Author's note: Thank you so much for the amazing response on the last chapter. Can we please try to get 85 votes on this chapter?

Aahana Agnihotri 

Cook & Connect

That was the activity I had reluctantly chosen to participate in for the day. Only because it was the kind of event my parents would surely deem beneath them. They were probably busy schmoozing with clients and impressing investors at the golfing event. My mother tried to come into my room last night, but I didn't open the door. I didn't know what she wanted to talk to me about, probably to berate me for something. She eventually gave up and left me alone.

The moment I entered the hotel's conference room, I was tempted to turn right back around, because surrounded by a gaggle of giggling women, was the man who had apparently vowed to ruin my vibe everytime we interacted. Quietly, I began to retreat.

"Aahana Ma'am," a voice called out, loud enough to draw the attention of nearly everyone in the room. "Are you going to be joining us today?"

Glancing over, I found Adarsh staring right at me, an infuriating smirk playing on his lips. There was no way I was leaving– my pride wouldn't allow it.

Squaring my shoulders, I turned to the woman who had addressed me. "Yes."

"Wonderful! Thank you so much for being here, ma'am. I really hope you like it," she chirped, handing me a crisp white apron. I slipped it on, my yellow dress a striking contrast against the stark fabric. The other participants, already adorned in their own aprons, greeted me with wide smiles and polite nods.

Nodding in return, I moved to stand in the center of the room as the event coordinator took the microphone. "Welcome, everyone, to our Corporate Cook-Off Challenge!" she announced cheerfully. "Today, you'll be working in pairs to create a three-course meal. The twist? Each pair will be cooking a different cuisine from around the world. You'll find your cuisines, the recipe cards and ingredients on your workstations. If you have any questions or need help, please wave one of the hotel staff down."

A murmur of excitement rippled through the crowd. I, however, felt a knot of dread forming in the pit of my stomach. Pair work. Why did it always have to be pair work? The idea of making small talk with any of these people was positively torturous.

"In the pocket of your apron, you'll find a colored piece of paper," the coordinator continued. I reached into my pocket and pulled out a blue chit. Of course. With my luck being what it was lately, I knew exactly who I would be paired with. Sure enough, Adarsh Khanna strode towards me, his blue chit held aloft.

"If I didn't know better, I would think you are stalking me," he quipped, a teasing lilt to his voice.

My jaw clenched as I glared at him. "I think you seem to forget that I'm your employer, and you can't speak to me like that."

"Your father is my employer," he corrected like the know-it-all he thought he was. "You don't even come to the office."

As we approached our designated cooking station, Adarsh bumped his shoulder against mine. "Ready, partner?"

Shaking my head, I picked up the recipe card, desperate to finish this stupid event so I could be anywhere else. Literally anywhere else. Adarsh leaned in close, close enough that I could smell his subtle cologne and feel his warm breath tickling the side of my neck. I took a subtle step to the side, but it did nothing to alleviate the palpable tension between us.

Scanning the card, I spoke up. "We should begin with the tiramisu since it needs time to set. Then we can work on the pasta dough as it needs to rest. The Caprese salad and Alfredo sauce can be done last."

Adarsh raised an eyebrow. "Look at you, taking charge."

"It's called common sense and the ability to read instructions," I retorted, already gathering the ingredients for the tiramisu. Adarsh reached for the eggs at the same time I did. Our hands collided, sending the carton tumbling. We both lunged to catch it, resulting in a near collision of heads.

"Are you always this clumsy?" I snapped, my heart racing from the unexpected contact.

He straightened. "I believe it's only around you. There's something about you that throws off my usually impeccable coordination. Perhaps your aura or that prickly attitude. I'm not sure."

"Separate the yolks and whites," I ordered, pointing at the carton in his hands.

"Bossy. I like it," he muttered, but complied.

I watched him from the corner of my eye, impressed despite myself, as he deftly separated the yolks "It'll do," I murmured as I held up the bowl to make sure there weren't any pieces of the shell. His fingers brushed mine as I handed the bowl back to him. I ignored the tiny spark of electricity from the contact.

Ignoring the now-familiar tingling sensation, I focused on the task at hand. "You finish the dessert and I'll work on the dough."

I felt the weight of his stare, like a physical touch, as I began gathering ingredients for the pasta dough. His low voice broke through the silence.

"I didn't know you could cook," he commented, deftly beating eggs with strong yet gentle movements.

I frowned, cocking my head slightly. "Why would you know anything about me?" I questioned, raising an eyebrow in curiosity.

He approached me from behind, his tall frame towering over me. Slowly, he reached around me, his hand brushing against my arm as he grabbed the sugar from the ingredients tray. His touch was gentle but deliberate as he took his time retrieving it. My breath caught in my throat as I felt his closeness and scent enveloping me. "If I wanted to know more about you... Would you tell me your deepest, darkest desires, Aahana?" A shiver went down my spine at the intensity of his voice and meaning behind his words.

My heart thudded loudly in my chest and my throat felt dry and tight as Adarsh's words hit me like a wave. A familiar heat surged in the pit of my stomach, spreading through my body like wildfire, igniting every nerve ending with a searing sensation. As he stepped back from me, breaking the spell that he unknowingly had on me, I shook my head frantically, trying to clear my mind and fight off the overwhelming urge to give in to him.

Denying my physical attraction to him for too long only made it burn hotter and stronger. Just thinking of him sent shivers down my spine and set my body on fire with both desire and frustration. However, I refused to give in to my desires. He was too cocky for me, too sure of himself, and I had too much pride to let him know how badly I wanted him. It was always a battle between pride and primal need when it came to him. One thing was certain: I needed to fuck someone to get rid of this itch. And I needed to do it today.

I stole a glance at him from the corner of my eye as he worked, his focus solely on beating the sugar into the eggs. The rhythmic sound of the whisk scraping against the bowl broke the tense silence between us. His black polo shirt clung tightly to his sculpted frame, highlighting his broad shoulders and strong arms. My eyes trailed down to his forearms, watching in awe as the muscles flexed with each powerful whisking motion.

His hands, so skilled and confident, moved effortlessly as he worked. I watched in awe as he expertly controlled every movement, his jaw set in concentration and a subtle furrow between his brows. The corners of his lips turned up into a small smile as he gave a nod of approval. "Looks good," he murmured.

I quickly looked away, hoping he didn't catch me checking him out. "Yeah," I replied softly, feeling heat rise to my cheeks at being caught staring at him.

"What do you want me to do next?" he asked, wiping his hands with a wet towelette they had for us.

"Just follow the instructions," I snapped. "And don't talk to me unless it's absolutely necessary."

Adarsh chuckled lowly, his delectable voice sending a shiver down my spine. The amusement dancing in his eyes only fueled my irritation. Why did he always find my annoyance so entertaining?

As he turned his attention to the recipe card, I focused intently on the dough before me. I kneaded it vigorously, perhaps with more force than necessary. The soft, warm dough felt good in my hands as I pressed and folded it, feeling it grow pliable under my fingertips.

I finished with the dough, setting it aside to rest, and moved on to preparing the sauce. From the corner of my eye, I could see Adarsh carefully layering the tiramisu, his brow furrowed.

"So since we didn't clarify the terms of what is considered what is absolutely necessary... is today's beautiful weather considered an important topic of discussion?" he asked, sidling up to me after tucking the tiramisu in the fridge to chill.

"No." I replied curtly, focusing intently on the sauce I was stirring.

Undeterred, he pressed on, eyes twinkling with mischief. "Okay, how about the history of pasta-making in Italy? That seems pretty relevant to our task."

I sighed heavily, refusing to meet his gaze. "Still no."

"Hmm," he mused, tapping his chin thoughtfully. "What if I told you I just discovered the secret formula to world peace? Surely that's worth mentioning, no?"

Despite my best efforts to remain aloof, I felt my resolve weakening. "Unless world peace involves us winning this stupid competition, I'm not interested."

Adarsh leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "What if I said I know which came first– the chicken or egg?"

An involuntary chuckle escaped me before I could stop it. Realizing my slip, I quickly schooled my features back into a mask of indifference. Just as I was about to berate Adarsh for his persistence, I noticed a young woman approaching our station, a covered plate in hand.

"Hi," she greeted. "How's it going?"

"Great!" Adarsh said, grinning. "Aahana, this is Janvi. She is the newest but one of the brightest members of our legal team."

"Hello, Ma'am," Janvi greeted, smiling politely at me.

I managed a tight-lipped smile in return, my attention back on the sauce. I saw Janvi's smile falter at my lukewarm response, while Adarsh shook his head slightly at me.

"So what brings you here?" Adarsh asked, turning his charm on Janvi.

"We were given Mexican cuisine," she explained, her voice syrupy sweet in a way that made my jaw clench involuntarily. "It's my first time making Tres Leches. Would you mind giving it a taste and sharing your thoughts?"

For a split second, I caught a flicker of something – panic? – in Adarsh's eyes. But it vanished so quickly, I wondered if I'd imagined it. His charismatic smile was firmly in place as he leaned on the counter, eyeing the dessert appreciatively. "Well, well! This looks like it was created by a professional pastry chef," he complimented smoothly.

Janvi blushed, her crush on Adarsh painfully obvious. She held out a fork hopefully. "Thank you, but, could you please try it to make sure it tastes good?"

"But you know, in the spirit of fair competition, I don't think it would be right for me to taste another team's creation," he said, his tone conspiratorial.

"Oh," she said, tucking her hair behind her ear. "I understand, but I trust you."

"I'm incredibly flattered, Ms. Janvi. However, I have to make sure that my taste buds aren't influenced by something that might outshine my team's dessert, would we?" He winked playfully. "Also just between the two of us, your Tres Leches looks so much better."

Janvi giggled, clearly charmed despite the rejection. "You're too humble. I'll save some for you after the competition."

As she sauntered away, I found myself irrationally irritated by Adarsh's smooth flirting. He turned back to our station, catching my eye.

"If you're done flirting then finish up the salad. We only have 15 minutes left," I snapped.

Adarsh raised an eyebrow, an amused grin playing on his lips. "Flirting? I was merely being polite. But if you'd prefer, I could direct all my charm towards you instead, partner."

I felt my cheeks heat up, a mix of irritation and something else I refused to acknowledge. "Just. Make. The. Salad," I growled through gritted teeth.

He chuckled, moving to prepare the dressing for the salad. The final minutes of the competition flew by in a flurry of chopping, plating, and last-minute adjustments. Despite our bickering, Adarsh and I worked in surprising harmony, anticipating each other's movements as if we'd been cooking together for years.

As the timer buzzed, signaling the end of the competition, we stepped back to survey our creations. Adarsh held up his hand for a high-five, but I simply rolled my eyes. The room fell silent as the event coordinator stepped up to the microphone.

"Ladies and gentlemen," she began. "I have a special announcement to make. After careful consideration, we've decided that in the spirit of teamwork and cooperation... everyone is a winner today!"

A mixture of confused murmurs and halfhearted applause filled the room. I stood there, dumbfounded, as the coordinator continued to prattle on about participation and the importance of the journey over the destination.

"You've got to be kidding me," I muttered, feeling a surge of frustration. All that work, all that effort, and for what? A participation trophy?

"Why are you upset?" Adarsh asked, barely concealing his amusement. "I thought you said this was a stupid competition."

I shot him a withering glare. "It is a stupid competition, but I still wanted to win. I worked hard for it and I always want to win anything I participate in. Always."

"Come on, Aahana, it's not that bad," Adarsh tried to reason, but I was already untying my apron.

"You're right. It's not bad. It's the worst," I snapped, tossing the apron onto the counter. "I'm out of here."

Ignoring Adarsh's calls for me to wait up and the confused looks from the other participants, I stormed out of the conference room. What a waste of my precious time. I was never going to participate in anything again. I wanted to be a winner. Always.

____

The clink of crystal and the low hum of conversation filled the opulent hotel ballroom, a sound that grated on my already frayed nerves. I swirled the wine in my glass, watching the deep red liquid catch the light from the chandeliers overhead, wishing I could lose myself in its depths. Seated at the head table, I felt like a reluctant princess on a throne of starched white linens and polished silverware, isolated from the sea of employees crowding around the buffet tables.

My parents, the owners of the company and orchestrators of all things miserable in my life, sat at the center of the table, flanked by C-suite executives and department heads like a royal court. I fought the urge to roll my eyes as another mind-numbing discussion about quarterly projections began, the words blending into a monotonous drone. I took a long sip of my wine, relishing the warmth that spread through my chest.

"Aahana, my dear," a voice cut through my brooding thoughts. I looked up to see Mr. Mehta, one of the older executives, smiling at me with grandfatherly affection. "I must say, my wife absolutely adored your latest exhibition. She can't stop talking about your collection... I'm so sorry the name is slipping me."

"'Tales of the Forgotten Cities'," I replied with a smile. It was my take on abandoned cities from lost civilizations. It was a very exclusive collection that I had painted for a charity event.

"Right, right! You are very talented," he beamed.

A genuine smile tugged at my lips. "Thank you, Mr. Mehta. I'm glad she enjoyed it."

But the moment of joy was short-lived. Another executive – Sharma? Pathak? Their faces blurred together in this world I wanted no part of – chimed in. "Speaking of talent, when can we expect to see you gracing our offices, Aahana? Surely a brilliant mind like yours belongs in the boardroom. You are, after all, the future of Celestial Flights, am I right?"

My heart sank, the warm glow of pride replaced by a cold dread. Before I could even formulate a diplomatic response, my father's voice boomed across the table

"Yes, of course. In fact, she'll will be joining us next week. It's high time she put aside these frivolous pursuits and focused on her real future."

The warmth from the wine turned to ice in my veins. I gripped my glass tighter, knuckles turning white as my father continued.

"Don't get me wrong, the little paintings, gallery, exhibitions are... cute. But they're hardly a career, are they? No, Aahana needs to step up and take her place in the company. That's where her true potential lies. The world needs to know that the next generation of Agnihotris is ready to take the company to greater heights."

My jaw clenched so tight I feared my teeth might crack. Words of protest burned on my tongue, a volcano of anger and hurt threatening to erupt. My face became a mask, void of emotion, as I listened to my father systematically belittle my passion, my achievements, my very identity.Shame and humiliation washed over me as I realized all eyes at the table were fixed on me, witnessing my public dressing down. I glanced at my mother, who as usual didn't say anything. She continued sipping on her water and avoiding any eye contact with me.

"You know," my father said, gesturing with his fork, "I indulged this little art phase because I thought she'd get it out of her system eventually. But enough is enough. It's time for her to grow up and face reality."

The executives nodded sagely, murmuring their agreement. My mother as usual remained like a statue, her eyes fixed on her plate. The anger inside me threatened to boil over, but I swallowed it down with another gulp of wine, the alcohol burning a path down my throat, matching the fire of my suppressed emotions.

"Ah, Adarsh!" my father called out suddenly, his voice cutting through my inner turmoil. I looked up to see Adarsh approaching, impeccable in his three-piece suit, his hair gelled back in a picture of corporate sophistication.

He smiled as he approached our table. "I don't know if I quite deserve this honor yet, Sir."

"You deserve what I say you deserve," Dad said, in his usual no-nonsense voice. "Have a seat."

Adarsh nodded, taking a seat beside Mr. Mehta. "Thank you, Sir," he said politely. I sensed a shift in the dynamics of the table. Adarsh was an outsider. Everyone else at the table had been with the company and my father for years and hence were an impenetrable team and Adarsh had broken in and gotten into my father's high ranks in a short while. He clearly had ruffled some feathers. Unlike the Adarsh in the afternoon, this version of him didn't even acknowledge my presence.

"Your timing is perfect, Khanna," my father spoke again. "Aahana will be joining the company next week, and I want her to get a comprehensive understanding of our operations. She'll be rotating through all the departments, starting with legal. I trust you can give her a thorough tour and introduction?"

Adarsh's eyes met mine, surprise evident in their depths. For a moment, I thought I saw a flicker of sympathy, but it was gone so quickly I might have imagined it. "It would be my pleasure," he replied, his tone coolly professional.

"Good," my father nodded, satisfied with arranging the pieces of my life to his liking. "You see, Aahana? This is the kind of opportunity you've been missing out on. You'll learn more in a week at the office than you have in all those years doodling."

"I don't doodle, I paint," I said out loud before I could stop myself.

The table fell silent, all eyes turning to me once again. My cheeks burned with humiliation.

"I don't care what you did or didn't do," my father said through gritted teeth. "I expect you to be at the office next Monday at 8:30 AM sharp."

I didn't respond. It was a small rebellion on my part. I took another long drink of wine. The conversation moved on once again, the executives returning to their discussion of profit margins and market expansion. I let the words wash over me, a dull roar in the background as I retreated into my own thoughts.

I imagined myself in my studio, the smell of paint and turpentine, the feel of a brush in my hand. The way my paint would splash on the canvas.

As the evening wore on, servers arrived with their specially prepared meals. I picked at my food, my appetite long gone. I found my gaze drawn to Adarsh, watching as he engaged effortlessly in conversation, his charm on full display. He hadn't once looked in my direction after the brief eye contact earlier.

It was then that I noticed something odd. Despite the steaming plate in front of him, Adarsh hadn't taken a single bite. He moved his fork around, rearranged the food, cut it, but never actually ate anything.