"Don't worry Miss Aahana, I won't touch anyone."

And then he kissed my cheek—a soft, lingering touch that sent shivers down my spine—and whispered in his ear, his breath warm against my skin.

"She was my cousin. And she's much younger than me, so you don't have to worry."

And then he left. Just like that. He was supposed to be the shy one, the one who flustered and stammered under my gaze. What the hell just happened?

He paid the bill before I could even reach for my purse. I had planned this date, after all—the venue, the timing, everything.

"If you consider me yours, why let money come between us?" I asked, my voice softer than I intended.

He just looked at me, a small smile playing on his lips, and walked away without a word, leaving me standing there with a thousand unanswered questions.

I tried to sleep that night, but it never came. My mind was flooded with him. His voice. His hands on my waist. That whisper against my ear. The way he called me "Miss Aahana" even as his actions screamed intimacy. I was dead—completely and utterly lost in this man who was nothing like what I'd imagined.

The next morning, I chose a skirt that hugged my curves in all the right places and a bodycon top that did all the right things. If I was going to play this game, I was going to play to win.

We were finalizing the proposal when he arrived. Oh, did I mention? I'm in charge of scheduling his meetings. And his coffee. A small privilege that proved invaluable for my purposes.

I walked into his cabin and placed the cup down, deliberately letting my fingers brush against his.

And there it was. The blush I had been craving. That faint pink that crept up his neck and colored his cheeks, betraying his composure despite his best efforts to maintain it.

I handed him a report and the file slipped from my hands. A total accident. I swear.

I bent down slowly, giving him a perfect view of my assets, the curve of my back accentuated by the position, my skirt riding up just enough to tease without being obvious.

I looked back over my shoulder. He couldn't take his eyes off me, yet he was too shy to hold my gaze when our eyes met, quickly looking away with a flush that deepened with each passing second.

I gave him a wink and left the office, my heart racing with the power of knowing I affected him so deeply.

After lunch, there was another meeting. Not again—they were so boring. Still, I grabbed the chair beside Vedansh, determined to make the afternoon more interesting.

He looked unfairly good wearing those black-rimmed glasses, and it made me think. Why not tease him a little?

I slowly placed my hand on his thigh under the table. He gave me a sharp look, his body going rigid as if he'd been shocked. My fingers traced small, lazy patterns on the fabric of his trousers, moving upward with deliberate slowness. He was trying so hard to control himself, his jaw tight, his eyes fixed on the presenter even as I could feel the tension coiling in his muscles.

Then he grabbed my hand under the table, squeezing to stop me, his grip firm but not painful.

I didn't move my hand away. But I didn't tease him either. I just let it rest there, warm and still, while he held me, our connection hidden from prying eyes but electric nonetheless.

Soon, the meeting came to an end, people dispersing with the usual post-meeting chatter and gathering of belongings.

"What were you doing?" he asked, his voice low and urgent, his eyes darting around to ensure no one could overhear our conversation.