by Sonali Dev
“I’ve been married four times. I’m trapped in what therapists call a pattern, because of the trauma you caused me. Do you have any idea how expensive divorces are?”
Trisha knew a million ways to lobotomize a human. Could she please use just one of those on this woman? “Hasn’t your business of stealing from the terminally ill helped pay for them, though?”
“I don’t steal. I work hard and I take my share. You think it was easy to put up with Emma Caine? But you better believe it’s going to pay off.”
Trisha walked around her desk and loomed over Julia, for once glad for her giraffelike body. Julia gave her a bored slow blink. “You’ve released Emma’s video without her permission. That’s illegal. You also misled the donors about her being terminal when you knew she wasn’t. That’s fraud.”
Julia laughed. “Who said I don’t have permission to release the video?” She reached into her bag and slid out some papers. “Oh, did Big DJ betray Little Trisha?”
Trisha snatched the papers and studied them. “This has today’s date.”
Julia snatched them back. “So?”
Ma was right. It was such a lucky break to have a stupid adversary. The release wasn’t signed by Emma. It didn’t count. Trisha laughed. “DJ doesn’t have power of attorney over Emma.” Trisha was pretty sure Emma hadn’t completed the paperwork for that before she went into surgery and she was an adult.
Julia stopped lounging in her chair and straightened up. “You’re lying.”
“Is that what my fishbowl face is telling you?” Trisha leaned back on her desk; two could play the bored game. Fifteen years of guilt she’d suffered at the hands of this woman. She would never hurt anyone Trisha loved again. “Listen to me very carefully. Because I’m only going to lay this out for you once. I’m no longer the easy prey I once was and if you go up against me I will make sure you end up behind bars. You’ve fraudulently pocketed the money from the video. Our lawyers already have a criminal suit against you ready to go. Unless you’re particularly keen on jail, you will leave my family alone, and you will withdraw the video and return all that money to the people you stole it from.”
Julia opened her mouth, but Trisha held up her hand and she closed it. “And if you do one thing to harm DJ”—because suddenly Trisha was sure Julia had something on DJ; her nineties-Bollywood-plot theory didn’t seem so farfetched—“I will make sure that every one of the families you’ve preyed on to make money off their tragedies gets together and sues your ass until every penny you’ve ever leeched is gone. Now get out of my office. Get out of my building—which by the way is private property. Soliciting business here is illegal. So the next time you think of setting foot here, know that I will have security throw you out on your cowardly, pathetic ass.” She walked to the door and held it open.
Julia stood; there was still a flicker of fight left in her face. “Fine. But DJ isn’t what you think he is. And he doesn’t even want you. Why would he have signed if he did?” And with that last swipe she slunk away like the weasel she was.
Chapter Thirty-Three
DJ enjoyed the graveyard shift. Truly he did. Four in the morning was when his brain was sharp, his senses entirely focused on work. He usually went to the farmers’ market at five every morning anyway. Now he just went two hours before that and got to Curried Dreams a little before four so he could vacate the kitchen by eight for Ashna’s renter.
The deliveries alley was still dark when he pulled into it and got out. Every single time he saw those steps he saw Trisha standing there, her unusually shiny hair catching the light, her unusually long neck held high, the flames in her eyes flashing all sorts of secrets at him that she didn’t know how to hide.
It was all his imagination, of course, because he hadn’t seen her in a couple of weeks. Two days after Emma had woken up, Trisha had handed her care over to Dr. Entoff and disappeared to somewhere in Africa. Not a word of good-bye to him. Which was expected after their last conversation.
She had stormed into Emma’s room and asked him why he’d signed Julia’s release. There had been such beautiful hope in her eyes. “What’s she holding over your head?” she’d asked, as usual laying all her cards on the table.
Which was exactly why he’d had to say what he’d said. “We need the money.”
And he’d walked away from her. Because Julia was right, Trisha wouldn’t care about his history and he couldn’t let her be the cause of putting her brother’s career in jeopardy again. It would kill her.
He pushed away the mix of regret and yearning that lurked close to the surface all the bloody time. The fact that he had found everything about her unusual should have been a sign. The fact that he had noticed every little thing about her should have been another. But those three words, the hired help, those three words had destroyed his rice-paper-thin ego and he’d lost all sense of how to deal with his own awareness of her and how she brought everything inside him to the fore in big disruptive waves.
He was a bloody wanker.
Popping open the boot of the Beetle, he stared at the eighty pounds of tomatoes that sat in cardboard boxes. Today he would prep the makhani sauce for the fund-raiser. No one had fired him yet, so he was forging ahead as planned. Julia had kept her end of the deal and said nothing about the arson thing to anyone. He wasn’t going to think about her lining her pockets from Emma’s video. He didn’t care so long as she left Trisha alone.
He grabbed the bags of cilantro, green chilies, ginger, and garlic. To move the tomato boxes he’d have to bring the trolley out. He trudged up the steps that sent another wave of yearning coursing through him and was about to punch in the security code when he realized that it wasn’t armed. Someone had already disarmed the security system.
He turned the handle. It was unlocked. There had to be something wrong.
“Hullo?” He pushed the heavy metal door open. Then putting the bags down on the floor, he reached for his phone to call Ashna.
“There’s no need to wake Ashna at this hour.”
A man dressed as if he were off to a GQ photo shoot was looking at him with eyes the exact shape of Trisha’s, a neck just as unusually long, and lips that quirked with just as much sardonic focus.
He extended his hand and gave DJ a firm handshake. “Yash Raje.”
“I know.” DJ looked around the kitchen. There was no one else there.
“You expecting someone else?” Yash leaned over and picked up one of the bags that DJ had put down and took it into the kitchen.
“Thank you.” DJ followed him and put the bag he was carrying down next to the sink. “Actually, I wasn’t expecting anyone at all. Ashna lets me use the kitchen for a few hours every morning. How may I help you?”
“I know. I have a slew of sisters who seem quite ready to do anything for you.”
“I beg your pardon?”
Yash smiled at that and DJ was reminded of the look that crossed Trisha’s face every time he said those words. “I mean they’d do anything to make sure they get to eat your food.”
“I’ve been told I do all right. Probably why I’m cooking the food for your event.”
The man didn’t respond and DJ studied his face. Was he here to fire him? God knows, he had enough reason to.
Four A.M. was too early for games. “Am I cooking for your dinner?” DJ asked. Because if he wasn’t, he’d rather find out before he made eighty pounds of makhani sauce.
Trisha’s brother peeked into the bag he’d put down. But didn’t respond.
“Do you mind if I unload my car?” DJ asked because he had only four hours to get this done. Just in case he wasn’t about to be fired.
“Of course. Let me help you.” Yash followed him out with the trolley and helped him haul the tomato boxes out of the trunk and onto it. He seemed focused enough on the task, but DJ had a sense he was being studied the entire time.
“My sister is the least devious person I know,” he said when DJ was halfway up the ramp with the trolley, which was r
ather heavy. Then Yash sauntered past him and held the door open. “She’s also the easiest person in the world to hurt when she lets her guard down.”
“I am aware.” DJ dragged the trolley into the kitchen, cut open a box, and started transferring the tomatoes into the sink. “And she doesn’t let that guard down much, does she? But when she does . . .” The tomato in his hand was in danger of being crushed, so he put it down, pulled the extendable faucet, and filled a pot on the stove and set it to boil. “She’s also incredibly brilliant and brave and I’ve never met anyone who works harder. And her focus is a scary thing. And everyone in your family seems to depend on her and she devotes all her existence into being there for you. I know.”
God, what had he done? How was he ever going to make it right? He started to wash the tomatoes, rubbing at little patches of dirt, trying to scrape them off without damaging the delicate skin. Then he wiped his hands on his smock, wishing he could wipe away the words he had just said because Yash stood there, watching him with hooded eyes. “You’re not one of those Indian blokes who kills anyone who looks in his sister’s direction, are you?”
That earned him a laugh but the man’s eyes stayed guarded. “My sisters can take care of their honor by themselves just fine, thank you very much.”
“Yeah, mine too, mate. God help anyone who thinks she needs protecting.”
A commiserating smile slipped past Yash’s lips and he dipped his head in response. “How is Emma doing?”
“She’s doing great. Thanks to Trisha. Ready to come home. You didn’t answer my question—am I catering your event?”
“If you know Trisha, you should know the answer to that question.”
He did. She had already told him that she would do what she could to make sure he kept his job. He started to empty out the rest of the tomatoes and wash them.
Yash helped him, slicing open the boxes and handing him the tomatoes.
They worked in silence until the boxes were empty. When the water on the stove came to a boil, DJ dumped the first batch of tomatoes into it and watched as they bobbed, ready to have their skin peeled off and their most tender flesh exposed.
“And what about Julia Wickham making a film on Emma?” If the guy was going to play games DJ didn’t have time for, it fell on him to lay things out. He prodded the tomatoes and set a timer on his phone.
“Trisha warned you about working with her. She told you we wouldn’t work with you if you did. Why didn’t you listen?”
DJ met the inquisition in his eyes unflinchingly. “Julia lied to me. I didn’t have any reason not to believe her.” The phone beeped. His half minute was up. He dunked a handled colander into the water and scooped the tomatoes into a cold-water bath. “Actually, that’s not true. I wanted to believe her, because I was angry.”
“With Trisha?”
“Yes, and with things she dug up from my past.”
“What changed your mind?”
“How can you not change your mind if you hang around Trisha long enough?”
“Ah.”
He wasn’t interested in analyzing that response so he said what he’d been wanting to say from the moment he’d seen Yash. “If you’re done with your questions, may I ask you one?” The skin on the tomatoes stretched and cracked. “Why did Trisha leave? The Africa thing? Was that—” But he couldn’t ask if it was him she’d wanted to get away from.
“Have you met our father yet?”
“Haven’t had the pleasure.”
Yash let out another cryptic laugh. “He thinks it was irresponsible of Trisha to work with anyone who worked with Julia, given the history.”
DJ dunked his hands in the ice bath and started to yank the peels off the tomatoes. The coldness of the water seeped up his arms like dread.
Yash paused, as though he could tell how badly DJ wanted to know the rest of it and he was gauging whether he was worthy. “He threatened to disown Trisha if she didn’t pass Emma’s surgery on to another doctor.”
“That’s ridiculous! Did he . . . did he send her to Africa?” He tried to pull his hands out of the ice water, but the cold burn on his fingers held them in place. “Can he do that?”
Had he really thought Yash’s eyes were anything like Trisha’s? The guy was a vault. “Our father can go to some crazy lengths to get his way, and he has. But no, he can’t pack Trisha off to Africa. We aren’t quite that medieval. She did believe him, though, when he told her she wasn’t welcome in the family anymore and ran off to Africa so she wouldn’t be here for the fund-raiser. Our youngest brother lives there.”
“But she still did Emma’s surgery.”
Yash nodded.
“She never even considered not doing it, did she?” DJ said and Yash gave him that look again. The one that said, Ah.
He pulled his hands out of the water and turned to Yash. “Well, Julia’s not going to hurt Trisha—or any of you—ever again.” Her getting to keep all of Emma’s FundMe money would take care of that.
For the first time since Yash had shown up, the way he was watching DJ changed. It was the slightest change, but DJ felt like he had parted one layer of the many that the candidate so deftly kept between himself and the world. “There’s really no way to take care of someone like Julia for good. I suspect she’s going to be like a whack-a-mole jumping up at us at every turn. Our best bet is to know her hand, so she doesn’t have any surprises she can spring on us.”
DJ’s hand froze in the act of setting up the ricer.
Yash was watching him again. “One of her favorite weapons to use against people is love. She’s skilled at putting us in positions where we’re forced to keep secrets. The threat of loved ones being hurt is great ammunition.”
That’s exactly how she had gotten DJ to sign the release.
DJ stared at the mound of peeled tomatoes. This was just one-third of them. A pile of rubbish unless he turned them into sauce. Which he could only do if this man didn’t fire him. But he hadn’t done as Julia asked to keep from being fired. He’d done it because of how he felt about Trisha.
But Yash was right. The secrets she forced you to keep were her power. The only way to beat her was to take those away.
DJ started feeding the tomatoes into the ricer. “My guess is, your real reason for being here is to find out why I signed that release.” He had never told this to anyone, this secret that had chased him his entire adult life. “Julia has pulled something out of my past. Something she’s misrepresenting. Something she’s found a way to use to hurt you and consequently Trisha. She can have the money if that’ll keep her quiet. Emma and I never wanted it anyway.”
Yash’s hands went to his hair, his first display of real emotion. “So you don’t know.”
“Don’t know what?”
“Your signature on the release didn’t mean anything. Emma hadn’t given you power of attorney. Trisha figured it out. She made Julia withdraw the FundMe. There’s almost one hundred and fifty thousand dollars that she siphoned out of the account just waiting to be turned into fraud charges if you and Emma cooperate.”
“Of course. It would be our absolute pleasure.” God, he would do anything to put the woman behind bars where she couldn’t hurt people.
“And this thing she blackmailed you with?”
“I can’t tell you what that is. Not until I’ve told your sister first. You can decide if you want to work with me or not. But I won’t tell you before I’ve told Trisha.”
For a long time they both stood there wordlessly, contemplating the pile of tomatoes, their gazes moving from the ones being ground up by the ricer to the ones sitting in piles on the kitchen counter.
Finally, Yash spoke. “Are these for my party?”
DJ nodded.
“That’s an awful lot of tomatoes to waste.” He pushed off the counter he was leaning on. “I’ll see you in two days at the dinner. Trisha will be back from Malawi that morning. I suspect you two will have a lot to talk about.”
He was halfway to the
door when he turned around. “I believe you are well acquainted with my other sister, Nisha? Her husband makes it a habit to climb on and off balconies to impress her. It seems to me like the most ridiculous thing to do. But both my sisters seem to find it inexplicably endearing.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
Trisha was hiding out in the bathroom of the Astoria. There were many reasons for this, but the only one that mattered was that DJ was working his magic in the kitchen and she needed to keep from making her way there and embarrassing herself. As promised, Yash had taken care of things and kept HRH from firing him. Trisha hadn’t been involved in the event planning after Neel and Nisha’s supermushy reunion—who would have thought ten years of a good marriage needed an ex to make it even better? But Nisha was feeling well and had taken the reins back fully.
Trisha had been relieved.
Yes, she had.
She’d spent the past two weeks in Malawi performing surgeries and training surgeons from around southern Africa. When Ma had convinced her that HRH had “forgiven her” and asked her to be at the fund-raiser, Trisha had thought about canceling her trip. But her little brother had talked her into taking the time for herself. “There’s no place like Africa to set your head straight,” Vansh had declared, and Trisha had been in just the mood to test out his wisdom. Plus, her head was in desperate need of being set straight. Along with her heart after DJ had looked at her the way she’d always wanted to be looked at and then walked away from her.
“Don’t be a damn tourist,” Vansh had said. “Don’t try to see Africa. No one can ‘see’ Africa in ten days. Just stay put and do your work and be.”
Being was good. Being had been very good.
But she was glad to be back home.
The first thing she’d done after coming back was go see Emma. She’d been by herself. She was doing remarkably well and was ready to be discharged in a few days. Her balance and orientation were slowly getting normalized. Jane had been spending a lot of time with her and there had been a veritable forest of, ahem, phallic sculptures in the hospital room that they’d been “testing some new clay on.”
