Raghav turned toward the stairs.
“Raghav,” Vikram called after him.
He paused.
Vikram tilted his head, grin easy but eyes sharp. “Just saying, if you’re lying, now would be a really good time to confess. Saves us all a sequel.”
Raghav didn’t look back. He walked upstairs. The first floor welcomed him with blessed silence. He unlocked his door, stepped inside, and finally allowed himself to breathe.
He stripped off his suit jacket, tossing it over a chair. The tension from the day had coiled tight in his muscles, demanding release.
He stepped into his bathroom, turning the shower to its hottest setting. Steam filled the space as he removed the rest of his clothing, stepping under the spray. The water struck hard, relentless, scalding his skin in a way that should have emptied his head.
It didn’t.
Bracing his hands against the marble wall, he let the water hammer his shoulders. The image of Westbrook’s name on the caller ID returned, followed by Ishani’s careful voice trying to manage the situation. The memory of that bastard’s voice, loud enough to carry through the receiver, insulting her, disrespecting her.
His fingers curled against the tile, nails scraping stone.
The fury he’d contained all day surged back, hot and sharp. He’d wanted to reach through the phone and throttle Westbrook for daring to speak to her that way. The intensity of his reaction had surprised even him—the visceral, protective rage that had nothing to do with company policy and everything to do with the woman herself.
“No,” he muttered under his breath, the word lost in steam. “It was about company reputation.”
The lie sounded thin even to him.
It had never been about Khanna Consolidated. It had been about her. About Ishani. About the unacceptable fact that someone had hurt something—someone—that washis.
The realization hit him with the force of the water pounding his skin. He wanted her. Not just professionally. Not just as his efficient, competent assistant. He wanted Ishani Rao with a possessiveness that shocked him with its intensity.
And that was a problem he had no immediate solution for.
Chapter 7
Raghav arrived at his office at six forty-five, more than an hour earlier than his usual time.
The executive floor was silent, lights dimmed low, the city outside still half-asleep. He stood at the window, watching Mumbai stretch awake, and felt the tension coiled tight in his shoulders.
Sleep had evaded him. Not because of work. Because of her. Because of the heat that rose uninvited every time his thoughts strayed where they had no business going.
The question that had followed him through the night surfaced again, unrelenting.
Did she feel it too?
He turned away from the window and shrugged out of his jacket, the movement sharp, impatient. His desk gleamed under the soft morning lights. A few reports lay neatly arranged at the center. Reports that didn’t require immediate attention but would serve his excuse of coming early.
He straightened papers that were already aligned, adjusted his pen to run parallel with the edge of the desk, checked his watch.
Six fifty-eight.
His gaze drifted, unbidden, to the desk outside. Her desk.
In thirty-two minutes, she would arrive. Exactly at seven-thirty. Ishani Rao did nothing casually. Her punctuality was precise. Predictable. Reliable.
Perfect.
The word lodged somewhere dangerous in his mind.
By seven-twenty, he had answered seventeen emails. He hadn’t absorbed a single one fully. His attention kept slipping toward the elevator doors, toward the empty chair that would not remain empty for long.