Chapter 9
It was late afternoon and a weekend. Desks were clearing out, voices lowering, the day winding down around them.
Raghav, however, was still working. Or trying to.
His eyes tracked the document on his screen. His attention, successfully, stayed on Ishani.
Movement near her desk caught his eye. Kavya wandered over and leaned casually against the edge, already mid-sentence.
Raghav’s gaze shifted instinctively to his door. His hand moved toward the remote. He stopped. What was he doing? Opening the door to listen in?
Ridiculous.
Still, something about Kavya set his teeth on edge. Too friendly. Too chatty. The kind who turned every harmless detail into office gossip. Ishani didn’t need that.
He told himself he was being practical. Protective. Responsible, even. With a quiet exhale, he pressed the button. The door eased open just enough to let sound carry.
He started reviewing a document, making notes, posture unchanged, eyes on his screen. Anyone watching would think he was deep in work. Only he knew his focus had shifted entirely to the conversation drifting in from outside.
“A bunch of us are heading to Citrus after work,” Kavya said, twirling a pen between her fingers. “You should come. You haven’t joined us even once since you started.”
Raghav’s hand stilled.
“Today?” Ishani said. “I still have the Singapore proposal to finish, and—”
“Come on,” Kavya cut in. “One hour. You can spare that much.”
Raghav frowned.
“Besides,” Kavya added lightly, lowering her voice just enough, “Sam will be there too. He asked about you.”
Something sharp flicked through Raghav’s chest. The pen in his hand bent under his grip.
A soft crack. Ink smeared across his fingers.
He stared at it for a second, then set the broken pieces aside without comment.
He reached out for a tissue, wiping the ink off his hands with more force than necessary.
Samrat Sethi. Creative Director. Thirty-two. Single. Known for his charm and his habit of pursuing every attractive woman in the office.
“Sam?” Ishani’s voice held a note of surprise. “Why would he be asking about—”
Raghav pressed the intercom button with enough force to make the plastic creak.
“Ishani,” he said, his voice calm despite the tightness in his shoulders. “I need you right now. There’s a problem with the Singapore proposal.”
Through the glass, he saw Ishani straighten. “Sorry, Kavya,” she said with a small shrug. “Maybe next time.”
“There’s always a ‘next time’ with you,” Kavya replied, disappointment evident in her tone. “Tell the boss man you have a life outside these walls.”
Raghav released the intercom button, pretending to study his screen as Ishani took her laptop and entered his office. Only when the door closed behind her did he look up, his expression perfectly composed despite the heat still burning in his chest.
“The Singapore numbers need recalculation,” he said, voice flat. “The growth projections are too conservative.”
“The projections were accurate as of this morning,” Ishani replied, opening her laptop. “Did something change?”
“Market conditions,” Raghav answered smoothly. “New data from our Asian team suggests we’re underestimating potential returns by at least fifteen percent.”
It was a lie. The projections were perfect—Ishani’s work always was. But he needed a reason to keep her here, away from Citrus, away from Samrat and his questions about her.
“I’ll revise them right away,” Ishani said, already pulling up the spreadsheets.
“Not just the numbers,” Raghav said, scrolling back through the deck. “The structure needs work. We’re burying the impact. Start again from the acquisition premise.”
Ishani nodded and adjusted her screen.
What followed made sense on paper. A revised framework. A different narrative flow. Cross-checks that led to more cross-checks. Each instruction was reasonable. Taken together, they stretched the evening far longer than planned.
Ishani worked through it without comment. She flagged issues, made revisions, moved on. When one task ended, she was already halfway into the next, unaware that none of this had been on the agenda an hour ago.
The office thinned out around them.
First the support staff, then the department heads. Conversations faded. Elevators chimed and went quiet. By the time the floor finally settled into silence, the only sounds left were the soft tap of her fingers against keyboard and Raghav’s occasional instructions.
Through the glass, he saw Kavya’s group heading out, laughter spilling down the corridor. Samrat walked with them, easy and unhurried, hands in his pockets like the world waited for him.
Raghav returned his attention to the screen, aware of a small, undeniable satisfaction he chose not to examine too closely.
“I think we’ve covered everything now,” Ishani said, checking the time—7:48 PM. “Unless there’s something else you’d like me to revise?”
Before Raghav could invent another task, Ishani’s stomach growled audibly in the quiet office. She pressed a hand against her abdomen, a faint blush coloring her cheeks.
“Sorry,” she murmured.
Raghav didn’t hesitate. He picked up his mobile and placed an order.
“Twenty minutes. We need to finish before the food arrives,” he said, turning back to the files.
Ishani nodded and returned to her spreadsheets, at least in appearance. Her eyes flicked up anyway, betraying her.
Raghav sat rigid at his desk, shoulders tight beneath his perfectly cut shirt, fingers striking the keyboard with the ease that hadn’t been there a few minutes ago.
She bit her lower lip to suppress a smile. Oh, she’d definitely caught that little door click earlier—subtle as a sledgehammer. And the timing of his intercom buzz the moment Samrat’s name came into the conversation? Remarkable timing, really.
She’d seen Raghav negotiate million-dollar deals without blinking, but apparently the mere suggestion of after-work drinks with another man triggered an emergency Singapore proposal revision.
The man was about as subtle as a peacock in mating season, all puffed-up possession without a single direct word. Ridiculous. Infuriating. And yet—heaven help her—why did she find his territorial display so absurdly appealing?
With a small sigh, she forced her attention back to the numbers. Let him think he was being clever. She wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction of knowing she’d noticed.
They worked in silence for another twenty minutes until the security came with the delivery. Raghav had it set down on the conference table in his office.
“Come,” he said, already moving toward it.
Ishani hesitated only a second before following. When he opened the containers, the scent of tomato, garlic, and spice filled the room. He slid the penne arrabbiata toward her without comment.
Ishani stopped short. Blinked. Then looked up at him. “How did you…?”
“Eat,” he said, reaching for his own fork.
No explanation. No acknowledgment of how he remembered a casual dinner order from weeks ago. Just a command, issued with the same authority he applied to business decisions.
Ishani picked up her fork, a small smile playing at the corner of her lips before she quickly suppressed it.
“Thank you,” she said quietly.
He nodded once, as if remembering her favorite meal was simply another task he’d efficiently completed. But beneath his calm exterior, something possessive and primal settled in his chest.
She was here, with him, not at Citrus with Samrat.
Exactly where she belonged.
By the time they finished dinner, it was already late.
Raghav had an urgent call lined up with the Singapore unit. He knew Ishani was exhausted, it showed in the way she moved more carefully now, conserving energy without complaint. And he did feel guilty about it.
“Wait here,” he told her. “I’ll drop you once I’m done.”
Before she could refuse, he was already heading to the conference room.
The meeting ran longer than expected. When it finally ended, Raghav stepped out, rolling his shoulders as he loosened his tie. He was halfway down the corridor when a sound stopped him.
Laughter.
Not the restrained, polite kind, but something lighter. Unguarded. Warm.
He slowed.
Then came her voice, unmistakable now. “Look at his little paws, Maa! What did you name him?”
Raghav approached the break room without thinking, his steps quieter than usual. The door was ajar.
Inside, Ishani sat curled into the corner of the small couch, her back to the door. A tablet rested on her knees, its glow soft against the dim room. She leaned forward as she spoke, completely absorbed.
Her hair was loose. The careful knot she wore all day was gone, dark waves falling over her shoulders. One side tucked behind her ear as she smiled at the screen, eyes bright with something he had never seen, not even when she was working.
For a moment, he just stood there, watching a version of Ishani that only existed in his imaginations. Something in his chest tightened, quiet and unfamiliar.
“He followed your father home from his morning walk,” her mother said from the tablet. “Wouldn’t leave him alone. Your father pretended to be irritated, but he’s already bought three kinds of dog food to see which one the puppy likes.”
Ishani laughed.
It stirred something in Raghav, again. The sound was unguarded and easy. He leaned a little closer without thinking.
“Of course he did,” she said, shaking her head. “He’s wanted a dog ever since I was in college.”
She pushed her hair back absently. Without her jacket, sleeves loose, blouse slightly rumpled from the day, she looked… different. Less put together. More herself.
“We named him Kaju,” her mother continued. “Because he’s small and cream. Like a cashew.”
The screen tilted, and a tiny puppy appeared, wriggling in someone’s arms.
Ishani made a small, delighted sound before she could stop herself. “Oh. He’s perfect,” she said, leaning closer to the screen. “Hello, Kaju. Hello, you.”
Raghav’s breathing changed, grew shallower as he watched her. But he shouldn’t have been watching. He knew that. Still, he didn’t look away.