Page 41 of Yes Boss
Samrat.
Ishani hadn’t considered him. He was charming, theatrical, known for public declarations and dramatic flair. But these roses felt different. Not flashy. Not loud. More deliberate. More… precise.
“It’s not Sam,” she said, with a certainty she couldn’t quite explain.
“Then who?” Kavya pressed.
Before Ishani could answer, the intercom buzzed.
“Ishani. The Westbrook file.”
Raghav’s voice cut cleanly through the space.
Kavya rolled her eyes. “Perfect timing, as always. We’ll continue this investigation later.”
Ishani gathered the Westbrook documents and walked toward his office.
Through the glass, she saw him standing at the window, posture rigid, hands clasped behind his back. When she entered, he turned. His expression was controlled, but there was something else beneath it. Amusement? No. She must be imagining it.
“These distractions are getting out of hand,” he said, gesturing toward her desk where the flowers rested. “Who’s sending those?”
She placed the file on his desk. “I don’t know.”
His gaze narrowed, studying her too closely. “You really have no idea?”
“None.” She held his eyes without wavering.
Something flickered across his face. Not anger. Not quite.
He looked down at the file, dismissing her.
As Ishani returned to her desk, a fifth rose arrived—orange this time. “Your control fascinates me. I intend to break it.”
The words sent a chill down her spine. And worse—it thrilled her. She groaned softly under her breath. This wasn’t harmless office flirting. It felt deliberate. Like a campaign.
Throughout the day, she caught Raghav watching her through the glass walls of his office. His expression hardened each timeanother delivery appeared. Twice, he called her in for matters that could have easily been handled over email. Each time, his gaze paused on the growing line of roses before settling on her with that steady, unreadable intensity.
The final rose arrived at four—a deep violet. “Ten colors. Ten promises. Tomorrow will be different.”
By the end of the day, her desk looked like a small florist’s shop. Ten roses. Ten notes. No name.
She should have thrown them away. They were inconvenient. Distracting. Instead, she gathered them, binding the stems together with a rubber band. The notes she slipped into her wallet.
As she waited for the elevator, she felt his gaze. Heavy. Intent.
She didn’t turn. Didn’t acknowledge it. Her fingers tightened around the stems, a thorn pressing faintly into her palm. Not enough to draw blood. Just enough to remind her.
The roses felt like the tension between them—beautiful, deliberate, edged.
In the elevator, she lifted them to her face before she could overthink it. The scent filled her lungs. Just as the doors began to close, Raghav stepped out of his office at the same moment.
Their eyes locked. Just a second.
His gaze was dark. Focused. And far too aware.
The doors slid shut between them.
Propose Day
