Page 102 of Carnal Games

I’m trying to concentrate on a bunch of reports, but my mind is elsewhere.

It’s stuck on my perky and chatty assistant, who should be in the office but hasn’t arrived yet. Despite leaving our building before me.

One might say she must’ve gone to the bathroom or taken a break to chat with her old friend, Yukta. However, I know that’s not the case today.

Despite Iris being here only for a week, I’ve learned her routine down to a T.

The minute I’m in my office, she’s on my heels, so it’s with her I’m starting my day. I won’t lie, I’ve become addicted to it. I can also tell she’s been in my space to water the plants from her lingering perfume. Something about her exuberance, bright smile, and flamboyant outfits that remind me of a rainbow makes me enthusiastic too.

Don’t get me wrong, I love my work. The company is my baby that I’ve built from scratch through hardships and hurdles that will make most men admit defeat. The fuel in my veins to succeed came from proving my father wrong, whose last taunt to me was I’ll be a low-life scum without the Singhania name.

That I’ll be a nobody without him.

Now who’s got the last laugh?

The media has spread many alleged stories about why I emancipated from my family, ranging from my army career that my father didn’t approve of to wanting to create my own legacy away from his shadow, and whatnot.

None have come close to the truth.

Arjun pops his head in after a knock, and says, “Mr. Singhania, I—”

“Did Miss Mannan come?”

“No.”

Where the hell is she then?

Come to think of it, how does she travel every day? I haven’t seen her drive a car or any sign of keys to indicate she even has one. That only leaves one option—the metro.

The thought of her riding in a coach full of sick creeps and touchy-feely men doesn’t sit well with me. Nor does the image of her being trampled on in the hustle and bustle of the crowd getting off the station, especially with her obsession with wearing heels.

How she has a perpetual grin on her face while walking in those death traps is a miracle.

“Actually, that’s what I came here to inform you,” replies Arjun, stepping inside completely. “Miss Mannan is running a little late.”

“Did she call you?”

“Yes.” Biting back a smirk, he mutters, “Though it probably wasn’t a wise decision.”

The glint in his eye irks me. I sharply demand, “Care to explain what you mean by that, Mr. Patel?”

Fear makes his amusement vanish. He clears his throat before explaining, “Iris is currently at the police station.”

My body goes rigid at the revelation. Did my fear come true? Did someone hurt her while she was traveling? I’m going to kill whoever touched her. I’m on my feet in a flash and grab my phone. “Who hurt her?”

“More like who she hurt.”

I glare at him, seconds away from punching him if he keeps talking in circles.

“She’s in a hold-up cell, waiting for bail,” he replies hastily.

My movements slow as I make sure I heard him correctly. I repeat it for extra measure. “Are you saying she’s behind bars?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Did she mention which station?” I ask, halfway to the door. “Who’s on the way to get her out?”

“She’s at Ketan Police Station. No clue if someone’s on their way to her. She wanted me to pass on the message that she’s sorry she wouldn’t be able to bring your breakfast on time.”