Next Day
Ajay's first day as Anjali's PA had been exhausting, but he hadn't made a single mistake.
He had memorized her schedule within an hour, handled three high-priority meetings without flinching, and even managed to rearrange her entire afternoon when an unexpected investor call came in. Anjali hadn't praised him—she wasn't the type—but she hadn't snapped at him either, which he took as a win.
By evening, they had moved into her sprawling bungalow in the Porsche area. Divya, wide-eyed with excitement, had spun around in the grand living room, giggling as she declared, "Papa, it's like a palace!"
Anjali, who had been watching from the doorway with her usual detached expression, had stiffened slightly when Divya turned those big, innocent eyes on her and asked, "Didi, do you live here all alone? It's so big!"
Something flickered in Anjali's gaze—something soft, almost vulnerable—before she masked it with a curt nod. "Yes. But now you're here too."
Divya beamed. "Then it won't be lonely anymore!"
Anjali didn't respond. But Ajay noticed the way her fingers tightened around her phone for just a second before she turned and walked away.
Ajay wasn't used to sleeping in a place this quiet. The bungalow was too spacious, too still. When he noticed the light still on in Anjali's home office, he hesitated.
She hadn't called for him. But she was still working.
Coffee. She'd want coffee.
He moved silently through the dimly lit kitchen, brewing a fresh cup just the way she liked it—black, no sugar, with a hint of cinnamon. Then, steeling himself, he walked down the hallway and knocked on her office door.
"Come in."
Her voice was tired but sharp. Ajay pushed the door open—
And froze.
Anjali wasn't at her desk.
She stood near the floor-to-ceiling window, bathed in the pale glow of the city lights. And she was dressed in nothing but a red lace bra and a towel wrapped loosely around her waist.
His grip on the coffee cup tightened.
She turned, arching a brow. "You're still awake."
Ajay forced his gaze to stay locked on her face. "You're working."
"Observant." She smirked, walking toward him with slow, deliberate steps. "And you brought me coffee."
He held it out. "Thought you might need it."
Anjali took the cup, her fingers brushing against his. A jolt of electricity shot up his arm. She took a slow sip, watching him over the rim. "Perfect. As usual."
Ajay swallowed. "I'll leave you to it."
He turned to go—
"Wait."
He stopped.
Anjali set the cup down and stepped closer. Too close. The scent of her perfume—something dark and expensive—wrapped around him.
"You didn't stare," she murmured. "Most men would have."
Ajay kept his voice steady. "I'm not most men."
A slow, dangerous smile curved her lips. "No. You're not."
Her fingers trailed up his arm, light as a whisper. "Tell me, Ajay… do you always follow orders this well?"
His pulse spiked. "Depends on the orders."
Anjali laughed softly, her breath warm against his jaw. "Good answer."
Then, just as suddenly as she'd closed the distance, she stepped back. "You can go now."
Ajay didn't move.
Her eyes darkened. "That wasn't a request."
Then, with a stiff nod, he turned and walked out—heart pounding, skin burning, and the ghost of her touch still seared into his skin.
The next morning, Ajay stood in the kitchen of Anjali's bungalow, flipping golden-brown pancakes with precise movements. The scent of freshly brewed coffee and warm vanilla filled the air. Divya, already dressed in her school uniform, sat at the marble island, swinging her legs as she watched him with bright eyes.
"Papa, can I have chocolate syrup on mine?" she asked, grinning.
Ajay smirked. "Only if you promise to eat all your fruits too."
Divya groaned dramatically but nodded just as the sound of heels clicking against the floor echoed through the hallway.
Anjali walked in.
Dressed in a sleek black pantsuit, her hair perfectly styled, she looked every bit the untouchable CEO—until Ajay's gaze met hers.
And then, like a damn traitor, his ears burned red.
The memory of last night flashed in his mind—Anjali in nothing but that red lace bra, the way her fingers had trailed up his arm, the heat in her voice when she murmured, "Do you always follow orders this well?"
Divya blinked up at him. "Papa, why are your ears so red?"
Ajay nearly dropped the spatula.
Anjali, who had been pouring herself coffee, let out a soft, unexpected laugh.
Ajay shot her a glare.
She smirked, stirring her coffee lazily. "Maybe he's thinking about something embarrassing."
Divya gasped. "Like the time you tripped in the grocery store?"
Ajay groaned. "Divya—"
Anjali's smirk deepened. "Oh, he tripped, did he?"
Ajay pointed the spatula at her. "Don't encourage her."
Anjali raised an eyebrow, amused. "Or what?"
The challenge in her voice sent another wave of heat up his neck.
Divya, completely oblivious, giggled. "Didi, you're funny!" (Didi means Big Sister in India)
Anjali paused, her expression flickering at the innocent term of endearment. Then, to Ajay's surprise, she reached over and ruffled Divya's hair lightly. "Eat your breakfast, kid. We don't have all day."