Ishani blinked, thrown off by his perception. “Yes. My parents recently adopted a dog that looks exactly like this.”
“That information is private,” Raghav said, his voice dropping lower. “Personal. Yet someone knows it. That doesn’t concern you?”
The same point he’d been making for days. Yet the way he emphasized it felt almost like... a confession?
No. That was impossible.
“I’m handling it,” she said finally.
“Clearly.” His gaze swept over the puppy, her desk, the lingering onlookers who pretended not to be watching. “See that these disruptions don’t affect your work. Or anyone else’s.” The last sentence he directed pointedly at the entire floor, his voice rising just enough to carry the message.
Instantly, the sound of typing filled the air. Papers rustled as everyone pretended to focus on their work.
Raghav kept his eyes on her a moment longer than needed, something unreadable flashing in his expression before he turned and headed back to his office.
Once his door shut, Kavya let out a dramatic sigh. “That guy is intense. You’d think someone was spying on the company instead of just sending you Valentine’s gifts.” She nudged Ishani’s shoulder playfully. “But did you see how he looked at the puppy? Like he wanted to set it on fire.”
“He’s concerned about office productivity,” Ishani murmured, though the excuse sounded hollow even to her own ears.
“Sure, and I’m concerned about global warming when I take long showers,” Kavya replied with a snort. “That was jealousy, pure and simple.” She checked her watch. “Staff meeting in five. Try not to bring your furry friend—Boss might spontaneously combust.”
As Kavya walked away, Ishani glanced toward Raghav’s office. Through the glass wall, she caught him watching her, his gaze heavy and intent. When their eyes met, he didn’t look away or pretend to be working. Instead, he held her stare deliberately, unapologetically, before finally returning to the documents on his desk.
Throughout the day, the pattern repeated. Every time Ishani absently touched the plush puppy—straightening its ears, adjusting it on her desk—she’d look up to find Raghav’s eyes on her. Each time, that same muscle in his jaw would tighten, his gaze tracking her movements with an intensity that made her skin warm.
By late afternoon, she’d taken to touching the puppy deliberately, just to see if he’d look up. He always did. As if he had some sixth sense attuned specifically to her, activated the moment her fingers brushed the soft fur.
It wasn’t anger in his expression, she realized slowly. It was something deeper, more complicated, possessive and hungry in a way that made her pulse quicken each time their eyes met.
The question that had been building since the first rose grew stronger: could it possibly be him?
Chapter 12
Promise Day
The cream-colored envelope appeared sometime before lunch, perfectly centered on her keyboard when she returned from a quick bathroom break. No courier had come by, her colleagues had seen nothing.
Her name was printed on the front in the same elegant font as all the previous cards. The office hummed with the usual activity, but Raghav’s door remained closed, his office empty since he’d left for the conference room just a while ago.
Carefully, she slid open the envelope and pulled out two thick, embossed tickets to the Mumbai Philharmonic’s special performance of Bach and Tchaikovsky. A month away. The accompanying note read simply: “Experiences worth remembering.”
Ishani’s thumb traced the embossed letters on the tickets. The Mumbai Philharmonic was nearly impossible to get seats for, especially for their special performances. She had mentioned her love for classical music exactly once in this office, during a late dinner with Raghav. The conversation had shifted to stress relief, and she’d admitted that Bach’s cello suites cleared her mind like nothing else.
Her eyes flicked toward Raghav’s still-empty office, the afternoon sun casting shadows through the blinds he’d left partially closed. Her heart gave a treacherous little leap before logic stomped it down.
‘Stop it, Ishani. It’s not him. Raghav Khanna doesn’t do romantic gestures. He acquires things—companies, properties, results. Not hearts.’
Yet the evidence kept stacking up like a tower of perfectly aligned documents. Each gift was so precisely tailored to her likes, to details she’d only ever revealed in his presence.
“Oh my god, are those concert tickets?” Kavya materialized beside her desk, startling Ishani from her thoughts. “Let me see!” She plucked them from Ishani’s fingers before she could protest. “Mumbai Philharmonic? These are impossible to get. There’s a six-month waiting list!”
Within minutes, a small crowd had gathered around Ishani’s desk again. Unlike yesterday’s cooing over the puppy, today’s atmosphere crackled with investigation energy.
“Samrat likes jazz, not classical,” someone pointed out. “It can’t be him.”
“Maybe he’s trying to impress her with his cultural side,” another argued.
Kavya’s eyes lit up with sudden inspiration. “We should start a betting pool! Put money on who we think it is. Winner takes all when the secret admirer is finally revealed.”
