Chapter 2
At seven twenty-five, Ishani stepped off the elevator onto the executive floor. The space was quiet, washed in early morning light. Desks were empty. The day hadn’t begun yet.
Ansh Bhasin stood waiting by the reception desk, tablet in hand, expression friendly but assessing.
“Ishani.” He nodded, checking his watch. “Five minutes early. Good start.”
“Good morning, Mr. Bhasin.”
“Ansh, please.” He gestured for her to follow. “I’ll show you around before others arrive. It’s easier without the distractions.”
She matched his pace as they moved down the corridor.
“Your card works for the executive level,” Ansh said, not looking back to confirm she was keeping up. “Anything beyond that, boss decides.”
“Understood.”
They turned a corner. He stopped, turning to face her. “Finance and Legal that side. Marketing and Development the other.” A beat. “You’ll deal with heads, not assistants.”
She nodded once.
They passed a glass-walled conference room where cleaning staff were finishing up.
“Daily management meetings happen here at nine sharp. You’ll take minutes. The format is in the templates folder.” He paused, watching her expression. “The previous assistant struggled to keep up with Boss’ pace.”
“I type ninety-five words per minute,” Ishani replied. “With near-perfect accuracy.”
Ansh’s mouth twitched, just slightly. “We’ll see.”
As they walked, Ansh gestured toward the glass-lined offices.
“HR,” he said. “Efficient. Thorough. Nothing here is ever forgotten.”
Ishani caught the message immediately.
They moved on.
“Finance,” he continued. “Accuracy over speed. Don’t guess. Ever.”
She nodded once.
“Marketing,” he said next, tone shifting slightly. “Big ideas. Flexible timelines. Follow-ups are… necessary.”
“Twice?” she asked.
“At least.”
They passed a sleek kitchen stocked with spotless counters and expensive machines.
“Boss prefers black coffee, one sugar, served at eight-fifteen and again at three if he’s in the office.” Ansh’s tone suggested this information was a critical national security protocol.
“Not two-fifteen?” Ishani asked, her expression perfectly serious.
Ansh’s eyes narrowed slightly before he caught the subtle humor. “No. Three. Unless there’s a board meeting, then it’s brought in at the forty-five minute mark.” He continued after a beat, “The kitchen staff handles lunch orders. You’ll coordinate timing with his schedule.”
As they passed the center of the floor, Ishani noticed the assistants who had arrived. They paused just long enough to look at her—openly curious, barely discreet.
“They’ve been through four of you in eighteen months,” Ansh said quietly, following her gaze. “They’re placing bets on how long you’ll last.”
“What’s the current record?” Ishani asked.
“Five months, two weeks, three days.”
She nodded. “Noted.”
Ansh turned down the last corridor. Raghav Khanna’s office dominated the end of it. And directly outside the glass wall, set apart from the rest, was a single desk.
Hers.
It stood just far enough from the others to mark separation, close enough to the office to be unmistakably connected. From where she stood, she could already tell—he’d be able to see her clearly through the glass. Always.
“This is your workstation,” Ansh said, gesturing to the desk. “All his calls come through you.”
Ishani set her folder down, taking it in. Dual monitors. Clean surface. A space meant to be occupied, not settled into.
“The system’s already configured,” Ansh continued, handing her a sealed envelope. “Passwords. Change them immediately.”
“Of course.”
“You’ll manage his calendar, correspondence, and meeting materials. Your job is to make sure his day runs without interruption.” A pause. “The manual’s been sent to your system. It’s thorough.”
“I’ll go through it today.”
Ansh studied her for a moment.
“The most important thing,” he said, “is that Boss values efficiency above everything else. He doesn’t repeat instructions. He doesn’t tolerate delays. And he expects problems to be resolved before they reach him.”
“Understood.”
“This role is visible,” Ansh continued. “You’ll be treated as the gateway to him. People will test you. Push for access. Fish for information.” His gaze sharpened slightly. “Mishandle it, and it won’t stay contained.”
Ishani met his eyes. “I don’t involve myself in office politics, Mr. Bhasin.”
Something in her tone must have settled the matter. Ansh nodded once.
“One last thing.” He checked his watch. “Be at your desk by seven-thirty every morning. Mr. Khanna arrives at eight.”
“Seven-thirty,” she repeated.
Another pause. Longer this time.
“Good,” Ansh said finally. “I’ll leave you to settle in. He’ll have tasks for you when he arrives.”
He turned and walked away.
Ishani sat down at the desk, alone now—separated from the others, positioned directly outside the glass wall of Raghav Khanna’s office.
Prominent. Exposed. Unavoidable.
She set her bag beneath the desk, straightened the monitor, and opened her system.
Raghav stepped off the private elevator at precisely eight o’clock. He paused briefly, observing the executive floor from the corridor before proceeding to his office.
Ishani sat at her desk outside his door, already working. Her fingers moved across the keyboard. She didn’t look up as he approached, though he knew she must have heard the elevator doors.
Interesting.
“Good morning, Boss,” she said, finally glancing up when he was three steps away. Not too eager, not too late. Her timing was precise.
“Morning.” He nodded once, noting she’d already signed into the system. The company logo rotated slowly on her secondary monitor while her primary display showed his calendar for the day.
He continued into his office.
Outside the glass, Ishani returned to her work, picking up where she’d left off.
Raghav noticed.
Most people checked. Adjusted. Waited for acknowledgement they pretended not to want.
He slipped out of his jacket and hung it in the built-in closet, movements automatic. When he glanced back through the glass, Ishani was organizing her desk.
Notebook squared to the keyboard. Pens aligned. Files set away without excess movement or second-guessing. There was no clutter, no personal items, only what she needed, exactly where she needed it.
It was efficient. Unshowy. Uncomfortably similar to what he did. Perhaps that’s what caught his attention.
He turned to his computer, letting it boot while his attention stayed where it shouldn’t.
Ishani adjusted her chair, raised the screen a little, lowered it again. Once satisfied, she settled in. When the phone rang, she picked it up on the second ring.
Raghav pressed the remote, easing his door open just enough for sound to carry.
Her voice drifted in—clear, composed, neither warm nor distant.
“Mr. Khanna’s office. This is Ishani Rao.”
A pause.
“I understand. Mr. Khanna’s schedule is full today. I can offer Thursday at two or Friday at eleven.”
Another pause. Her expression didn’t change.
“I appreciate your position,” she said calmly, “but those are the available options. Thursday or Friday?”
Firm. Clean. Final.
Raghav leaned back. The last assistant—Meera, Mira, something like that—had never managed this balance. Too accommodating one week, defensive the next. Either way, everything slowed down.
Ishani ended the call, logged the details, and moved on without a beat, as if the next task had already been waiting for her.
When Ansh stopped by with a stack of files, Raghav found himself paying closer attention.
“These need Mr. Khanna’s signature by noon,” Ansh said, placing them on her desk. “They’re prioritized.”
“I’ll review them first,” Ishani replied, opening the top folder.
Ansh paused. “They’ve already been cleared by Legal.”
“Still,” she said, eyes on the page.
The tone left no room for debate.
Most new hires fumbled when Ansh stopped—adjusted their posture, waited for approval. Ishani didn’t. She kept reading, unhurried.
After a moment, Ansh nodded once and walked away.
Raghav watched through the glass.
Interesting.
Not long after, a department director stopped at Ishani’s desk, leaning in to speak to her.
Raghav couldn’t hear what was said, but he watched the exchange unfold. Ishani listened without pausing her work, nodded once, then shook her head. The director tried again. She glanced at the calendar on her screen, said something brief, and this time the man straightened, nodded, and walked away.
He realized he’d been observing her for nearly fifteen minutes.
Too long for a simple assessment of a new employee.
He turned back to his screen and opened his emails, fingers moving faster than necessary.
This was work. Nothing more. She handled his schedule.
She handled access. Of course he was paying attention.
He fired off a reply, crisp and to the point. His focus should have stayed there. It didn’t.
He noticed the movement beyond that glass. And, briefly, that annoyed him.