It’s not a delicate kiss.
It’s not hesitant or shy.
It’s hungry.
Like I’ve been holding it in for far too long.
He answers instantly—his lips sure against mine, warm, steady, his hand finally lifting to cradle the back of my head. I feel his fingers thread through my hair, gentle but firm, grounding me even as my knees threaten to give out.
I kiss him harder. Like I’m trying to communicate everything I can’t say out loud. He kisses me like he understands all of it.The world narrows to this—just his mouth on mine, the smell of rajma and his cologne, and the wild, chaotic pounding of my heart.
And then I pull back.
Breathless.
Shaken.
His eyes are slightly dazed. Lips flushed. The tie was still curled in my fist.
I swallow and let go slowly. Step back.
Then I clear my throat. Look up at him like I didn’t just kiss the daylights out of my boss in the middle of a workday.
“Bring jalebis next time,” I say, voice cool, casual.
His brows lift slightly. “Jalebis?”
But I’m already turning.
Grabbing my phone, dignity—what’s left of it—and walking toward the door with my chin high.
“Don’t forget the crispy ones,” I toss over my shoulder, without waiting for his reply.
And then I leave.
Because if I don’t get out now, I might kiss him again. Or worse—stay.
And I’m not sure which one terrifies me more.
CHAPTER 41
ABHIMAAN
I drive with one hand on the wheel, the other resting lazily on the gear. Aditi’s beside me, flipping through some emails on her phone and muttering something under her breath about a missed deadline. Her hair is tied up today, messy by now, with a strand curling at the nape of her neck where sweat's gathered thanks to the humidity outside. She looks like she’s been through a battlefield—and well, she kind of has. A day with me as her boss is a battlefield.
“Are you okay?” I ask, watching her out of the corner of my eye as we slow down near a traffic signal.
She scoffs, not even looking up. “I’m fine. I’m just reconsidering all my life choices. Like wanting to work with you.”
I grin. “You didn’t want to work with me. You demanded to.”
“Yeah,” she sighs. “Mistakes were made.”
I chuckle, reaching out to turn the volume knob down a bit. Some old Kishore Kumar song is playing faintly on the radio. The signal turns green, but something makes me slow down near a small roadside flower stall just past the light. I pull over, ignoring Aditi’s surprised expression.
“What?” she asks, glancing around.
I just say, “Wait,” before stepping out.
