The grumpy boss sweet wife

chapter 13: The Proposal Project

The next morning, Ayesha came to office 30 minutes early.

The office was still empty. The cleaning staff was mopping the floor. The smell of floor cleaner mixed with morning coffee from the pantry.

Her eyes were puffy from lack of sleep. Dark circles were under her eyes. She had spent the whole night thinking. Not about the proposal. About him.

Armaan’s message kept replaying in her head. `Sleep well.`

And that small restaurant in Gulshan. The way he ordered khichuri. The way he said `Call me Armaan.`

She shook her head violently as if to shake the thoughts away. "Focus, Ayesha. It’s just work. He’s your boss. Nothing more."

But her heart wasn’t listening. Her heart remembered the way his fingers brushed hers in the car. The way he pushed his egg to her plate. The way he looked at her during dinner.

She took a deep breath and walked to her desk. She had 3 days.

At 9 AM sharp, her phone rang. Internal extension.

"Come to my cabin," Armaan’s voice was professional. No warmth.

When she entered, he was already on a call. He gestured for her to sit without looking up. His white shirt was perfectly ironed. Black tie. Sharp jaw. He looked even more handsome than yesterday. Maybe it was the morning light from the big window behind him.

Ayesha sat down and opened her notebook. Her hands were shaking slightly. She gripped the pen tighter.

Armaan ended the call in 2 minutes. "Good morning," he said. His voice was back to being professional. Cold. CEO mode on. Like nothing happened in the car yesterday.

"Good morning, Sir," Ayesha replied. Her voice came out smaller than she wanted.

"About the proposal," Armaan slid a file across the table. His fingers touched the folder, not her hand. "I read it last night. At 2 AM."

Ayesha’s heart sank. "It’s bad, isn’t it?"

"It’s good," Armaan said. "But it’s missing something."

He stood up and walked to the window. His back was to her. The city of Dhaka was behind him, busy and loud, but in the cabin it was silent.

"I’ve read 200 proposals in my life, Ayesha," he said. "Numbers, graphs, profit margins. Everyone can do that." He turned around. His eyes were intense. "But what makes investors open their wallets is emotion. Story. Why should they care?"

Ayesha nodded. She was writing everything down.

"I want you to rewrite it," he said. "From scratch. Make them cry. Make them believe in this project. Make them believe in us."

Us.

That one word hit her like a truck.

Ayesha wrote that word down in her notebook and underlined it three times. Her handwriting was messy because her hand was shaking.

"Deadline?" she asked, trying to keep her voice steady.

"Friday. 3 days." Armaan walked back to his desk. "Board meeting. If we don’t get funding, the whole project dies."

Ayesha nodded. "I’ll do it, Sir."

"Armaan," he corrected without looking up from his laptop.

Ayesha’s pen stopped. "What?"

"Outside the cabin," Armaan finally looked up. His eyes met hers. "Call me Armaan."

Ayesha nodded quickly and left the cabin before she could say anything stupid. Before her face could turn red.

---

The next 3 days were hell.

Ayesha barely slept. 3 hours, 4 hours max. She lived on coffee and biscuits. She researched, she wrote, she deleted, she rewrote. 5 drafts. 6 drafts. Nothing felt right.

She went to the library. She interviewed people for the project. She even visited the slum area that the project was supposed to help. She talked to a 10-year-old girl named Rina who walked 3 km every day to get clean water. Rina’s mother had lost 2 children to diarrhea. Her father worked 16 hours in a garment factory but still couldn’t afford a water filter.

Ayesha cried in the rickshaw on the way back.

Every night at 11 PM, her phone would buzz. Like clockwork.

Armaan: "Eating dinner?"

Ayesha: "Yes Sir."

Armaan: "Sleeping?"

Ayesha: "Working Sir."

Armaan: "Don’t burn yourself out."

Armaan: "Drink water."

That was it. No `Call me Armaan`. No personal talk. Just... care. Professional care. Or was it more?

On Thursday night, 2 AM, Ayesha typed the final word. She read the whole 20-page proposal one last time. Her eyes were blurry.

Subject: Proposal Final Draft - Ayesha

To: Armaan CEO

Send.

She collapsed on her bed and fell asleep immediately, still in her work clothes.

---

Friday. 10 AM. Board Meeting.

The whole conference room was full. 12 board members. All men in expensive suits. All above 50. All staring at Ayesha like she didn’t belong there. Like she was an intern who walked into the wrong room.

Armaan sat at the head of the table. His expression was unreadable. Stone cold.

"Ayesha," he said. His voice echoed in the big room. "Present the proposal."

Ayesha stood up. Her legs were shaking so bad she thought she would fall. She connected her laptop to the projector. Her hands were sweating.

She took a deep breath. She thought of Rina. She thought of Armaan saying `fire in your eyes`.

She started. Her voice was soft at first.

"This project is not about money," she began. "It’s not about profit margins or quarterly reports." She clicked to the next slide. A photo of Rina, smiling with a dirty water bottle. "It’s about a 10-year-old girl named Rina who walks 3 km every day to get clean water. It’s about her mother who lost 2 children to dirty water. It’s about a father who works 16 hours but still can’t afford a filter."

She told their stories. She showed the data. But she made it human.

"Our company can change this," Ayesha continued. Her voice got stronger. Her back straightened. "Not with charity. With business. With jobs. With hope. With dignity."

She talked for 15 minutes. She didn’t look at her notes. She spoke from her heart.

When she finished, the room was silent. You could hear a pin drop.

One of the board members, an old man with white hair, wiped his eyes with a handkerchief. "That was... moving," he said. His voice was hoarse.

Another younger member nodded. "I’m in. Full funding. 2 million dollars."

One by one, all 12 board members agreed. Some clapped.

Armaan didn’t smile. He didn’t clap. He just looked at Ayesha.

And in his eyes, Ayesha saw pride. Real, genuine pride.

"Meeting adjourned," Armaan said. "Great work, team."

Everyone left. Shaking Ayesha’s hand. Congratulating her. Except Ayesha and Armaan.

The door closed with a soft click.

"You did good," Armaan said quietly. He was standing near the window again.

"Thank you, Sir," Ayesha whispered. She was still shaking from adrenaline.

"Armaan."

Ayesha looked up.

Armaan was standing very close to her. Too close. She could smell his cologne. "I knew you could do it," he said softly. "From the day I interviewed you."

"Why?" Ayesha asked. Her heart was pounding so loud she was sure he could hear it. "Why did you hire me? I had no experience. 200 other applicants."

Armaan reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. His fingers lingered for a second on her cheek. It was warm.

"Because you had fire in your eyes," he said softly. "And I was tired of people who only care about money. I needed someone who cares about people."

Ayesha couldn’t breathe. The room felt 10 degrees hotter.

"Sir-"

"Armaan."

"Armaan," she corrected. Her voice was barely a whisper.

His lips curved into a small, real smile. Not a CEO smile. A man smile. "Better."

The door suddenly banged open.

Tania stood there. Her face was red with anger. Her makeup was perfect but her eyes were furious.

"What’s going on here?" Tania snapped. Her eyes went from Armaan to Ayesha and back.

Armaan immediately stepped back. 3 feet of distance. The CEO mask was back on in 0.2 seconds.

"Nothing," he said coldly. Professional. Distant. "Ayesha just presented the proposal. It was approved. Full funding."

Tania’s eyes narrowed. She looked at Ayesha up and down like she was trash. "Congratulations," she said, but her voice was full of venom. "Don’t let it get to your head. You’re still just a PA."

She walked out, slamming the door so hard the glass shook.

The moment was gone. The warmth was gone.

Armaan sighed. He ran a hand through his hair. "Go home, Ayesha. Rest. You deserve it."

"Yes, Sir," Ayesha said. Her voice was empty now. She picked up her laptop and left.

But as she walked out

The End chapter 13 .