Chapter 5
Monday afternoon seemed like more challenging than it had ever been. Assistants rushed between desks with urgent files for the contract signing due next week.
Ishani, meanwhile, was absorbed in her work, fingers flying across her keyboard as she managed Raghav’s overflowing calendar. Her rhythm broke when her phone rang. The caller id showed it was Westbrook Industries, one of their largest international clients.
She lifted the receiver, pressed it against her ear, her voice measured and professional. “Mr. Khanna’s office, Ishani Rao speaking.”
The shouting started immediately. Mr. Westbrook’s voice blasted through the receiver, so loud that Ishani had to pull it away from her ear.
“I understand your concerns, Mr. Westbrook,” Ishani said, her voice deliberately calm as she brought the phone back to her ear. “However, the terms were clearly outlined in section—”
The client cut her off with another blast of accusations. Something about breach of contract. Something about incompetence. His voice grew louder with each sentence.
Ishani’s shoulders tensed. Her grip on the phone tightened, her knuckles turning white.
It was the only sign of the pressure she felt beneath her calm exterior.
With her other hand, she straightened the papers on her desk, stacking them neatly.
If she could bring order to that small space, maybe it would help her handle the chaos coming through the phone.
“If you’ll allow me to explain,” she tried again. “The clause in question was actually requested by your legal team during the third round of—”
More shouting. Crude words now. Personal insults.
From the corner of her eye, Ishani caught movement.
Raghav had returned from his meeting.
He stopped mid-step as another burst of shouting forced her to pull the receiver away from her ear. The sharp and unrestrained voice sliced through the executive floor.
Raghav heard it.
Something in his expression shifted instantly.
The composed calm he wore like armor fractured, revealing something colder underneath.
His jaw tightened, a muscle jumping at his temple.
The calculating restraint in his eyes gave way to something unmistakably dangerous — the kind that made even board members reconsider their tone.
He changed direction.
“Mr. Westbrook, if you could please lower your voice—” Ishani began, forcing the receiver back to her ear.
Raghav reached her desk.
He held out his hand.
Ishani hesitated—half a breath—caught between protocol and the unspoken command in his gaze.
She placed the phone in his palm.
Their fingers brushed as it passed between them—warm skin against her cooler touch. The contact lasted a moment too long, in a gesture that felt more possessive than professional.
Ishani pulled her hand back, pulse skittering despite herself.
The floor went silent.
Raghav raised the phone to his ear, his expression thunderous.
“Mr. Westbrook.” His voice was cool, controlled, and laced with quiet danger. “This is Raghav Khanna.”
A pause.
Ishani noticed the shift in the client’s voice—his bravado faded, replaced by a wary tone.
“Khanna Consolidated values its partnerships,” Raghav continued, voice precise, measured. “But no one speaks to my employees that way.”
Another pause.
“Call back when you’re capable of basic professional courtesy.”
He ended the call without waiting for a response. The quiet that followed was absolute.
Raghav set the receiver back into its cradle.
He didn’t step away.
Instead, he leaned in—slow, deliberate—until the space between them vanished. His hands came down on the arms of her chair, close enough to box her in without touching her. The authority in his posture was absolute.
Ishani felt it immediately. The heat of him. The weight of his presence pressing into her awareness. She could have pushed back. Could have stood.
She didn’t.
“When someone speaks to you like that,” he said, voice low, edged with something raw he hadn’t bothered to smooth out, “you don’t stay polite.”
His gaze locked onto hers, dark and unyielding.
“You tell them that disrespect ends the conversation.” His jaw tightened. “And if they push, you bring it to me.”
He leaned closer, just enough that his breath brushed her cheek, that she caught the scent of sandalwood and something darker beneath it.
“I deal with those bastards.”
The finality in his tone sent a shiver through her. This close, she noticed everything—the hard line of his mouth, the tension held in his shoulders, the pulse beating steadily at his temple like he was restraining far more than anger.
“Do you understand?”
It wasn’t a question.
Her throat worked once before she answered. “Yes.”
One word. Soft. Steady.
Something flickered in his eyes at that—approval, possession, restraint. His gaze dropped, briefly, unmistakably, to her lips.
The air tightened. Dangerous. Charged. A second too long for an office. Too long for witnesses pretending not to exist.
Then he straightened.
Just like that, distance returned. Abrupt. Cold. Controlled. His hands lifted from the chair as if they’d never been there. He turned away without looking back, composure sliding back into place.
The door to his office closed behind him. A moment later, the blinds came down.
Ishani remained seated, breath unsteady, fingers curled lightly against the armrest—fully aware that nothing had happened.
And that everything had.
For a moment, the entire floor seemed to freeze.
Pens hovered mid-sentence. Keyboards went quiet. Someone cleared their throat. A phone rang, too loud in the sudden stillness. Slowly, the sound returned, cautiously, as if everyone were testing whether it was safe to breathe again.
Ishani didn’t move.
She sat exactly as she had before, hands folded neatly in her lap, posture flawless.
Only she could feel it—the faint awareness where his presence had lingered, where his breath had brushed too close to be accidental.
Her skin still hummed, as though something invisible had been pressed there and left behind.
Her expression never wavered.
Inside, nothing felt settled.
In all the months she’d worked for Raghav Khanna, she had never seen that side of him. Not in meetings. Not during negotiations. Not even with difficult clients. This had been something else entirely. Controlled, yes, but edged with something territorial. Protective.
Possessive.
Over her.
She turned back to her screen, fingers moving steadily, ignoring the sideways glances, the sudden curiosity rippling through the floor. She gave them nothing.
But memory was harder to dismiss.
His face close to hers. His voice, low and commanding. The heat in his eyes when he’d said he would handle the bastards.
‘My employees,’ he’d said.
But his gaze had told a different story, one that had nothing to do with policy or hierarchy, and everything to do with the man behind the title.
Three Hours Later
The coffee machine hissed softly as Ishani pressed the button for Raghav’s usual black coffee. One sugar cube. The only indulgence he allowed himself during work hours.
She lifted the cup carefully and walked toward his office, aware of the sideways glances tracking her movement. The blinds of the glass walls were still half-drawn.
Ishani paused at the door, raising her knuckles to knock. Through the narrow gaps in the blinds, she saw him bent over his desk, focused on documents as if nothing had happened that morning.
She paused at the door.
Through the narrow gaps in the blinds, she saw him bent over his desk, focused on documents as if nothing had happened that morning.
She knocked once, softly.
“Enter,” came his clipped response.
The office felt different with the blinds down. Smaller. Contained. Strips of Mumbai sunlight cut across the desk, illuminating his hands while leaving his face in shadow.
Ishani stepped in, the warmth of the coffee grounding her.
“Coffee,” she said, placing the cup at the exact corner of his desk where he always preferred it. Close enough to reach, far enough to avoid accidental spills on important documents. “And I wanted to thank you. For earlier. With Westbrook.”
Raghav didn’t look up. His pen moved once in a decisive line across the page. The sound was sharp in the quiet.
“It was about company reputation,” he said, voice flat. “Not personal. No client speaks to Khanna Consolidated employees that way.”
The dismissal was practiced, perfect. His hand tightened around the pen anyway.
Ishani noticed. Of course she did.
She nodded, accepting the explanation without challenging it, even as she noticed the discrepancy in his words and earlier actions. If it had been policy, he could have taken the call in his office. He hadn’t needed to step in. Hadn’t needed to get that close.
Hadn’t needed to make it feel like something else entirely.
“Nevertheless,” she said quietly, “thank you.”
She turned to leave, her steps muted against the plush carpet. She had nearly reached the door when his voice stopped her.
“Ishani.”
Her name in his mouth sounded different than when others said it—weighted somehow, as if he tasted each syllable before releasing it. She turned, one hand still resting on the handle.
Raghav had finally looked up.
A thin strip of sunlight caught his eyes, exposing what his voice had tried to keep hidden. The sharpness she was used to had softened, replaced by something warmer. Unguarded.
Dangerous.
“Are you alright?” he asked.
The question landed differently than anything he’d said before. It was concern.
“I’m fine,” she said, clasping her hands together to still them. “It wasn’t the first difficult call I’ve handled.”
His jaw tightened. “But it was the first time someone spoke to you like that in my office.”
His voice dropped slightly. “On my watch.”
Her back pressed lightly against the door, grounding her. “Really,” she said, quieter now. “I’m fine.”
Raghav’s eyes narrowed slightly. They traveled from her forehead to her chin in a slow, deliberate path, lingering at the pulse point in her neck. Ishani’s skin prickled with heat. She resisted the urge to touch her throat where his gaze had just been.
“Good,” he said at last.
He didn’t move. Neither did she. The seconds stretched. One. Two. Three.
The hum of the air-conditioning filled the silence, useless against the heat creeping up her neck. Her pulse beat louder, faster, betraying her composure.
"Is there anything else, Boss?"
The title did what nothing else had.
Raghav blinked once. The warmth vanished. Control settled back over him with practiced ease.
“No,” he said, voice rough. “That will be all.”
Ishani nodded and turned quickly, opening the door before the silence could stretch again. She didn’t look back.
Behind her, Raghav remained seated, eyes still fixed on the place where she’d stood, aware that the line between them had been tested.
And left trembling.
Outside the office, Ishani exhaled slowly, resting her palm against the solid wood of the door. Her fingers trembled—not from fear or anxiety, but from something more unsettling.
She returned to her desk, aware of the glances tracking her movement across the floor. News of the morning’s confrontation had spread throughout the office. Now her colleagues watched with poorly disguised curiosity, wondering what had happened behind the partially closed blinds.
Ishani sat and turned to her screen at once.
She gave them nothing.
Her fingers moved over the keyboard, drafting an email she would later have to rewrite. The words blurred. Her focus wasn’t on them. It was on the awareness she couldn’t shake.
The awareness of Raghav watching her through glass and shadow. She felt his attention as tangible as a touch against her skin.
This changed the course. For her. For him. For them.