The office was quieter after 7 p.m.
Most of the staff had left. Lights dimmed. Desks sat empty like abandoned stories, and outside the glass windows, the city glowed in warm gold and cold steel.
Aanya stayed behind—by order, of course. Riaan had a meeting summary due by morning, and he wanted it typed, formatted, and "perfectly worded."
She was on her second cup of coffee. Tired, a little tense, but still focused.
That's when the door opened.
Riaan stepped out of his office, phone to his ear, jacket off, sleeves rolled. He looked less CEO and more... dangerous now. Like a man unguarded, but somehow even more in control.
He ended the call and glanced at her screen.
"You're still typing?" he asked.
She nodded, fingers pausing. "Just final edits."
"Bring it to my office when you're done."
She stood, grabbed the printout, and walked to his desk—trying not to notice how her pulse picked up when his gaze met hers.
She placed the pages on the glass surface between them.
He didn't move.
"You're good at this," he said finally.
"Thank you," she replied softly.
Then, just as she turned to leave—her elbow nudged his untouched cup of coffee.
It tipped.Spilled.All over the edge of the desk—spattering across his files.
Aanya froze. "Oh my God—I'm so sorry—"
She grabbed a napkin, rushing to wipe the desk, flustered beyond belief.
Riaan didn't say a word.
But when she leaned forward, trying to clean the dripping edge, her blouse gaped ever so slightly.
And that's when she felt it—his presence shift.
He stood. Not abruptly. Just… slowly. Like a lion stretching after a long nap.
Her hands stilled on the desk.
Then—his voice, just behind her:
"Stop."
She froze.
He took the napkin from her fingers, his touch barely grazing hers, but it sent a chill all the way to her spine.
"You're shaking," he said.
"I—I didn't mean to spill—"
"I didn't ask about the coffee."
Her breath caught.
She looked up—only to find him much too close.
His eyes weren't cold now. They were dark. Hot. Studying her like a problem he wanted to solve… with his hands.
"I'll clean it," she whispered, heart racing.
"No," he said softly. "You'll go home."
"But—"
He stepped back. That command returned to his tone.
"I'll see you at 8 sharp tomorrow. Not 8:01. Not 7:59. Exactly eight."
She nodded slowly.
As she turned to leave, he added—
"Oh, and Miss Verma?"
She paused in the doorway, pulse still thundering.
"Wear flats tomorrow," he said.
"Why?"
His smirk was all shadows.
"Because if you trip near my desk again… I won't be responsible for what happens next."