by Maisey Yates
“Hey, eyes up here.” She glared at him, though little sparks of excitement coursed through her at the obvious interest in his eyes. She reached into her tight-fitting blouse and pulled out a well-worn dark blue passport with Republic of India stamped on the front.
“You’re not American.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Do I sound like an American?”
“Why get married in Vegas?”
“Because my fiancé—ex-fiancé—is American.” She didn’t have time for small talk, though; it wouldn’t be long before her eldest brother Arjun mobilized his considerable influence to find her. “Listen, I really need to get out of Vegas. I was only able to fit this passport in my blouse. I don’t have any money, but I promise you that if you can pay for a bus ticket to New York, I’ll—”
He waved her off. “I’ll give you whatever money you need.”
“Thank you. I’ll pay you back as soon as I—”
“I have more money than I can spend in my lifetime. It’s meaningless to me.” The catch in his voice hit her in the chest.
“Is there anything I can do for you? Talk to Pooja?”
He looked at her, and she saw frustration and also a shadow of something darker in his eyes. “I think you and I both know that I’ve lost Pooja. Don’t worry. I’m used to it. How about we focus on getting you out of town.”
She wanted to know more. How could he let go of the love of his life as if he’d lost nothing more than money at a casino? He is not my problem. Right now she had a very short window to get away. She hadn’t come to America to get married. She’d come for a taste of freedom, to do the one thing she’d never be allowed to do: to take a chance on a dream and see if she could make it come true.
“Why New York City?”
“There is something I need to do there. I’ll explain later. Can you drop me at a bus stop?”
He smiled. “I have a better way to get you there. Let’s go. I’ll explain on the way.”
Excitement exploded through her. Can this really be happening? Am I really going to get to New York? The idea of being able to go without the shackles of her family was incredible. She began running through the list of things she needed to do as Ethan led her out of the hotel.
They retrieved the car, which the valet had kept front and center. He handed the key card back to Ethan, who peeled off several hundred-dollar bills and handed them to the wide-eyed man.
As Divya took her seat, it hit her. I must be mad. Ethan was a complete stranger and she was getting in a car with him not knowing where he was taking her. What if he was a psycho or axe murderer? Why was she so at ease around him? She knew nothing about the man.
“Can I borrow your phone to check my email?”
He held the phone to his face so the facial recognition program unlocked it and gave it to her. He motored the car out of the hotel’s drive-through and back into Vegas traffic. She opened up a web browser and typed his name. Ethan Connors. She gasped audibly as the search results displayed.
“I guess you googled me.”
She looked at him guiltily. His eyes were focused on the traffic ahead, but his lips twitched.
“I’m sorry. I was curious and I just—”
“—wanted to make sure I wasn’t some serial killer?”
She smiled sheepishly. “Your name sounded familiar. My family business is hotels, so I don’t regularly follow the tech world, but I remember reading the headlines when your app hit one billion users and you branched into India.”
He smiled. “We’re at three billion globally now.”
“I can’t believe I didn’t recognize your name. You’re almost as famous as Mark Zuckerberg. Why didn’t you say something?”
Ethan shrugged; his smile was shy as he focused on the road ahead. His expression sent a ping right to her heart. “Mark gets better publicity. Mine isn’t so flattering.”
“And why is that?”
“I’m known to be a bit of a troublemaker.”
“Is that why you’re helping me?”
He was silent for several seconds. “Maybe. Maybe it’s because you’re a nice distraction from losing my future wife.”
“You hardly seem heartbroken about Pooja.”
He put a hand to his chest. “And how would you know what I’m feeling?”
Had she imagined the fleeting look of relief on his face when Pooja had told him she loved her husband? What do I know? Divya was a basket case of emotions. Her family would be worried about her. And they didn’t deserve the embarrassment and shame that would ensue in the Indian community from her running away so publicly. She should have done it before the invitations went out, or before the guests arrived, or even last night when her family could’ve claimed she was sick and saved face. She’d been so anxious about what it would do to them, that in the end, she’d forced herself into the worst of possible options.
She clicked through various friends’ social media pages and gasped when she saw a picture of her and Ethan escaping from the wedding. As she scrolled through the feed, her heart sank even further. “There are social media hashtags about us. The one that’s trending is #BrideSnatcher.”
“Ha, that’s clever since my company is called Deal Catcher.”
Divya turned the phone off. If she read any more, her already weakening resolve would crumble further. “My parents are going to be furious. They are so careful about their media image. They’re never going to forgive me.”
Ethan flipped his hand dismissively. “It’ll blow over in a day or two, as soon as a Hollywood celebrity announces a baby on the way or there’s a new royal scandal.”
It wouldn’t ever blow over with her family. What have I done? So what if she had to marry boring Vivek? Would it be worse than being disowned by her family? He wasn’t a bad guy. So what if he didn’t make her heart go pitter-patter? Yes he’d laughed at her dream career, but she could’ve worked on him. He wasn’t as traditional as her parents; she could’ve convinced him eventually. That was the conclusion that had driven her to step into the wedding mandap that morning. She mentally shook her head. The damage was done. There would be no point running away if she didn’t do the one thing she needed to do. After that, she could return and face the music with her family. Like she always did.
Divya was so lost in her thoughts that she hadn’t noticed where Ethan was driving. When he stopped the car, she realized they were at the airport. More specifically, at the private-aviation gate.
“You have your own plane?”
Of course he did. He was Ethan Connors. From the little she remembered and her quick read of his Wikipedia page, he’d started his company with an app that helped people search multiple websites for the best price on products and set an alert when items they were looking for went on sale. During the coronavirus pandemic, the app had helped people find toilet paper and other necessities and report price gouging. Since then, the app had grown into an enterprise that included an online store for exclusive products and was expanding into other areas such as real estate bargains. He’d become an overnight billionaire. Lucky for her, he wasn’t an axe murderer. An adventure junkie and playboy, yes, but that she could handle.
“It’s a business expense,” he replied flippantly.
“And you just happened to have it ready to go?”
He smiled wistfully. “I was planning to whisk a bride away.”
Her pulse jumped. What am I doing? Ethan had to be emotionally messed up, and here she was, taking advantage of him.
He parked the car next to a plane that looked bigger than the medium-sized Gulfstream her parents had. He exited the car, and before she had a chance to gather her skirt, he opened her door and held out his hand. A man with manners. She placed her hand in his and immediately felt his strength as he pulled her up. She came face-to-face with him as she stood. A warmth spread in her chest as she thought ab
out the brief kiss she’d given him at her wedding to convince everyone that she knew him. It had been the lightest touch, but it’d felt so electric, she had pulled away fast. Now, with their faces so close, she wondered what it would be like to kiss him properly.
They stood there for several seconds, until he let go of her hand. He pointed toward the stairs leading up into the airplane.
She paused at the bottom step, the handrail hot under her hand. This is a bad idea. There was still time to make it right with her family. An hour had passed since she’d left her wedding. All the guests would still be there, enjoying the food and drinks her brother had likely served up in the hope that they’d find her or she’d return. If she went back, she could play it off as nerves. Her parents would be angry, but at the end of the day, the marriage to Vivek would be all that mattered. The media storm would die down. Everything would go back to normal.
But the more time passed, the more unforgiveable her actions became. There was no turning back if she stepped onto the plane.
She eyed the jet. Her entire life had been carefully mapped out. She never made a move without a plan; even an evening out required meticulous preparation. Getting on a plane with a stranger was a recipe for disaster.
“Are you ready?” Ethan’s mouth curved into a smile. Her heart stuttered. She knew what she had to do.
CHAPTER THREE
What am I thinking? He had spent most of yesterday rehashing all the poor choices he’d made in life, and today he’d made two more spectacularly bad decisions: the first to crash Pooja’s wedding, and the second to get involved with Divya’s escape.
Last night he’d been at his condo in Los Angeles, unable to sleep. He barely recognized the furniture in the place, let alone remembered how to operate the overly complicated coffee machine. He owned a condo in every major city where he had to spend time for his business. He was tired of hotel rooms, yet none of these condos was home. The closest he’d come to feeling grounded was living with Pooja for three months. But when he’d been with Pooja, all he’d been able to think about was all the things that didn’t work in their relationship. After she’d left, he’d been unable to stop thinking about how great things could’ve been between them.
He’d woken up in a cold sweat this morning, wondering whether he’d die alone in one of his ubiquitous condos. Living on his airplane, jetting from city to city was getting old. He wanted a place where he belonged; he wanted what his brother and his parents had—a soul mate. In her email, Pooja had accused him of setting an impossible standard that no woman could ever meet. Maybe she was right. He had a black book full of failed relationships. So he’d put his jet on standby and charged into Vegas, intent on getting Pooja back.
But here he was, with another woman, thinking about how her luscious pink lips had tasted of vanilla when she’d kissed him earlier. Was his mother right? Was he afraid of commitment? As he watched Divya negotiate the narrow steps of the plane in her heavy skirt, he knew it was a bad idea to spend time with her. He was attracted to her and felt the familiar urge to throw caution to the wind and pursue her like he did any endeavor that caught his attention.
“Welcome back, Mr. Connors.” Kathy was one of the regular cabin attendants who worked the plane. While the jet was his, he used a contract service to provide pilots and staff. She greeted them as they entered, dressed in her regular black pantsuit, white-collared shirt and red scarf around her neck. Her graying dark hair was knotted stylishly at the nape of her neck.
“Long time no see, Kathy,” he quipped.
She looked at her watch. “This isn’t our fastest turnaround. I believe your record is fifteen minutes. We did get new pilots, though.”
Kathy had flown with him from LA earlier in the day. If she was surprised to see Divya instead of Pooja, she kept it to herself.
He turned to Divya. “There’s a bedroom in the back that has some of my clothes. Feel free to borrow something if you want to change.”
Divya looked like she was going to say something, then thought better of it. While Divya was changing, Ethan discussed the flight plan with the pilots.
Divya emerged wearing one of his black T-shirts and a pair of shorts. She looked like a kid wearing a grown-up’s clothes. The T-shirt swelled over her breasts, then hung down to her thighs, and his basketball shorts looked like cropped pants. She looked impossibly sexy. Her feet were bare, revealing pink-tipped toes and intricate henna patterns like she had on her hands and arms. Her black hair fell in waves over her shoulders. She’d taken off the heavy jewelry and scrubbed her face, making her look incredibly young.
Kathy closed the outside cabin door. They were in the main seating area, which consisted of several tan-leather recliner chairs, a couch with a coffee table and a mahogany-finished bar. Another door separated them from the cockpit and service area, where Kathy now disappeared. “Are we really going to New York City?”
Her voice held such longing that it wrenched his heart.
“What’s so important in New York?”
A mischievous smile played on her lips. “Can I have your phone again?”
She took it, quickly typed in an address and handed it back to him, open to a webpage for Café Underground.
“It’s a club that does open mic for new singers.”
“You sing?”
She shrugged. “I like to sing. But I don’t know if I have any talent. I sing at family events and my relatives and friends pump me with praise. I love singing. If I could do anything in life, that’s what I’d want to do. But I need to know whether or not I have real talent. Just once, I want to stand in front of a real audience and see what it’s like to perform live.”
Her face held so much hope that all he wanted to do was make it happen for her. “You can probably find an open mic right here in Vegas. Why go all the way to New York?”
“This place is special to me.” She took a breath. “When the entire world was under lockdown, Café Underground started doing these video open mics. They gave me a chance to perform, and it’s the only time I’ve sung for someone other than my family. It went well, but it was different sitting in my bedroom, singing to a computer screen. They made me promise I’d come to do my first live performance at their club. I know it’s superstitious, but I believe the place is my good luck charm. I would never have thought about a singing career if I hadn’t accidently found out about their virtual open mic.”
“It’s a done deal. Tonight, you’ll be singing at Café Underground.”
She launched herself at him and gave him a hug. His arms automatically went around her waist and the feel of her took his breath away. His body went hot at the way her breasts crushed against his chest and her breath warmed his neck. “Thank you, thank you. You have no idea what this means to me.”
He gently disentangled himself before his body gave him away. What’s wrong with me? How could he go from wanting to marry Pooja to being insanely attracted to Divya? This was what he was always afraid of: that he’d turn out like his father. Connors men have a hard time holdin’ on to good. The pattern was always the same. His father, Wade, would lose a job, his mother would work longer hours to make money for the household, and his dad would go day drinking. His mother would come home and make dinner, while his father sat in front of the TV, drinking Jim Beam until he passed out. To this day, Ethan couldn’t stand the smell of whiskey. His mother had eventually left his father and married Bill. That’s when Ethan had learned what an ideal marriage looked like. Bill had adopted Ethan, and his father hadn’t thought twice about signing away his parental rights in exchange for never having to pay child support. Ethan wanted what his mother and Bill had, but he lived in fear of ending up like Wade.
There was a knock from the service door and the pilot stepped in, followed by Kathy.
“Sir, the operations control center is asking if we have a Miss Divya Singh on board. Apparently her family is loo
king for her.” The pilot looked from Ethan to Divya.
Divya’s eyes widened.
“No one here by that name. This is Pooja Chaudhry, my longtime girlfriend,” Ethan said firmly.
The pilot looked at Kathy, who nodded, and then he left.
Ethan mouthed a thank-you to Kathy, who smiled serenely and asked for their drink orders. He ordered a coffee and Divya asked for a glass of white wine.
Divya sank into a recliner as the jet began to taxi, and Ethan took a seat opposite her. She looked out of the window while chewing on her lip.
“Are you expecting your family to show up with guns blazing?”
She nodded. “I’ve snuck out of the house before, but this is a whole new level of rebellion.”
“You’re a grown woman. Why do you need to sneak out of the house?”
She sighed. “My family is very old-fashioned, even by Indian standards. They believe there is an etiquette that the women, the girls of the house as they call us, must follow.”
“Pooja’s family had some very strict rules on who she was allowed to date.”
“If her family was even half as traditional as mine, I’m guessing a white man was at the top of the list of unsuitable boys.”
He smiled. It had taken Pooja two months to tell him in polite terms that he was not what her family had in mind for her. Divya had bluntly stated it two hours after meeting him. “I was definitely not on her parents’ list of eligible bachelors, that’s for sure. How did you meet your fiancé?”
She rolled her eyes. “My brother set us up. Girls in our family don’t date random men. We’re set up with eligible bachelors who promise to behave themselves but, in reality, are just as wretched as a bar sleaze from the worst part of town.”
“Pooja called it a global dating service.” Despite the fact that they were living together, Pooja had still endured the occasional setup from her parents.
