Chapter 3 #2
Ishani moved to the table, placing her laptop and files down neatly. Raghav took the opposite side, arranging the printouts, suddenly aware of the space between them—or rather, how little of it there was.
“Let’s start with the technology division,” he said, keeping his focus on the papers. “That’s where the board will push back.”
For a while, they worked in silence.
Keys clicked. Pages shifted. Numbers moved from one column to another. Without discussion, they slipped into rhythm. Ishani slid reports toward him before he asked. He flagged lines she’d already pulled up on her screen.
At one point, she frowned at a figure.
“Wait,” she said. “That percentage doesn’t align with the Singapore inputs.”
Raghav stepped around the table, coming up behind her chair. He leaned in, one hand braced on the table as he pointed at the screen.
“Here,” he said quietly. “Look at how it carries forward.”
She felt him before she saw him. Too close.
She tilted her head slightly to follow his finger and looked up.
He was already looking down.
For a second, neither of them moved. The space between them tightened, charged with the kind of awareness that had nothing to do with the numbers on the screen.
Raghav straightened first.
“That needs adjusting,” he said, voice even, stepping back to his side of the table.
Ishani exhaled slowly and returned to the keyboard.
The food arrived not long after, delivered by security. They shifted the papers aside to make room for the containers.
“I didn’t ask what you prefer,” Raghav realized belatedly, watching her open them. “I just ordered my usual.”
“It’s fine,” she said, then added, almost absently, “Though I wouldn’t have guessed you liked spicy food.”
He glanced at her. “Why not?”
She shrugged. “You strike me as someone who prefers control. Spice is chaos.”
That did it.
A short laugh escaped him before he could stop it. “Perhaps I like controlled chaos.”
She smiled faintly, returning to her food.
They ate without speaking for several minutes. The city lights shimmered through the windows, the emptiness of the floor creating a strange bubble around them.
“These projections for Southeast Asia,” Ishani said at last, tapping a slide with her fork. “The growth timeline seems aggressive.”
Raghav looked up. Assistants didn’t comment on strategy. They took notes, followed instructions, and kept their opinions to themselves. He should shut this down immediately.
“Why do you think so?” he asked instead.
She didn’t hesitate. “You’re estimating eighteen months to enter Vietnam and Thailand. But approvals there have slowed. Governments are prioritising local businesses.”
He set his fork aside. “You’ve looked into this?”
“I reviewed the background material while finalising the presentation,” she said, as if that were standard practice, like all assistants would dig deep into international rules and regulations.
“What do you think we should do?” The question came out before he could think about what it meant to ask her for advice.
“Start with Singapore,” she said, already pulling up a document. “You have infrastructure and credibility there. Use it as your base while building relationships in Vietnam and Thailand. That pushes the timeline to twenty-four, maybe thirty months—but it reduces friction.”
Raghav leaned back, studying her. It echoed a concern his strategy team had raised weeks ago. One he’d dismissed as cautious thinking.
“That’s close to what Marketing suggested last month,” he said. “I thought they were being conservative.”
“Sometimes patience is the more aggressive move,” Ishani said, then paused. “But you know these markets better than I do.”
The retreat was small. Polite. Amusing.
“Do I?” he said lightly. “You seem well informed.”
“I spent a semester in Singapore during my MBA,” she said, returning to her food. “Business there runs on relationships first. Speed comes later. It’s not Mumbai. Or New York.”
Raghav explained his thoughts about the need for quicker growth and the tough competition they faced. Ishani listened closely, asking smart questions that showed she understood international business well.
“We have a challenging investor in Singapore,” he said, revealing information he usually kept to himself. “Recently took over his father’s board seat. He questions every decision I make.”
Ishani nodded. “I’ve read his emails. He’s far more aggressive there than he is on calls.”
Raghav looked at her. “You noticed that?”
“I did.” She hesitated, then added, “He responds better when you acknowledge his concerns first. After that, he’s easier to steer.”
He considered it. “I’ve been pushing him into video calls to avoid the emails. It works, but it’s exhausting.”
“Try starting with agreement,” she suggested. “Then set the boundary. He wants to feel heard before he falls in line.”
The conversation flowed easily after that. Less instruction, more exchange. Raghav found himself explaining his reasoning instead of issuing directives. Ishani offered suggestions without overstepping, adjusting when he pushed back, holding her ground when it mattered.
As they worked side by side, the space between them seemed to thin, as if the room itself were drawing them closer.
They reached for the same document. Their fingers brushed. The touch was light, accidental, but neither of them moved away immediately. The contact lingered just long enough to register, a quiet spark that made the moment stretch.
“Sorry,” Ishani said softly.
Raghav cleared his throat. “It’s fine.”
It wasn’t.
The air shifted, subtle but unmistakable.
He became acutely aware of how close they were sitting now, close enough to catch the warmth of her, close enough to notice the faint scent that followed her movements.
His eyes lingered on her longer than appropriate.
The straight line of her nose. The slight furrow between her brows as she concentrated.
The curve of her neck as she bent over the keyboard.
When she looked up suddenly and caught him watching, Raghav’s gaze snapped back to the spreadsheet in front of him.
Too late.
Warmth crept up the back of his neck, sharp and unwelcome. He didn’t move, didn’t acknowledge it, but the awareness sat there—loud, intrusive.
“I think we’ve covered everything,” he said, more curtly than intended. “The projections are solid now.”
Ishani nodded, already closing her laptop. “Is there anything else you’ll need for tomorrow’s meeting?”
“No.” He stood, deliberately putting space between them. “Thank you for staying late.”
“It’s my job, Boss.”
“I’ll arrange a car for you.”
She looked up. “That’s not—”
“I need to make sure you get home safely,” he said, tone leaving no room for debate. “At this hour.”
That ended it.
He turned, already dialing, instructing transport to send a car. Not just for tonight—but from now on. Every evening. No exceptions.
When he hung up, Ishani said nothing. She only nodded once.
“Goodnight,” she said quietly.
As she left his office, laptop tucked under her arm, Raghav stayed where he was. Through the glass, he watched her reflection gather her purse, straighten her desk, and walk toward the elevators.
The floor felt too quiet once she was gone. Too empty.
Professional boundaries existed for a reason. He needed to remember that.