Publishing-house events always threw DK into a foul mood. They had limited funds but for ‘I don’t understand what bloody reason’ they also had one of the most distinguished guest databases amongst our clients, which meant that we had to put our best foot forward (and sometimes that included forgoing our cut with vendors) whether she wanted to or not. Book launches, evenings with authors, ICCR events with bad cheese and shitty wine—DK hated attending them all. I know this was because she considered spending an evening with the self-important socialites and the unprofitable celebrity of writers and elderly statesmen a colossal waste of her time. And I could see why, as the owner of an event-management agency, she would feel that way. But the truth was, I couldn’t wait to attend one of those events myself, often spending hours at my desk imagining a run-in with Arundhati Roy and the inevitable fantastic conversation that would naturally follow.

‘You’re taking the Mansingh launch,’ she told Ritika as her heels clicked out of the offi ce and into the gleaming white Mercedes that she drove off in every day at five on the dot, somehow having completed more work than all of us put together in the four hours she had spent in the offi ce.

I hadn’t been at Fig Tree for very long, but just a couple of weeks had started to confirm what I should have suspected in the first place: a nine-to-five wasn’t for me. I was lazy, and the pitiful salary that the job drew could hardly serve as any kind of motivation. I hadn’t dragged myself out of bed before noon in years, scheduling only evening classes throughout the latter half of college, and the work itself was mindless—organizing small events, making calls to make sure we had enough Sula and chairs, and sending out endless email invites, personalizing each to make it look like it hadn’t been sent by a twenty-two-year-old first-time employee bored out of her mind and counting down the minutes till she could leave the tiny cubicle that served as her offi ce out in the backlands of the National Capital Region.

Fig Tree wasn’t very large but it was quite successful, operating out of small, well-decorated offi ces in Noida. It was the first place that had called me back when I had sent out my resume, and my interview with DK had been enough reason to take the job.

‘She’s really—I mean, I’ve rarely met someone with such a zest for productivity, you know? It’s inspiring!’

‘Zest as in?’ Ritika and Kiran, the two co-workers I was having lunch with, both looked confused.

‘Mm, enthusiasm, but not exactly. More like eager to achieve goals and stuff.’

Kiran nodded. ‘Oh, yes. No, she’s very strict about our deadlines and events, okay? Don’t mess them or she’ll kill you.’