by Alisha Rai
“Dev?”
Dev looked up and turned off his phone with all the speed of someone watching a far more illicit video than a modestly clad woman wearing a face mask. “Yes?” He cleared his throat. “Yes. Hello.”
The man standing in front of him beamed at him. Hudson Rivers—his real name, he’d assured Dev—was a rising star with a chiseled jawline and sun-kissed brown hair. He was the star of the show, the beleaguered single father trying to raise a daughter on his own. Dev played his sidekick friend, and not a very good one at that. His character had cheated with the man’s wife.
Dev had never done an infidelity arc. A romantic lead hero was supposed to be just that—a hero, and heroes didn’t cheat.
He’d like to think that the writers were trying to create a layered, nuanced character, but he was starting to think he’d been slightly misled, and he wasn’t one of the heroes of the show at all.
It is fine. Close your eyes and think of the money.
Hope Street had offered more than anyone else, and it did have some big American names in it. Like Hudson.
“Sorry to bother you. We haven’t gotten to talk much. I was hoping to have time to chat with you at the party yesterday, but Richard monopolized me for most of the night.” Hudson’s good-natured shrug complemented the humblebrag.
Richard Reese played Hudson’s father in the show and was the top-billed actor. He didn’t seem to care much about anyone on the show, especially Dev, whom he’d dismissed on sight at their first table read.
Dev had wanted to politely explain to the older man that he’d had richer and more famous actors at his seventeenth birthday party, but his mother hadn’t raised an asshole. “Not an issue,” he said to Hudson. “How are you doing?”
“Well, thanks. Glad we’re getting this show on the road finally.” Hudson leaned against the chair next to his. “I’ve been traveling a lot for features lately.”
Another humblebrag.
“It’s nice to work close to home sometimes. My kids are still young, I’d like to see them more. You got kids?”
“I’m raising my niece, Luna.” Dev braced himself, but Hunter didn’t change expression at all. It was kind of refreshing to meet people who didn’t know the tragic circumstances that had led to his taking care of his niece. “She’s thirteen.”
“Nice. My eldest is around her age. Where does she go to school?”
“We’re still looking.”
“Ah, well, Marymount is the best. It’s where my kid goes.”
Dev had slowly warmed to the thought of public school. If part of coming here had been to get away from his privileged name and the baggage it entailed, Luna was right. He had to take apart his own classism.
Hudson dropped into the chair next to his and examined his face in the brightly lit mirror. “This makeup job was terrible, huh? And they didn’t even do yours.” He raised his voice and called out to no one in particular. “We need makeup over here!”
Dev rubbed his chin. A smear of brown makeup came off. “I already had mine done, actually—” he began, but a young South Asian woman had already materialized, her brown cheeks flushed.
She looked at Dev. “I’m so sorry, sir. Can I help you?”
Dev hooked his thumb at Hudson. “I didn’t call for you, sorry.”
Her face fell. “Oh.” She turned to Hudson. “Yes, Mr. Rivers?”
“Mr. Rivers is my father,” Hudson drawled, his smile blinding. “Call me Hudson. And what’s your name?”
“Kalpana.”
“Well, Kalpana, this other little girl did my makeup in my trailer and I don’t think she got the blend right on my hairline here.”
The woman snapped to attention and grabbed a brush off the vanity. “Oh yes. She’s new, I’m training her.”
“Would have been a shame if we’d gone on camera like this, yes?” Hudson gave her a meaningful look and she nodded furiously.
“I’ll talk to her, I promise.”
Dev shifted. In the early years of his show, they hadn’t even had a makeup team, just a single woman with a brush and an attitude. “I don’t think it would have been that big a deal,” he said quietly. “They could have fixed it in post if necessary.”
Kalpana shrugged her thick braid over her shoulder and shot him an inscrutable look.
Hudson’s smile tightened. “Well, you gotta have something to fix. Kalpana, get some makeup on our friend here, eh?”
Kalpana came closer and peered at him. “Mr. Dixit’s skin is simply so good he doesn’t require much.” She pulled out a few pots and tubes.
Dev resisted the urge to examine his skin in the mirror. He knew it was too soon to credit Jia, but he had stopped on the way to work and picked up the drugstore cleanser she swore by.
“I wanted to tell you what an honor it is to work with you, Mr. Dixit.” Kalpana ran the brush over his face with brisk strokes.
Oh no. She was going to tell him how much she loved his family and give him her tearful condolences. Was it wrong to hate sympathy as much as he did? “You can call me Dev.”
“Dev. My grandmother nearly died when I told her you’d be here. She’s been watching Kyunki Mere Sanam Ke Liye Kuch Bhi since the very first episode. I used to watch it as a kid with her.”
Dev’s shoulders relaxed. Easier to deal with someone who loved his show rather than someone expressing sympathy for his brother and grandfather. “Thank you.”
“What’s that?” Hudson broke in.
“My old show.”
“It was on the air for eleven years,” Kalpana told Hudson. Then to Dev, “My grandmother was heartbroken when it ended. We’re so excited to have you back on our TV, even if I’ll have to translate Hope Street for her.”
“Thank you. I hope you both enoy it.”
She gave him a slightly adoring look. “I’m sure anything you do will be wonderful.”
A page popped up behind her, forestalling Hudson’s response. “Mr. Rivers, they’re ready for you. Mr. Dixit, we’ll call you in about half an hour.”
Hudson saluted him and stood. “Talk soon, Dev. Thanks, Kalpana, for the touch-up.”
“I appreciate it as well,” Dev murmured to Kalpana, as soon as the other man left.
She beamed at him. “No worries.” She cleared her throat. “Listen, since you’re new here, if you ever want to go grab a drink, I can show you around town. Open invite whenever.”
He stared at her blankly. He’d never been good with romantic cues. Was she flirting with him?
After telling him that she’d started watching his show when she was a literal child? “Ah.” His phone rang, and he snatched it up off his lap, grateful for being saved by the bell. “I have to get this.”
“Oh sure.” She looked disappointed, but she left while he answered.
“Devanand.”
He sat up a little straighter. That was what he got for not checking the caller ID before taking an exit to an awkward conversation.
No one used his full first name except for his grandmother, and the way she drawled it always made him feel like his shoelaces were untied or his hair messy. “Aji. How are you? Why are you calling so late?” It was late in the evening in Mumbai.
“I don’t sleep much.” Back in her glory days, his grandmother’s voice had been throaty on purpose, for sex appeal. Now it was raspy from years of cigarettes and cigars. “Why is Luna not answering my call?”
“She has certain times when she can’t use the phone, like during her studies.”
“That is cruel.”
He looked around, hoping the PA would pop up and tell him he was needed earlier. “It’s the kind of parenting her therapist recommended.”
“If she has no phone, she cannot talk to me. That is unacceptable. I shall send her a second phone.”
“You will do nothing of the sort.” He made his tone as firm as he could. When he and Rohan had been orphaned and sent to live with their grandparents at sixteen and thirteen, their elders had left them mostly to the
ir own devices.
Dev would have much rather had some maternal softness or kind words. Rohan hadn’t minded, or at least not outwardly. He’d taken the credit cards the couple had tossed at them and followed their cousin, Arjun, down scandal’s path.
Luna was a different story. Aji wasn’t exactly maternal with the girl, but as far as he could tell, they had an easy relationship where they both sought each other out. Though he didn’t understand it, Dev was willing to respect their bond. But he certainly wasn’t going to let Luna be spoiled without any checks like Rohan had been, and a second phone he couldn’t monitor came under that category.
His grandmother ignored him, which wasn’t unusual. “Luna tells me you are renting? You should buy a nice house.”
“Real estate is rather expensive here.” He didn’t have the money for a hefty down payment.
“You know you could afford whatever you like.”
Oh, it was going to be a call about this.
A shot of frustrated anger ran through him, as it did every time he thought of his too-controlling late grandfather. The man had died mere weeks after Rohan. Dev hadn’t really counted on an inheritance, but his grandfather’s final wishes, showing exactly how he felt about his wayward son’s unwanted descendants, had still hurt. “Seeing as how I only have a few months left to meet the condition, I very much doubt I’m going to be able to make it.”
“The will only said marriage by thirty-three, no specifics. Don’t tell me you can’t find a single suitable woman?”
“You’d be happy if I married any woman, eh?” He gave a humorless laugh.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
It means your husband disowned your eldest son for marrying a woman of a lower class and different religion. Dev couldn’t say that, though.
He didn’t actually think his grandmother had driven his parents away. She just hadn’t stopped her husband from doing it. He lowered his voice, though no one was near enough to hear him. “It means I’m not picking up some woman off the street so I can inherit money.” He had no issue with marriage—privately, he agreed that it was high time he settled down with someone. But that had nothing to do with this. He might be up to his ears in Rohan’s debts, but he wasn’t about to drag some poor strange woman into his family’s mess.
Plus, honestly . . . it pained his pride to let his grandfather win. He could well imagine the old man in hell, cackling because he’d forced Dev to jump into a loveless marriage for money.
“A marriage in a couple months is not absurd. I knew your grandfather for two weeks before we got married. Your parents ran away after a month.”
His grandmother must be extremely desperate, if she was going to mention his parents. They usually tiptoed around that subject. “It’s not the time issue.”
“I have told you, I have a number of friends’ daughters who would make you very happy. You’re being so stubborn. You should—”
You should. He thought of Jia’s wise words on the subject of you should. “No,” he said firmly.
“Then you pick a girl.”
His face grew hot. The only girl who had captured his attention recently had nothing to do with any will.
“I will accept anyone, I promise, into our family. Think of Luna. You could turn right around and give it all to her.”
That was the only tempting part of this charade. His grandfather had left nothing to his only great-grandchild.
Perhaps he was being overly stubborn. An inheritance could solve a lot of his problems and give him and Luna freedom.
No. He made good money. It might take some time, but he’d crawl out of this debt his brother had left him and take care of Luna by himself. “I have to go, I’m at work. I’ll have Luna call you when I get home tonight.”
His grandmother sighed. “Very well. Think about what I’ve said. Goodbye.”
“Goodbye, Aji.” He hung up and nearly rubbed his forehead before he remembered that his makeup would smear.
Then you pick a girl.
He tapped his phone against his palm, and then opened Instagram. He’d taken the app off his phone years ago, since Chandu’s agency handled most of his social media. He’d only downloaded it again a month or so ago when he’d realized Luna had an account. She mostly posted memes and odd-angled selfies, but he supposed it was a good idea to keep tabs on her. He had some time before he had to worry about bikini photos. Not that he knew what he’d do if she started posting those. Her body, her choice? But he was also her guardian and she was underage. Whose choice was it then?
Raising a little human was a real mind twister.
He typed Jia’s name into the search bar now. He clicked on her avatar and was rewarded with a selfie. It was from last night, but perhaps before he’d done whatever he’d done to bring unshed tears to her eyes. The photo couldn’t capture the metallic threads in her scarf or dress, or the high velocity sheen that had been on her cheeks.
He rubbed his thumb over her cheek but told himself it was just to pause it to read the caption. If I meet Mr. Right tonight, I won’t be mad.
His heart did an odd double thump. He placed his hand over his chest.
His phone buzzed. John, with a phone number, and a note. I didn’t find anything criminal on this woman. Here’s her number, tho. Should I keep digging?
Dev replied immediately. No, thank you.
He had the information that she wasn’t, for example, wanted in three countries for stalking actors. Which was, admittedly, a low bar.
He checked his watch. He still had some time.
What would be the point in using that phone number? He scrolled through the photos of Jia, faster and faster, until they became a blur of gold and brown and red and every other color of the rainbow. No unshed tears here.
Something had upset her yesterday before she’d darted away from him, right? He could check in on her. Make sure she was okay.
Yes. It would be entirely altruistic.
Chapter Five
THIS SON of a bitch.
Jia hadn’t realized she’d sworn out loud, until her driver cleared his throat. “I beg your pardon?”
She glanced up, embarrassed. She always drove herself to her studio in Los Angeles, but today she’d accepted Katrina’s offer to have her housekeeper, Gerald, chauffeur her to and from the city. While it was nice to not have to concentrate on driving, talking to herself was a lot harder when she wasn’t alone in her car.
“I’m sorry. It’s nothing.”
Gerald hummed and turned his attention pointedly back to the road.
She looked down at her phone and tried not to swear again, but there it was, in her analytics. Dev Dixit had peeped her photo from last night.
She regulated her breathing as her thoughts raced. Why, this meant . . .
Absolutely nothing.
He could have still lied about knowing her. Someone else could still be in charge of his account. It didn’t matter. Katrina and Rhiannon had told her it didn’t matter. If her twin ever responded to her—Ayesha was on some annoying camping retreat with her fellow residents, and not answering her texts—she would tell her it didn’t matter.
Jia grimly navigated to her contacts and erased Dev’s name, and that damn heart she’d put after it. She typed Catfishing Asshole in and nodded. There. That would remind her, if he ever did contact her again.
She was going to move on with her life, damn it. She was like if Destiny’s Child’s “Survivor” and Kelly Clarkson’s “Stronger” were a person. She was a stronger survivor.
“We’re here, Miss.”
Here at work, which was what adult women who didn’t need no man did. Jia grabbed her bag. “Thanks, Gerald.”
“Not a problem. I shall pick you up at seven. Ring me if anything changes.”
“Will do. Sorry you got dragged into Los Angeles for the day.”
The older man met her eyes in the rearview mirror and cracked a grin. “There’s at least three restaurants I’ve been meaning to try. A
day wandering around the city is quite a treat.”
She gave him a smile in return. “Good. See you soon.”
She got out of the car and shut the door with perhaps more strength than necessary. Jia had started her empire—that’s what she called it, her empire—in her messy childhood bedroom, with her kinda crappy phone and terrible lighting.
Look at her now. This wasn’t the most glamorous building, what with the Trader Joe’s on the ground floor, but 1600 Williams was well known to every internet-famous celebrity in the world. Many of them lived and worked here, but she’d only needed a place to film that wasn’t her own bedroom. She split costs on a staged apartment with another woman who came in once or twice a week to use the pool.
A couple got into the elevator with her and ignored her, which was fine with Jia, and on par with what she knew about this particular duo. Young and fit and blond, they made a lot of nauseating fifteen-second videos about how in love they were with each other.
Jia had once seen the woman chuck her phone at her dear hubby’s head in the hot tub because he was scoping out another woman, so how much of their on-screen presence was genuine was up for debate.
“Have you met the new guy down the hall?” Ken asked his wife. “I heard he’s barely got ten thousand followers.”
Barbie sighed. “They’ll let anyone in here.” She cast a sideways, malicious glance at Jia.
She was getting too old for this, but Jia wasn’t so preoccupied that she couldn’t react. She straightened and gave Barbie a sweet smile. “Sorry, have we met?”
The blonde surveyed Jia from head to toe and then smirked and tossed her hair. “I think so. You’ve been around for a loooong time, haven’t you?”
