chefs in my house you see. I haven't really had the best experience with women in my life and it took me a particular person, a girl...." his eyes soften at the mention, and Mishti ignores the way her jaw automatically clenches for reasons unknown to her.

"- to understand that not everybody is the same, but still, I never looked for a female staff. Anyways, it was just my luck that in the US my chefs were one of the best in the world, all with Michelin stars, and so safe to say my standards had gotten pretty high, tasting exotic foods and loving the dishes with complex spellings. Quite pretentious of me, I know." He exhales through his teeth, a slightly sheepish look on his face.

"And then my mother sent you and I said all those words that I shouldn't have. It wasn't very insightful of me to judge you before even letting you settle in the house, let alone cook me something." Samrat levels her with his guilty stare, one where his gaze stays softened and his words reflect emotions that have otherwise been absent in any conversation between them since she is nothing but his personal chef and he, her employer.

"And since I know that you didn't mean any harm in refusing Singhania, and whatever happened was ultimately my fault, I'd like to....I'd like to -"

He's trying to apologize. For some very incogitable reason he's trying to do so and even if Mishti wants to interrupt him saying that he doesn't have anything to apologize for even though formerly his behaviour was a bit prejudiced but it's ok, whose isn't - she doesn't quite want to miss this spectacle of her otherwise collected and snarky boss fumbling for some words.

"I'd like to.... Argh, why is this so difficult!" Samrat murmurs to himself before once again looking towards the girl who seems like she is having the best time of her life. He narrows his eyes at her.

"Stop smiling." He says and the girl all but chortles, doing nothing whatsoever to stifle the seemingly contagious laugh, bending to her knees as she does.

He rolls his eyes but doesn't stop the tiniest smile that crawls up his lips.

"It's ok, sir." Mishti then says when she has finally had enough of her laughing, sobering up straight, hands behind her back, eyes bottling up a teasing glint. "You don't have to apologize. And like I had said in the morning, I was just doing my job."

She grins and this time Samrat returns it with his quite-not-there-but-still-there barest of the smiles.

"And as I had said, not quite."