The entire 43rd floor buzzed with tension the moment Aisha stepped in.
Shadows moved behind frosted glass, hushed voices travelled across hallways, and every employee seemed to walk on eggshells.
A storm wasn't outside.
It was inside the building.
And its name was Raj Malhotra.
Aisha clutched her notepad nervously, wondering if she had made a terrible mistake coming in today. She had barely taken a few steps when her manager approached her, his expression stiff.
"Aisha," he said in a low voice, "the CEO wants you in his cabin. Immediately."
Her heart jumped.
Raj?
Why?
She nodded slowly and walked toward the corner office—huge glass doors, black matte finish, intimidating and powerful just like the man inside.
She lifted her hand to knock—
"Enter."
His voice cut through the door before she could touch it.
Her breath hitched. She stepped inside.
Raj stood at the head of the conference table, sleeves rolled up, tie loosened. His eyes were ice when they lifted to her.
But they warmed—
Not softened, just warmed—
the moment he saw her.
"Aisha." His voice dropped from lethal to low heat.
"You're here."
She forced a professional smile. "Good morning, sir. I was told you needed me?"
His eyes lingered on her a moment too long.
"I do."
He walked toward her, his steps slow, controlled—like a predator keeping himself restrained.
He stopped in front of her and handed her a thin file. "This is your first task."
She took it carefully. "What would you like me to do?"
Raj's jaw flexed. Annoyance flickered across his features.
Not at her—
At the world.
"Go through the file. Summarize it. Prepare a verbal brief for me in thirty minutes."
Thirty minutes?
Her eyes widened slightly. "Sir, this has nearly sixty pages. Thirty minutes might not be—"
"Impossible?" he finished for her.
The air thickened. His temper simmered beneath the surface, sharp as glass.
"Mr. Malhotra," she said cautiously, "I will do my best, but I'm not familiar with—"
He stepped closer.
Very close.
Close enough that she caught the faint scent of his cologne—dark, clean, intoxicating.
"Aisha," he said softly, dangerously, "you are the only person on this floor I expect competence from today. Everyone else has disappointed me already."
She swallowed.
"So don't tell me what you can't do. Show me what you can."
His gaze locked onto hers, intense, unblinking.
"And don't make me regret choosing you."
Her heartbeat stumbled.
"I… I'll do my best, sir."
He nodded once.
"Good."
But then—
Just as she turned to leave—
A man burst into the cabin.
"Sir, the investors from Hong Kong are on the call—"
Raj snapped.
The temperature in the room dropped instantly.
"I said I would join after reviewing the numbers. Do you understand English or do you simply enjoy wasting my time?"
The man stuttered, face pale. "S-sorry sir, I thought—"
"You didn't think. That's the problem."
Aisha froze at the sudden rage in Raj's voice.
He slammed a folder onto the table, sending papers scattering. "Get out. And if this happens again, don't bother coming back tomorrow."
The man ran.
Silence fell once more.
Aisha stood still, clutching the file to her chest.
Raj exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair.
Then he turned toward her.
His voice was lower.
Controlled.
Apologetic?
No. Raj Malhotra didn't do apologies.
But his tone softened around the edges.
"You don't have to be afraid of me," he said quietly.
Aisha blinked. "I'm not afraid."
He stepped closer, lifting her chin with two fingers.
"You are."
His eyes darkened.
"And you should be."
Her breath trembled.
Because the fear wasn't of him shouting.
It was of what she felt when he looked at her like this—
like she was the center of his universe
and the trigger to his temper
all at once.
He let go of her chin reluctantly.
"Thirty minutes," he reminded.
She hurried out of the office, heart pounding.
---
Aisha typed furiously at her desk, flipping through pages, highlighting key points, scribbling in her notebook. Her pulse raced, the countdown in her mind ticking louder with each passing second.
Twenty minutes.
Fifteen.
Ten.
Her fingers shook from the pressure, but she kept going.
She wouldn't disappoint him.
She couldn't.
When the thirty minutes ended, she knocked on his door.
"Come in."
She stepped inside, breathless, handing him her notes.
Raj leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, eyes fixed entirely on her.
"Present it."
She took a deep breath and began.
Her voice steadily gained confidence as she summarized the entire proposal in five minutes—clear, organized, detailed.
Raj's expression never changed.
He listened intently, not interrupting once.
When she finished, she waited nervously.
He stood up.
Walked around the desk.
Stopped in front of her.
His voice was low.
Controlled.
And too soft for comfort.
"Aisha Khanna."
She looked up timidly. "Yes, sir?"
He lifted her chin again, forcing her eyes to meet his.
"You just saved a deal worth three hundred million dollars."
He paused.
"And you did it in thirty minutes."
Her breath hitched.
Raj's thumb brushed her jaw—an intimate, claiming gesture that contrasted his ruthless CEO aura.
"Good girl," he whispered.
A flush crept up her neck.
He stepped back suddenly, masking his emotion.
"You'll assist me again this afternoon. Don't leave the floor."
The dismissal was clear, but his gaze lingered on her long after she stepped out of the room.
The storm wasn't over.
It had only just begun.