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...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
"Stop eye-fucking your husband. I am not able to concentrate cuz of the sexual tension radiating around," The note read.
I turned my head, narrowing my eyes to look at the sender beside me. An amused smile was covering her lips as she bit the end of the pen, pretending to look at Aryan who was presenting the plan of execution for the social media campaign.
Shutting the diary in which it was written abruptly, I brought it on my lap and scribbled. "SHUT UP. I AM NOT EYE FUCKING HIM." I slid it back to Maya, who was appointed to work alongside me on the project.
Even though I denied it, there was no doubt that I was indeed eye fucking him. If that's what Maya wanted to call it.
But how could I not? When he looked like a literal eye candy, dressed in a perfectly tailored charcoal-gray suit.
It fitted him like a second skin, enhancing his posture and adding an air of authority to his presence. It made me feel things that I shouldn't be feeling in this public space. Especially not when I am supposed to focus on the subjects of the meeting.
A few strands of hair fell gracefully across his forehead, softening his sharp features and drawing attention to his striking, deep-set eyes. Throughout the presentation, he maintained eye contact, making everyone feel individually involved. His gaze purposefully lingered on me, a little longer than others.
Maya wrote something and passed it to me. "Shore. Nancy is glaring daggers at you, btw. I would be careful if I was you."
That was completely true.
Even through the distance of the entire table, I could feel her sharp kohl laden, wrinkly eyes staring at me for the past twenty and half minutes.
I knew that I was no one to judge the elder or younger age of crushes. God knows I would sell my soul for Ryan Gosling.
But damn, woman. Keep your horses in check, please.
She had to be at least fifty-plus and the way she was leering at my roommate and glaring at me, made me uncomfortable, to understate.
My eyes wandered in her direction as I glared at her right back.
Supporting my elbow on the table, I cupped my left hand to the cheek to make sure that she was seeing the wedding band on my finger, clearly and precisely.
She scowled, looking away.
Now, that's like a nice girl. Good.
"You scared the old turtle. Ria-1 Old Turtle-0." The note read as Maya hid her laugh behind her hand.
"You should not call your seniors by inappropriate names. She has got years of experience in comparison to us." I slid back even though I was tempted to kick my legs up and laugh at that creative nickname.
