Yes Boss (The Billionaire Boss Romance #1)

Prologue

Ishani Rao checked her reflection in the towering glass-and-steel exterior. Her navy blazer was crisp, her hair was finally behaving, and she looked exactly like a woman who hadn’t almost tripped over a stray dog on her way. She took a steadying breath and pushed through the revolving doors.

The lobby was massive. It felt less like an office and more like a temple dedicated to making money.

Everything was white marble and black stone, polished so bright she could see her own nervous expression on the floor.

At the center stood a long black desk where four receptionists sat in a row.

They all had the same perfect buns, the same red lipstick, and the same practiced smiles that didn’t reach their eyes.

Even the security guards looked like they’d been hand-picked for their jawlines. They stood near the elevators, watching the morning crowd with crossed arms.

This was Raghav Khanna’s world—a man who had turned his father’s consultancy business into a multi-billion-dollar empire in just ten years.

Business magazines called him a visionary; the internet called him a shark.

Looking at the sheer scale of the lobby, Ishani figured the shark part was probably more accurate.

She walked up to the desk, gave her name, and was handed a silver guest pass.

“45th Floor,” the receptionist said, her voice as cool as the AC. “The final round happens with the top boss.”

Ishani headed to the elevators. As the glass lift shot upward, Mumbai began to shrink. The yellow-and-black taxis and the crowded tea stalls below turned into tiny dots, replaced by a bird’s-eye view of the Arabian Sea.

The elevator dinged at the 45th floor. She stepped out, straightened her shoulders, and walked towards the waiting area as directed by the security guard standing at the floor’s entrance.

The waiting area held four other women, all in formal business attire, all clutching folders. Ishani recognized them from the preliminary rounds two days earlier. She took the last available seat, placed her slim leather folder on her lap, and observed.

One candidate repeatedly checked her makeup in a compact mirror. Another rehearsed answers under her breath. The third kept adjusting her blouse, while the fourth scrolled frantically through her phone, perhaps reviewing company information.

”I heard he made the last assistant cry in the middle of a board meeting,” the woman with the compact whispered, leaning toward her neighbor. “She only lasted four months.”

”Five is the average,” the neighbor replied, finally looking up. “My cousin works in accounting. She says nobody makes it past six months. The man is a total machine.”

Ishani didn’t join the huddle. She let the gossip wash over her, focusing instead on the heavy silence of the hallway.

Six months. A machine. She didn’t care about the rumors or the severance package or the golden ticket everyone else seemed to be chasing.

She just looked at the polished door at the end of the hall.

If Raghav Khanna was a machine, he hadn’t met her yet.

“He’s brilliant but impossible,” the woman with the compact continued, her voice dropping an octave. “He demands perfection at every hour. One tiny mistake and you’re finished.”

”That’s nothing,” the third candidate chimed in, leaning forward. “I heard he fired his last secretary because her coffee arrived at 8:32 instead of 8:30. Two minutes, and she was out on the street.”

The fourth woman finally looked up from her phone. “My friend’s sister was in Legal. She said he once made an entire department pull an all-nighter just to redo a presentation. Not because the data was wrong, but because he didn’t like the font.”

Ishani watched them. It was like they were sharing ghost stories around a campfire, their voices lowered as if Raghav Khanna might materialize out of the central air conditioning if they spoke too loud.

They were terrified, yet here they were, adjusting their blazers and praying for the chance to work for the monster.

The heavy office door clicked open. A young woman stepped out, her makeup still flawless, but her eyes were glassy and rimmed with red. She didn’t look at anyone as she bolted toward the elevators.

”Ms. Singh?” an assistant called out, tapping a stylus against a tablet.

The woman with the compact stood up, smoothed her skirt with trembling hands, and disappeared inside.

Twenty minutes passed. When Ms. Singh returned, she managed a tight, fake smile for the room. But as she passed Ishani, her shoulders slumped, and the mask crumbled. It wasn’t a total breakdown, but she looked like she’d just survived a high-speed car chase.

The pattern didn’t break. Confident entrances, shattered exits. One by one, the room emptied until...

”Ms. Rao?”

Ishani stood up. She held the folder against her chest and followed the assistant toward the door.

The office was so quiet Ishani could hear the ticking of her own watch. As she followed the assistant, she noticed how the energy changed on this floor. People didn’t just work here; they hovered. They spoke in whispers and moved like they were trying not to wake a sleeping giant.

The walls were covered in dark wood and the kind of fancy art you see in galleries but never actually understand. Everything was sleek, polished, and intimidatingly clean.

Nobody looked her in the eye as she walked down the long hallway, but she could feel them watching.

These were the people who saw Raghav Khanna every day.

They looked sharp, alert, and very, very careful.

It was the kind of office where “casual Friday” probably meant wearing a slightly less expensive suit.

At the very end of the hall, she reached a massive desk. The nameplate was simple: Executive Assistant to the CEO.

The assistant didn’t say a word. She just gave the heavy door a single, sharp knock and pushed it open.

Ishani took one deep breath to steady her heart, gripped her folder, and stepped inside.