His (Personal) Assistant

THE EVENT

Precisely at seven-thirty the car pulled smoothly to a stop at the curb in front of Annika's apartment complex and she hurried downstairs, glad it was dark so Shivaay's driver wouldn't see the less-than-desirable neighbourhood she lived in, in broad daylight. She slid into the back seat and was startled to see he was already there, dressed in all black, perfectly fitted suit, smelling deliciously like some expensive cologne, and looking just as startled at her appearance as she'd been at seeing him. "What?" she asked self-consciously, reaching for her bag to pull out a mirror and check her hair and makeup.

She'd allowed Gauri to subject her to even more beautification after they'd selected Annika's outfit, and now her long dark hair billowed in big, sexy curls around her face and her lips were painted a bright blood red. The golden gown that caught the light and glittered with only the slightest movement clung in just the right places, the low back and deeply plunging neckline accenting her ass and breasts to perfection, also complimented her creamy olive skin tone and brown eyes and made any jewelry unnecessary. Shivaay gulped, trying to remember she was his assistant, and more importantly, Viren's sister, and it would be against the man-code to try anything with her. "Nothing," he managed to rasp out. "You look..." He tried to think of words that didn't sound crude, but could only come up with, "Bloody brilliant."

She grinned and blushed a little, feeling slightly flustered by the compliment and too exposed. "Thanks," she said in a small voice. "Er, you do too." They settled into a slightly uncomfortable silence on the drive to the venue, Annika staring out the window trying to ignore the awkward tension that being in her boss's company outside work brought in her, and Shivaay trying to silence the unsavoury thoughts that Annika's outfit brought on.

Upon arriving, a valet opened Annika's door for her and she climbed out carefully, trying to avoid stepping on the hem of her gown, smiling gratefully as the young man offered her a gloved hand in assistance. Shivaay materialized at her elbow and offered her his arm, and despite her hesitation Annika took it as he lead her up the steps and into the building. Immediately as they stepped through the wide double front doors, the overwhelming din of a crowd of people talking and shouting and flashing photos hit Annika like a brick wall; she certainly hadn't been expecting something quite so boisterous.

"Brace yourself," Shivaay said quietly, and she glanced up to see his face set into a dazzling smile, and with the practised ease of having done it countless times before, he drew her forward with him into the mass of people in a slow-moving sort of line around which members of the press, assorted assistants, and photographers crowded, all trying to interview or at least snap a picture of someone of importance. "And at least try to smile, Annika," he added, glancing down at her as people began to notice Shivaay's arrival.

Annika smiled automatically, even though she felt as though she might be sick at any moment. "I'm not sure I can do this," she murmured.

Shivaay released her from his arm and brought it around her, hand resting on the small of her back, warm and somehow reassuring against the exposed flesh just above the dip in her gown. "You're doing fine. Just breathe and relax. Though I'll admit, I wonder how it is you can organize my life down to the minute and yet go faint at the thought of being the centre of attention. It's almost worrisome, really."

Annika didn't know whether to be amused or exasperated, but she realized she had forgotten, at least for a moment, that people were now taking her picture and shouting random, half-unintelligible questions at them. She grinned with genuine gratitude and lifted her chin slightly. "Thanks," she whispered, and then beamed out at the photographers, who went wild snapping her picture.

They made their way through the line, Shivaay occasionally stopping to talk to people he knew, Annika doing her very best to remain calm and collected as she subjected herself to intense and high public scrutiny. Finally, after what felt like hours to the girl, they reached the end of the press assembly and after turning down a short hallway they came to another set of wide double doors that two white-collared butlers waved them through to a grandly proportioned room with a glass-domed ceiling. The volume in this room was much more subdued, just a low murmur of conversation occasionally punctuated by the odd laugh and the clink of champagne flutes toasting together. "Champagne?" Shivaay asked, guiding her, his hand still at the small of her back, toward the bar.