For a second I closed my eyes. It reminded me of Dad’s holding me in my childhood, when I needed comforting during an illness or after a terrifying nightmare.
“She needs to be seated, not lying down,” instructed the doctor.
A moment later I was placed with incredible gentleness on a tan sofa with my back against the armrest and my feet stretched out in front of me. At least now my skirt wasn’t riding too high, only up to mid-thigh.
One look at my right foot and I winced. The shoe had fallen off, the hose ripped at the toes. The ankle looked like it belonged on a baby elephant—fat and gray. I started to sniffle again. I’d never be able to use my right foot again. I’d likely be a cripple for the rest of my life.
“Now, now, I know it hurts, but this should make it better.” The doctor put zippered sandwich bags filled with ice cubes on either side of my ankle and secured them with a stretch bandage. He was right. Although the ice was a shock to the skin, it did ease the throbbing.
“Will I be able to walk again?” I was almost afraid to ask the question. What if the answer was no? It was my right foot, too. I’d never be able to drive or walk ... or dance.
“Of course you’ll walk again,” the doctor said with a short laugh.
“You’re sure?”
“Didn’t I tell you it’s just a sprain?” He grabbed a tan and black accent pillow from somewhere and slid it under my foot.
Just a sprain? It felt like my foot had been put through a meat grinder.
“You’ll need to stay off the foot for a couple of days and then take it easy for a while after that,” he added. “In two days you’ll be hobbling, and in a week or so you may start driving. Just don’t wear any high heels for a couple of weeks.”
“But high heels are the only kind of work shoes I have,” I protested. I was a professional, not some elderly woman who stepped out of the house to buy groceries once a week. But at least the doctor had assured me I could walk. That was something.
“So wear sneakers for a few days,” he said with a stern expression.
“But—”
He probably saw the gleam of defiance in my eyes and decided to nip it in the bud. “You want that foot to heal or not?”
“Yes,” I replied on a sigh. “May I have a tissue, please?” I asked once again, trying not to give in to my urge to wipe my nose on my sleeve. The doctor handed me a wad of tissues. It was such a relief to finally blow my nose and breathe normally.
Meanwhile Nayak stood a little distance behind the doctor, brows still knotted, and my shoes dangling from his fingers. Nish and Paul stood next to him, arms folded, looking equally distressed.
With the pain beginning to ebb, I noticed something. Despite his size, Paul looked rather small next to Nayak. Nish looked miniscule.
They weren’t kidding when they said Nayak was tall. And now that I was sitting up and looking at him from a different angle, he wasn’t all that fierce-looking.
He wasn’t scary at all. Why had I thought that when I was lying on the floor?
I also noticed the large window beside the couch, with a view of the parking lot and the street beyond. From up here the maple trees in the separator islands looked more colorful in their various shades of fall.
“I’m going to prescribe a painkiller and a muscle relaxant for you, Miss Shenoy,” the doctor said, and started scribbling on a prescription pad. Then he dug through his bag and handed me a bunch of individual foil packs of pills and a business card. “Some samples—enough for today and tomorrow.” He pushed two pills out of the foil with his thumb and handed them to me. “I want you to take these right now. And take one of each tonight, after dinner.”
I looked at the pills and wondered if they would knock me out, make me forget the pain and humiliation of everything that had happened.
Suddenly something struck me. The doctor had made a house call of sorts. Doctors didn’t usually make house calls. In the rare event they did, it had to cost a ridiculous amount. “Uh, Dr. Murjani, about your ... fees?”
“You have insurance, don’t you?” he said, his brow descending. His expression clearly said he hoped to God I had insurance.
“Of course she has insurance,” Nayak’s voice cut in. “All our full-time employees are covered.” He shot the doctor a meaningful glance. “Don’t worry, Doctor; I’ll take care of whatever the cost is.”
The doctor’s face cleared up. “Now make sure she doesn’t drive home, Mr. Nayak.” He pointed a finger at me. “If any problems arise, you call my office at that number.” Before grabbing his bag and exiting the room, he offered me one last word of caution: “No high heels until the foot is back to normal.”
I nodded and thrust the card, prescription slip, and the remaining foil packs in my jacket pocket. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” he said with an unexpected smile. Now that his fee was assured, he seemed to be in a jovial mood. He motioned for Nayak to follow him. Nayak deposited my shoes next to the sofa, and the two men stepped outside, talking in hushed tones.
Nish, who’d stood by in total silence, stepped closer to me. “I’m sorry about what happened, Meena. But don’t worry; we’ll take care of everything. I’ll make sure the worker’s comp papers are filed properly and all that.”
I managed to crack a watery smile. “Thanks.”
“If there’s anything I can do, call me.”
Nish left after those comforting words, but Paul came to stand beside me with a bottle of water. “Here, you better take your medication right away.” He glanced at my foot and offered me a sympathetic look. “Hurts something nasty, huh?”
I nodded, swallowed the meds, and gave the bottle back to him. “Thank you.”
“I’m sorry, Meena,” said Paul, screwing the lid back on the bottle. “You were rushing out of the elevator like an express train. Unfortunately Prajay was coming toward you at an angle. It was an accident waiting to happen.” He shook his head and clucked. “I didn’t see him either, until he was almost on top of you.”
I blew my nose once again. “It’s not your fault. I was careless.” I looked at my foot wrapped in ice cubes. The pain had eased, but the ice was numbing the whole leg. “I firmly believe in fate. It was meant to happen.”
“You really believe in that stuff?”
“I was destined to make a rotten impression on the boss,” I assured him. “Now he’s going to hate me for causing all this trouble, and my job’s going to be history.”
Paul laughed. “Where’d you come up with a notion like that?”
“I’m serious, Paul. This doesn’t look good. You should start looking for another PR manager soon.”
“Stop talking nonsense. No one’s going to fire you. People don’t get fired for taking a spill.” Then he looked at his watch. “I doubt if we’re going to have that meeting after all.”
Just then Nayak walked in. “We’ll have to arrange for Ms. Shenoy to be driven home,” he said to Paul.
“I’ll drive her home,” Paul offered. “In fact, I’ll have Pinky drive Meena’s car to her house, and I’ll bring Pinky back. No sense letting Meena’s car sit here for the next several days if she’s going to be out.”
“I agree.” Nayak looked at me thoughtfully for a second. “Let her stay in my office for a while and rest. We’ll take her down to your car later.”
“Good idea.” Paul glanced at me. “You going to be okay?”
“I guess. But I don’t want to be in Mr. Nayak’s way. Maybe I can hobble downstairs with you?”
“You won’t be in my way,” said Nayak, cutting me off—reminding me who was boss. “I’ll work in the conference room since the meeting’s canceled.” He inclined his head toward the door. “You go on, Paul. Call me in a couple of hours, and we’ll have Miss Shenoy transported to the parking lot.”
I was grateful for all that Nayak was doing, but irritation was beginning to set in. He was talking about me like I wasn’t there, like I was some kind of cargo to be transported. Was
he afraid I’d sue him?
It had to be that—fear of a lawsuit. Why else would he have carried me in here himself? Why else would he let me stay in his office and rest? Why else would he pretend to care about my welfare?
Whatever his reasons, I had no choice but to stay put. I was more helpless than a newborn puppy. Tears of self-pity started to gather in my eyes.
“Miss Shenoy, is the pain really bad?” Nayak was at my side in a flash. He glanced at my foot. “Can I do anything for you?”
I shook my head. The man looked desperate. He was terrified of a lawsuit. “You don’t have to fuss over me, Mr. Nayak. I don’t plan to sue you or anything.”
“That’s the last thing on my mind, Miss Shenoy,” he retorted, clearly insulted by my remark. “I’m more concerned about your health, believe it or not.”
His eyes were still on my foot. Thank goodness my toenails were painted in a shade called Blushing Rose, to match the pink sari I’d worn as bridesmaid at my best friend Rita’s wedding the previous weekend. Rita’s mother had insisted that I also wear a row of fake pink pearls and matching earrings.
I’d looked like a skinny stick of bubble gum, but I’d had no choice, since Rita’s parents were paying for my ensemble. Anyway, at the moment, under the circumstances, my toes looked reasonably good due to the recent pedicure, despite the tear in the hose.
“I’m sorry you had to cancel the meeting because of me,” I said to Nayak, mopping my eyes. By now they probably looked like boiled lobsters.
“Don’t worry about it. We can reschedule.”
Now that he was standing right next to me, I took a closer look at him. His face was large and matched his overall size. His nose was long and hooked. But there was an intelligent spark in his eyes, and his mouth was wide, with a generous lower lip. The mouth was his best feature. His hair was thick and black and slightly wavy.
He wasn’t a bad-looking guy, but there was something hawk-like and intense about him. I shivered at his nearness.
Perhaps discomfited by my inspection, he checked his watch. “Will you be all right here by yourself?”
I nodded. “The pills must be working, because the pain’s receding. I’m feeling a little light-headed, too.”
“Can I get you anything? Coffee, soda?”
Why not? How often does a girl get to be carried in the arms of a CEO and then get pampered on top of it? “Coffee would be nice, thank you,” I replied with a grateful smile. “Lots of cream and one sugar.”
“Got it.” He strode out of his office.
For the first time I noticed the beautifully tailored pinstriped pants that draped well over his endlessly long legs, starched white shirt that stretched across his wide shoulders, and the glossy black wing-tip shoes. Nice. I was always a sucker for preppy looks. The suit jacket was on a hanger over a coatrack by his desk. It looked bigger than my dad’s bulkiest winter coat.
Since I was alone now, I let my gaze wander over the office. It was a very masculine room, with large windows in the two perpendicular walls. The cappuccino vertical blinds were open. Dense ivory carpeting covered the floor.
The cherry desk and credenza were generously wide. The chair was an ergonomically designed contraption made of chrome and brown leather. It could probably be adjusted a dozen different ways to accommodate Nayak.
A row of cherry bookcases covered half a wall. They held books and binders, mostly on software and computer-related subjects. A large oil painting of an Indian rural scene dominated the wall behind the couch I sat on.
From my vantage point I could clearly see two photographs in wooden frames on the credenza. A middle-aged couple in one—most likely Nayak’s parents. The other one showcased three children: two boys around ten and eight respectively, and a girl, perhaps three years old. I wondered who the kids were. A family resemblance was certainly there—the boys had the thick eyebrows and the girl had the same mouth as Nayak.
Nayak walked in with a steaming mug of coffee and napkins. I turned my attention to him, feeling a bit guilty about having stared at his family pictures. He must’ve guessed what I’d been up to, because he inclined his head toward the credenza. “My parents, and my niece and nephews.”
“You have a nice family.” I accepted the coffee and took a cautious sip. It was wonderful—rich and creamy, with a hazelnut flavor. They sure had nice coffee in the executive break room.
He smiled, the unexpectedly sunny motion softening the harsh planes of his face. “Yes, I do.”
After a couple more sips of coffee had me sufficiently warmed up, my confidence grew. “Can I ask you something, Mr. Nayak?”
“Sure. And call me Prajay. We’re rather informal around here. I’m sure you know that by now.”
“Uh ... Prajay, are you going to fire me for this?” I pointed to my foot.
His roar of laughter startled me. “Are you serious? It was an accident. I’m to blame for it more than you. I was so preoccupied, I wasn’t paying attention to the surroundings.”
“Me too, I guess.”
“You’re so small compared to me. You went down quick.”
“Hmm.” No wonder I’d felt like I’d been knocked over by a truck. “Still, it caused quite a stir ... and you had to cancel an important meeting.”
He dismissed it with a wave of his large hand. “Accidents happen, Meena. We just adjust our schedules accordingly.” He looked at his wristwatch. “If you’ll be okay by yourself, I think I’ll go work in the conference room.”
“Sure. Thanks for everything.”
“Just leave the cup on the table beside you. I’ll stop by in a couple of hours and take you downstairs.” As he reached the door, he turned around briefly. “If you need anything, just holler. Anna, my assistant, is right outside.”
“Thanks.”
He picked up some folders and a laptop computer from his desk and strode out once again. I nearly chuckled when I realized I’d been nervous about meeting him. Come to think of it, he was a nice guy—a gentle giant. I’d worried unnecessarily. And he smelled really wonderful.
Besides my weakness for sharp dressers, I was also partial to men who smelled good.
Maybe it was the painkiller that was doing a number on my brain. I was beginning to feel a pleasant wooziness creeping over me. I put the empty mug of coffee on the end table, wiggled my bottom, and slid down a little so my head rested on the pillow that had been tucked behind my back.
Everything around me started to take on a hazy glow. The pain was almost gone. Those pills were fantastic.
I closed my eyes and sighed. Prajay Nayak was a sweet guy. I was beginning to like him. A lot.
Chapter 4
Dr. Murjani’s painkillers were so potent that I evidently fell into a deep sleep on Prajay Nayak’s couch. How much more embarrassing could it get, especially when it was supposed to be the day to make my best impression?
My nap must have been a minor coma, because when I woke up I found myself at home, in my own bed, dressed in my own pajamas. It took my brain several seconds to absorb the other details. My purse sat on the floor next to the bed. I slowly pulled myself up and sat leaning against the headboard. My head spun before settling down. My ankle was still very sore, but the pain was bearable.
So how did I get here? Was I dreaming?
I had no recollection of being carried in Prajay’s arms to the elevator and then to Paul’s car. What a bummer. I had been hoping to recapture that special feeling of being held like a fragile creature in a strong pair of arms, somewhat like the scene from King Kong, and I had wanted to sniff that amazing cologne once again.
It would have been my one chance to experience what one of my historical romance novel heroines did when the dashing hero swept her up and carried her to his private quarters after she’d had an attack of the vapors. The first time Prajay had done that, I had been in too much pain to savor the experience.
Now I’d never know the joy because I’d slept through the whole thing.
Prajay m
ust have thought I was ungrateful. No matter how big and strong he was, it wasn’t an easy task to carry a dead weight all the way to the elevator, down to the lobby, and then to a waiting car.
“You’re awake,” said a familiar voice from the doorway. I glanced at my mom as she approached my bed with a lap tray. “I figured you’d be up by now, and probably hungry.”
She was dressed in baggy jeans and a black sweatshirt. Mom looked young when she wore those instead of a sari or a stuffy pantsuit. Taller and bigger than me, but still slim, she had a pointed chin, sparkling eyes, and dark, curly hair that she wore in a single braid. She didn’t look like the mother of three grown children.
I was feeling relaxed and lethargic—probably the aftereffects of the drug. This was pleasant, getting spoiled by my mother. Only in instances of dire illness did one get this kind of royal treatment from her. Mom wasn’t the fussing, hovering type. Brisk and practical was more her style—despite her being a medical doctor with a large practice.
“Thanks, Mom,” I said with a grateful smile as she placed the tray over my lap and adjusted the folding flaps to fit over my thighs.
“How’s your foot feeling?” She bent down to examine it with a professional frown, then nodded. “Looks much better. Thank goodness it was just a simple sprain.”
“Still hurts, but not as bad as this morning.” Sometimes I wished she’d give me a hug or a maternal kiss. But those gestures had stopped after I’d gone past the toddler stage.
“I keep warning you about your taste in shoes,” she chided. “Those ridiculous stilts that you insist on wearing are dangerous, not to mention unhealthy for your feet.”
“It had nothing to do with my stilts, Mom. I was walking out of the elevator while Prajay Nayak was rushing out of his office, and we collided. Both of us were careless. The mouse got knocked over by the elephant.”
The Reluctant Matchmaker Page 3
