Page 30 of Yes Boss
Nothing.
She straightened, exhaled slowly, then leaned in again, pushing harder this time. The panel refused to budge. A loose strand of hair slipped free near her temple, and she tucked it back with a sharp, irritated motion.
Enough.
She reached for the desk phone and dialed IT.
Inside his office, Raghav looked up.
His gaze landed on Ishani, noticing the tension in her shoulders and how quickly her fingers moved as she pressed buttons on the printer. When she grabbed the phone to call for help, something changed in his expression.
He stood.
His jacket remained on the back of the chair. Sleeves rolled to his forearms, exposing strong wrists. He stepped out of his office, footsteps muted by the carpet.
Ishani was mid-ring when his voice reached her.
“Problem?”
She startled, breath hitching before she turned.
He was close enough to catch the faint trace of his cologne. Close enough to notice the sharp line of his jaw, the slight stubble that hadn’t been there in the morning.
“The printer’s jammed,” she explained, gesturing with her free hand while keeping the receiver pressed to her ear. “I’m calling IT.”
Raghav reached for the phone. His fingers brushed hers as he took it, the contact brief but deliberate. He replaced the receiver without breaking eye contact.
“I’ll handle it.”
Before she could respond, he stepped closer, guiding her back toward the printer with nothing more than presence. He didn’t touch her, but the lack of space made her acutely aware of the difference between them. Height. Width. Heat.
“Show me,” he said.
His voice was lower than usual. Softer. Too intimate for an office filled with glass and rules.
She turned back to the printer, aware of him directly behind her. “The paper’s stuck inside. The release won’t open.”
Raghav didn’t answer right away. Instead, he reached around her. His chest hovered just short of her back as his arm moved past her shoulder. He could have asked her to step aside. He didn’t.
“Here,” he said quietly, his breath grazing the side of her neck. “It’s not the main panel.”
His fingers found a latch along the side.
Ishani stayed still, caught between the printer and the undeniable fact of him behind her. The air felt dense, charged with something she wasn’t ready to name.
“Let me show you,” he continued. “Guide your hand under mine.”
She hesitated only a moment before complying. Her smaller hand slid beneath his, fingers grazing his palm as he guided her to the latch. The contact sent a sharp awareness up her arm, her breath catching despite herself.
If Raghav noticed her reaction, he didn’t acknowledge it. Instead, he pressed her fingers against the latch, his hand covering hers completely.
“Feel that?” he asked, voice dropping even lower. “Press there, then pull toward you.”
Ishani followed his instruction, hyper-aware of his breath against her ear, the solid wall of his chest behind her, the way his other hand had settled on the desk beside her, effectively caging her between his arms.
The panel gave way with a soft click. For a second, neither of them moved.
“Now,” he continued, still guiding her hand, “reach in and pull the paper out. Careful not to tear it.”
