‘She’s wearing a jersey. You can buy them on Shopcart for a thousand bucks. If I didn’t get it for free, I would too!’
‘Are you telling me she bought that jersey online?’
‘No, I gifted it to her after we won the World Cup,’ he admitted.
Nidhi went silent.
‘Jealous?’ Vikram teased.
‘Why would I be? Natasha Sahay is just another name on the long list of your . . . your concubines!’
Vikram burst out laughing. ‘Oh, Billi! Where have you been all these years?’
Nidhi froze.
‘Are you there?’ Vikram asked after a long pause.
Her voice came out as a high-pitched squeak. ‘Yes.’
‘Natasha and I have the same hair stylist who we visit once a month. I forgot my phone at home yesterday, which is why I was “indisposed”,’ he explained calmly.
‘It’s none of my business,’ Nidhi reiterated, her tone still sceptical.
‘Call Shear Joy in Bandra and ask if Mr O.D. Singh came in for a haircut on Friday.’
‘Who is Mr O.D. Singh?’
‘Me. It’s an alias I use sometimes.’
‘Why that name?’
He paused. ‘O.D. as in Odie.’
Her tone softened. ‘You fake-named yourself after Odie?’
Vikram cleared his throat. ‘I loved that little guy.’
Nidhi felt herself melt inside. ‘Me too.’
‘Nidhi,’ he began, his voice strained, ‘I want us to . . . stop fighting. Is that too much to ask for?’
She paused and considered his words. And when she finally spoke, she was surprised by how much she meant her response. ‘No, it isn’t. I’d like that too.’
Nidhi spent the next few minutes discussing the creative with Vikram. When she hung up, she felt a strange tightening in her chest. She promptly attributed the feeling to the unexpected reminder of Odie.
At the balcony of his sea-facing apartment in Mumbai, Vikram took a seat next to Monty and spoke in a deceptively calm voice. ‘You know I love working with you, right?’
Monty looked up from his tandoori jhinga and nodded. ‘Right.’
‘I do everything you ask me to, no questions asked,’ Vikram said, his face expressionless as he watched the waves crash against the rocks.
Even though that was far from the truth, Monty sensed that something much more important was weighing on his client’s mind. So, with wisdom acquired over years of working with Vikram, Monty nodded again. ‘Right.’
‘You ask me to do a dandruff shampoo commercial, I do it. You ask me to attend a politician’s kid’s birthday party, I do it. You ask me to do a social campaign that pays me nothing, I do it. You ask me to pretend I’m dating Natasha, I do it.’
Monty gulped, a little disconcerted by Vikram’s casual tone. ‘Right.’
‘I know you sometimes go beyond the confines of your job description and do things which you believe are in my best interest,’ Vikram continued, and that’s when Monty saw the contained fury in his client’s tightly clenched jaw. ‘But what you said to Nidhi about Natasha was intentionally misleading, and you know it.’
Monty’s eyes widened and he instinctively reached for his bottle of pills. ‘But, Vikram, I didn’t—’
Vikram snapped his gaze to Monty and spoke in a chilling tone. ‘If you ever—and Monty, I mean ever—interfere with me and Nidhi again, you and I are done.’
Monty’s jaw slackened as he absorbed Vikram’s words. He stared at his client of seven years and his voice dropped to a low whisper. ‘Bhen ki . . .’
Vikram raised an arrogant eyebrow in inquiry.
Disbelief flashed in Monty’s eyes. ‘You are in love with her.’
Vikram returned his attention to the view. ‘Maybe. Maybe not.’
Monty smiled. ‘It wasn’t a question.’
‘Thanks for doing this, Nuts,’ Vikram said, clinking his wine glass with hers.
‘Are you kidding me? I’d do anything for a free lunch at Pier 13.’ Natasha winked, tossing her long curls over her shoulder before taking a sip of her pinot noir.
‘The PR team is clearly thrilled,’ he said dryly, tipping his head towards the group of employees beaming their approval at him.
‘So are the journalists,’ Natasha said, waving to the Bombay Times editor seated two tables away from them. ‘When’s your flight?’
‘In a couple of hours.’
‘I thought you weren’t going back to Delhi until Tuesday,’ Natasha said casually.
‘Something came up,’ Vikram said evasively.
Amusement danced in her eyes. ‘Someone, you mean.’
‘I need to see her,’ Vikram said, unable to hide his smile.
Natasha laughed. ‘You’ve got it bad.’
‘Little bit,’ he admitted with a boyish grin.
‘I’ve never seen you like this, sweetie,’ she said, squeezing his hand. ‘You look adorable.’
‘Shut up,’ he said, albeit with a lopsided smile. ‘Don’t make me regret telling you about her.’
‘I never thought I’d live to see the day you voluntarily go to Delhi,’ she teased.
‘Hey, I still dislike that city intensely. I could never live there,’ he scoffed.
‘Never say never,’ Natasha said, daintily lifting a spoonful of lobster bisque to her flaming red lips.
Vikram glanced at the spectacular panoramic view of the Arabian Sea through the tall glass walls of his restaurant. ‘Mumbai is home.’
‘That it is,’ Natasha agreed. ‘Will you send me a picture of Nidhi later?’
‘I intend to drag her out to dinner as soon as I get home.’ He grinned.
She raised an amused eyebrow. ‘Home?’
He cleared his throat. ‘Uh, Delhi.’
‘If you say so.’ She smirked.
A few hours later, when Vikram landed in Delhi, he was glad Natasha wasn’t around to see the goofy grin on his face. He shook his head, slightly abashed by his childlike excitement to see Nidhi. Waves of nostalgia swept over him as he stepped into the car outside the airport. He felt exactly as he had upon returning from cricket camp in Dehradun twelve years ago.
The only difference was that back then he had been a mere teenager, without any experience with the opposite sex. Which is why it surprised Vikram that at twenty-six, after innumerable sexual liaisons with beautiful, accomplished women, he had spent the last week in a state of perpetual arousal after an almost kiss with Nidhi. He hadn’t been able to get the image of her pinned under him out of his head. Or the sensation of her heart pounding against his chest. Or the taste of her soft skin on his lips. And he especially hadn’t stopped thinking about those startling green eyes.
He was behaving like an infatuated idiot, rushing back to Delhi early just to be with her. But there was a far more compelling reason behind advancing his trip than the overpowering need to kiss her. Vikram was convinced that there was more to the story of their falling-out than the version he had lived with for the last twelve years. And he needed to know exactly what had happened so that they could put it to rest and start afresh.
Nidhi sighed and flopped on to her bed. She had spent the last half hour rummaging through her closet, trying to find an appropriate outfit for her date with Kuku. She glanced at the fuchsia one-shoulder mini dress that hung off her bed and mentally discarded it from her shortlist. The dress was beautiful and showed off her curves, but perhaps it was a bit too sexy. And ‘too sexy’ wasn’t the message she wanted to give a guy she had no interest in. She eyed the peach body-con dress sprawled on the floor and rejected it for being too clingy. She had nearly decided upon a sleeveless white sheath dress when her phone rang.
‘Hi, Viks!’ she said warmly.
Since their conversation about ‘Odie Singh’ a few days ago, Nidhi’s feelings towards Vikram had softened substantially. Circumstances had thrown them into each other’s company, and whether Nidhi liked it or not, the fact was that they shared a complex history
. True, things had ended on a sour note, but Nidhi couldn’t deny the good times they’d seen as kids. And their ‘fight’ had happened so many years ago that it felt childish to hold it against him. He seemed to have forgotten about it and moved on; so could she. Above all, he had sounded so sincere about wanting to get along with her that Nidhi decided to give it a genuine shot. Who knew, maybe she and Vikram could actually be friends again.
‘I’m back!’
‘Oh, I thought you weren’t back for another couple of days?’ she asked, surprised.
‘Uh, yeah. I have some work in Delhi.’
‘How was Mumbai?’
‘Boring.’
Nidhi snorted. ‘That’s not what your latest tweet said.’
‘What tweet?’ Vikram asked.
‘“Delicious crab cakes and shrimp cocktail with @NatashaSighHigh at @Pier13Mumbai!”’
Vikram sounded amused. ‘So you follow me on Twitter?’
Dammit.
‘In your dreams,’ she lied, reaching for her laptop to open a browser tab so she could unfollow his Twitter account.
Vikram laughed. ‘Now don’t set about unfollowing me, okay?’
Nidhi froze.
‘That is what you’re doing, isn’t it?’ Vikram snickered.
Nidhi glanced at her bedroom window and found him leaning casually against the ledge of his own, a roguish grin on his face.
‘Stop spying on me!’ she hissed, walking over to the window.
‘I can’t help it. You’re very good at ignoring me,’ he said, flashing her a white smile.
Nidhi hung up the phone. ‘Yes, I am!’ she shouted, before slamming her window shut.
To her annoyance, she heard his deep, throaty laugh through the pane.
A couple of minutes later, there was a knock on her door. Nidhi rolled her eyes. ‘Come in, Vikram!’
‘Hey,’ he said, strolling into the room with a wide smile that faded as soon as he spotted the pile of clothes on her bed. ‘Are you going out?’
‘Yes.’
‘Big date?’ he scoffed.
‘Something like that,’ she muttered.
He stared at her in utter shock. ‘Seriously?’
She nodded.
Vikram’s jaw clenched. ‘With Sameer?’
‘No way!’
Vikram ran a hand over his face. ‘Then with whom?’
‘He’s a lawyer at Papa’s firm,’ she said, shifting under his scrutinizing gaze. It was the same look he’d given her after she had inadvertently got him run-out during an inter-school championship when they were ten. The look was an intense combination of restrained anger and bitter disappointment.
‘I didn’t realize you were the arranged marriage type,’ he said casually.
‘Neither did I,’ she said, forcing a laugh.
‘I see you’re still pandering to your father’s whims and fancies,’ he said, sounding irritated.
‘There’s a difference between pandering to him and protecting him,’ Nidhi said.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Nothing.’
‘What, Nidhi?’
Nidhi sighed. ‘This morning I spent ten minutes trying to get toothpaste out of my hair.’
Vikram seemed confused by her segue, so she continued, ‘Only to realize that it wasn’t toothpaste at all.’
‘What was it?’ he asked.
‘A grey hair!’ she said, waving an accusatory finger at her scalp.
A reluctant grin tugged at his lips. ‘So?’
‘So, I’m not getting any younger, Viks. I need to meet guys!’
‘And you’re going to meet them wearing that?’ Vikram asked, throwing a horrified look at the fuchsia dress.
‘No, most likely I’m wearing this,’ she said, showing him the white dress.
‘No.’
‘What’s wrong with it?’ she asked, furrowing her brow.
It’s too short.
‘It’s too boring.’
‘Hmmm. What about this?’ she said, holding up a long lime-green chiffon dress.
‘No.’
‘Why not?’
Because nothing brings out your eyes like the colour green.
‘It’s too bright.’
She picked up a red silk dress with a plunging neckline. ‘Okay, how about this?’
‘No.’
‘What’s wrong with this one?’
It’s too revealing.
‘It’s too revealing.’
Nidhi groaned. ‘You’re being a pain, Viks!’
‘I’m only trying to help,’ he lied.
‘Fine. Then why don’t you pick something?’ she said, gesturing to her closet.
‘Sure.’ Vikram shrugged, sauntering into the walk-in closet.
For the next ten minutes, he rejected a dozen outfits for reasons such as ‘too long’, ‘too pink’ and, Nidhi’s personal favourite, ‘too blah’. So when he finally said ‘Aha!’, Nidhi turned expectantly to the hanger he was holding up.
She took one look at the outfit he had selected and burst out laughing.
‘What?’ Vikram said innocently.
‘I’m not wearing that on a date,’ Nidhi sputtered through her laughter.
Vikram seemed affronted. ‘Why not?’
She snatched the beige salwar kameez out of his hands. ‘Because I wear it to funerals,’ she said blandly.
‘Don’t ask for my advice if you’re not going to take it,’ Vikram said sullenly, crossing his arms over his chest.
Nidhi narrowed her eyes at him. ‘What’s the matter with you today?’
‘Nothing,’ he grumbled, walking towards the door.
‘Clearly, it’s not nothing,’ she said.
‘Just a headache,’ he said, raking a hand through his hair. ‘Enjoy your date.’
Standing at his window a few minutes later, Vikram watched a tall, burly guy help Nidhi into his car.
Vikram noticed, with some irritation, that Nidhi had worn the green dress.
‘Balraj Sir didn’t steer you towards law?’ Kuku asked, slurping on his spaghetti.
Nidhi tried not to focus on the arabiatta sauce adorning his chin. ‘On the contrary, he never wanted me to become a lawyer.’
‘Why not?’
Because ever since my mother left us to pursue her career, my father is dead against women having demanding jobs.
‘Because he wanted me to have a work–life balance,’ she said diplomatically, taking a small bite of her baked cod.
Kuku nodded his approval. ‘Yes, it’s hard to manage such a taxing profession when a woman’s primary responsibility is towards her family.’
If this were the morning meeting at News Today and one of her male colleagues had made a similar statement, Nidhi would’ve decimated him. But then again, none of her co-workers were chauvinist assholes.
‘I don’t mind my wife working after marriage,’ Kuku said magnanimously. ‘So long as it’s not a very demanding job. Sort of like yours.’
Gee, thanks.
Kuku was clearly representative of the vast majority of Indian men, including her own father, who believed that a woman’s career was second to a man’s, and that women weren’t cut out for ‘serious’ jobs. So Nidhi bit back the scathing retort that was at the tip of her tongue and nodded politely. After all, this was an arranged date, not a job interview.
On the phone last week, her father had sighed. ‘Can’t I ask even this much of you?’
So Nidhi had been unable to refuse him. And for Balraj’s sake, she had actually bothered to put some effort into this evening. She had even spoken at length to her colleague, the marketing insights manager, Sanyukta, who’d had an arranged marriage last year.
‘I met several guys before finally saying yes to my husband. The key is to manage expectations,’ Sanyukta had said. ‘Don’t go in looking for perfection. There will always be something you have to compromise on. Either his looks, or his fashion sense, or the fact that he pronounces “bowl” to rhyme with “cowl
” instead of “coal”,’ she had said with grin, referring to her own husband. ‘You just have to decide if his flaws are things you can live with, or if they are deal-breakers.’
Kuku had ordered Nidhi’s meal for her, which she didn’t appreciate, but did it really qualify as a deal-breaker? He didn’t know how to eat pasta or pronounce her name, but she could teach him those things. His gaze kept dropping to her breasts, but most guys were like that, weren’t they? He had a problem with women drinking alcohol, but so did her father. He clearly didn’t give a shit about Nidhi’s career, but no one was perfect.
Vikram’s face popped in front of her eyes and Nidhi’s fork fell from her hand, clattering on to her plate.
Kuku leaned in and gave her a wink. ‘At least the law practice will stay in the family.’
I don’t remember saying yes, Nidhi wanted to snap, but Balraj’s words came back to her, so she took a deep breath and drew a long sip of her virgin mojito instead.
Compromise.
By the end of the evening, Nidhi was seriously beginning to question the ‘compromise’ strategy.
Kuku insisted on driving, despite having had four glasses of wine. And when Nidhi offered to drive instead, he laughed at the absurdity of her proposal. ‘A drunk male driver is better than a sober female driver.’
On top of that, the alcohol had made him a little too handsy. When his hand came to rest on her thigh, Nidhi was thankful for the scant protection her long dress provided against his touch.
‘Maybe you should use both hands to steer,’ she suggested politely, removing his hand.
‘Don’t tell me what to do!’ Kuku barked. When Nidhi blanched, he forced a laugh. ‘I’m only joking. Of course, you can tell me what to do. After all, you’re my future wife.’
Nidhi stiffened. His eyes almost looked greedy, like Nidhi was a prize to be claimed, and Kuku the rightful winner.
She grasped the armrest and glanced out the window, slightly relieved to see that they were only a couple of minutes from her home. A moment later, she felt Kuku’s finger tracing the curve of her neck. Ignoring her gasp of shock, he hooked his finger in the strap of her dress, sliding it down her shoulder.
‘What are you doing?’ Nidhi snapped, grabbing his wrist and holding it away from her.
Man of Her Match Page 13
