Too old.
Too tall.
Too rich.
Too out of my league.
That's Aryan Arora, the billionaire CEO for me. But apparently, he is the perfect marriage material guy according to the world's pushiest parents of mine.
Getting married was neve...
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I could feel the heat of his eyes on the back of my head as I desperately tried to keep my focus on the task at hand.
"And then you tuck the paper from here, like this," I demonstrated, teaching the girls how to fold an origami peacock structure. When they got busy trying by themselves, I turned my head around and glared at Aryan.
A lopsided smile formed on his face as he stood leaning against the edge of the table with his arms folded in front.
I went to stand near him, and with my hands on my waist, I whispered harshly, "Stop staring at me."
"I wasn't staring. I was just...observing." He grinned, deflecting conveniently from the topic.
"And what did you observe?" I challenged.
Tapping his chin dramatically, he pretended to think for a second and answered, leaning to whisper in my ear, "I observed how cute your otherwise scary voice becomes even you talk to kids." His voice dropped to a low note as he continued, "And I also observed, how good you look bent over that table."
In a slow-mo, his eyes connected with mine, entrapping me within them. With my breathing labored, I repeated his words in my head, trying to comprehend their meaning.
But then I caught a glimpse of a self-satisfied, egoistic smirk on his face. He was just messing with me.
Attempting to catch my breath and I said, gritting my teeth, "Stop with this nonsense."
"Only if you-"
Aryan was interrupted by the shrill voice of Amaya calling me. "Ria Didi, come, see this! Fast!"
"Wait a minute, Amaya," I hollered and shifted my attention back to Aryan. "Don't you have to go to the office today?"
"It's Sunday." He shrugged.
"But you always have work to do even on Sundays. So can't you just go to do whatever you do, outside? And perhaps leave us alone?"
"I am free today. And I will do whatever I want. You can't throw me out of my own house," He argued, still grinning.
I grunted, irritated at his lack of compliance. "Then you can at least get lost from this room. This is my space."
"No can do. Because last time I checked, this house still belonged to me. So, technically," He paused to create a theatrical effect, "and legally, this room is also mine."
"Then under the clauses of the Slave contract, I demand you to get lost from here," I said, calmly.
"What Slave contract?"
"Pool party day. Does that ring a bell?" I reminded him.
With a sullen face, he complied sighing, "You don't play fair."
