Raghav sank into his chair, control slipping away for the first time in months. “She works for me.”
The laughter stopped immediately. “Oh. That’s... complicated.”
“My assistant.”
“Your—wait, the one you mentioned last month? Ishani something?”
“Rao. Ishani Rao.” Even saying her name sent a current of awareness through him.
“The one you said was ‘competent’ and ‘efficient’?” Abhinav’s voice held a knowing smile. “Those were code words for ‘I’m obsessed with her,’ weren’t they?”
Raghav’s jaw tightened. “I’m not obsessed.”
“Says the man who just blurted out ‘I love her’ without prompting. When did this happen?”
“I don’t know,” Raghav admitted, the rare uncertainty foreign on his tongue. “It wasn’t planned.”
“Of course it wasn’t planned. That’s how feelings work for the rest of us mortals.” Abhinav paused. “Have you told her?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Raghav stood, pacing the length of his office. “She’s my assistant. There are professional boundaries.”
“Which you’ve never once crossed? Not even a little?”
Raghav thought of the printer incident. The late nights. The lunches. The way he’d invented work to keep her from going out with colleagues. His silence was answer enough.
“I thought so,” Abhinav said. “So what’s the problem? You want her. Knowing you, you’ve already decided she’s yours. Why not just tell her?”
“It’s not that simple. She’s...” Raghav struggled to express it. “Different. Careful. Composed. I can’t read her the way I read others.”
“The great negotiator, stumped by one woman.” Abhinav’s voice softened slightly. “You need an opening. An opportunity that doesn’t feel like her boss summoning her.”
“I’ve considered that,” Raghav admitted.
What’s the date today?”
“February 6th. Why?”
“It’s Valentine’s week,” Abhinav said, amusement creeping into his tone. “Arrange something for the days coming up. And something that requires her presence outside the office on Valentine’s Day. Create an opportunity.”
Silence stretched on the other end.
Raghav leaned back in his chair slowly, expression tightening.
Valentine’s week.
Absurd calendar-driven theatrics designed for college boys and greeting card companies. The idea of him participating in something so… performative made his jaw harden.
He could close billion-dollar deals without blinking. And now he was being advised to send flowers. He almost dismissed it outright.
But then he paused.
Women noticed things. Details. Effort. Even symbolic gestures.
Ishani was composed, intelligent, controlled. But she was still a woman. And women liked to feel chosen.
His fingers tapped once against the desk. Fine. If sentiment was a language, he would learn it. Strategically.
February 14th would not be accidental.