Chapter 4
Midweek brought a morning Raghav usually handled without pause. Back-to-back meetings. Urgent calls. Decisions that couldn’t be delayed.
He sat at the head of the conference table, walking the technology team through market positioning, when movement near the door caught his attention.
Ansh was hovering. That alone was unusual. He didn’t interrupt unless something was already on fire.
Raghav finished his point on market positioning. He excused himself and stepped into the corridor closing the door behind him.
“What is it?” he asked.
“Natasha Mehra is here,” Ansh said, lowering his voice. “She bypassed security. Claimed she’s an old friend.”
Raghav’s jaw tightened.
Old friend was a generous lie. Natasha had never been anything of the sort.
A family acquaintance, introduced years ago, who had mistaken proximity for permission.
He’d never encouraged her, never reciprocated, never crossed a line.
But that had never stopped her. She clung.
She assumed. And when she felt ignored, she escalated.
“Where is she?” he asked.
“That’s the problem.” Ansh glanced down the corridor. “Ishani intercepted her. She’s at reception. On this floor.”
Something cold settled in Raghav’s chest.
Natasha didn’t understand restraint. When she was upset, professionalism meant nothing to her. She’d shown up at his office once before, unannounced, loud enough to draw half the floor’s attention. The gossip had taken weeks to die down.
“Take a fifteen-minute break,” he told the team inside the conference room, ignoring their surprised expressions. “We’ll resume with the market entry strategy.”
He moved through the corridor, rounding the corner just in time to see Ishani guiding Natasha toward one of the smaller conference rooms near reception.
Even from a distance, she was unmistakable.
She wore a fitted red dress that stood out aggressively against the neutral office palette, her heels clicking sharply as she walked. Her gestures were wide, dramatic, her voice pitched high enough that a few heads had turned before Ishani intervened. She looked furious. Embarrassed. Entitled.
Ishani, by contrast, moved with calm efficiency. One hand indicated the conference room. The other remained relaxed at her side. Her expression was neutral, composed, almost impassive.
The door closed behind them.
Raghav reached the reception desk. “What happened?”
The receptionist exhaled quietly. “Ms. Mehra arrived demanding to see you. When I told her you were in a meeting, she raised her voice.” A pause. “Ms. Rao stepped in immediately.”
Through the glass wall, Raghav could see Natasha pacing the length of the room, arms slicing through the air as she spoke. Ishani stood still, listening without reaction.
Natasha’s voice carried faintly through the glass.
“…cowardly,” she snapped. “If he has anything to say, he can say it to my face.”
Raghav’s jaw tightened. He took a step toward the door.
Then Ishani spoke. He couldn’t hear the words, but he saw the effect.
Natasha’s shoulders drop slightly. Ishani offered her a tissue from a box on the conference table. After another minute of conversation, Natasha nodded, straightened her dress, and followed Ishani to the door.
“Thank you for understanding, Ms. Mehra,” Ishani said evenly. “I’ll make sure he receives your message.”
Natasha’s eyes were red, her smile tight and brittle. “I apologise for the disturbance.”
As they neared the elevators, Natasha’s gaze lifted. She saw Raghav.
His jaw tightened, eyes narrowed, already preparing for the flare-up. It didn’t come.
Natasha slowed for half a step, met his eyes, and gave him a brief nod. Not warm. Not resentful. Just… resigned. Then she turned and continued toward the elevators without another word.
Raghav stood there longer than necessary, watching the doors slide shut. Whatever Ishani had said had worked.
When she returned from escorting her to the lobby, Raghav was waiting by her desk. “Come into my office,” he said, holding the door open.
She followed without comment. Inside, she stopped where she always did, hands loosely folded, expression composed. If she’d just diffused an emotional landmine, it didn’t show.
“What did you tell her?” Raghav asked, genuinely curious.
“That you were in meetings all day,” Ishani replied evenly. “And that I’d make sure her concerns reached you.”
“That’s it?”
“I suggested we speak somewhere private,” she added. “Public spaces escalate emotions.”
He studied her. “And that worked?”
“Most people calm down once they feel heard.” She paused. “She was upset, but not unreasonable. Once she felt heard, she calmed down.”
“You gave her no details about my schedule?”
“Of course not.” A flicker of something like offense crossed her face. “I simply told her that creating a public scene would benefit neither of you, and that she deserved more than a false accusation.”
“False accusation?” Raghav raised a brow.
“You’ve never been in a relationship with her.”
The certainty in her tone caught him off guard.
“How can you be so sure?”
She met his gaze without hesitation. “You wouldn’t choose her.”
The room went still.
Raghav studied her, impressed despite himself. Where his previous assistants would have panicked or called security, Ishani had handled the situation with a composure that matched his own.
“Thank you,” he said finally. “That could have been... complicated.”
Ishani nodded once. “Is there anything else you need, Boss?”
That “boss”—formal, distant—suddenly bothered him. “No. That’s all, Ishani.”
“It’s my job,” she said simply, turning to leave.
As she returned to her desk, Raghav remained standing, watching her through the glass. She busied herself with whatever task had been interrupted.
By Friday, Raghav had to admit something had changed.
He found himself creating reasons to keep Ishani late. Reports that weren’t urgent, questions that could have waited, meetings that stretched longer than necessary because he kept asking for her input.
“The Singapore presentation needs a complete restructure,” he told her Friday evening, even though the current version was already approved. “Can you stay back?”
“Of course.” No pause. No question.
Saturday brought another excuse.
“I need briefing material for Monday’s executive committee. The usual templates won’t work.”
She stayed again. Hours past closing.
Evenings settled into a pattern he didn’t question at first—working side by side, ordering dinner when it got late, conversation drifting once the work slowed.
He learned she’d played chess competitively in college.
She discovered his fondness for classic literature.
Small details, exchanged in the quiet of an empty office while the city lights came on outside the windows.
The following Wednesday, as the afternoon meeting concluded and the executive team left, Raghav found himself watching Ishani gather her notes. The afternoon sun caught in her hair, highlighting subtle auburn undertones he hadn’t noticed before.
“Ishani,” he said, before he could stop himself. “I’ll need you to stay late again tonight.”
She looked up, and for the briefest moment, something flickered across her face—awareness, perhaps. It made his pulse quicken.
“What project needs attention tonight?” she asked, her tone giving nothing away.
He hesitated.
That never happened.
“General preparation for tomorrow,” he said finally. “We can go over it over dinner.”
She held his gaze a moment longer than usual. “Alright,” she said. “I’ll rearrange my evening plans.”
As she walked back to her desk, Raghav stayed where he was, hands resting on the edge of the conference table.
The thought settled slowly, unwelcome and undeniable. These weren’t professional requests anymore. Somewhere along the way, he had started inventing reasons to keep her close. To stretch the hours. To delay the end of the day.
Later that afternoon, he found himself standing by the glass wall of his office, watching her without quite realising when he’d stopped working.
Ishani sat at her desk, phone balanced between ear and shoulder as she typed, switching seamlessly between tasks. Sunlight spilled across her face, catching the line of her cheek, the focus in her eyes. She was entirely absorbed, unaware of being watched.
The moment stretched too long. She must have felt his gaze, because she looked up suddenly, catching him staring. Their eyes met through the glass, and for one unguarded moment, something raw and honest passed between them—an acknowledgment of this unnamed tension that had been building for weeks.
Her fingers stilled on the keyboard. For a breath, she held his gaze. Then she looked away.
The tension didn’t disappear.
It stayed—stretched thin, humming in the space between glass and distance and restraint.
Raghav remained still long after she’d resumed her call, the warmth along his spine slow and persistent. When he finally turned back to his desk, the numbers on the screen blurred for a moment before coming back into focus.
This was dangerous ground.
And worse—it was no longer one-sided.