by Sara Desai
Impressive. She really knew her team. Clearly, this wasn’t a fly-by-night fandom.
“Two thousand fourteen?” Sam scratched his head, unable to resist teasing her. “Was that their last big win? I know they lost ninety-eight games one season. I think that’s some kind of record.”
Layla growled so softly he wouldn’t have heard if he hadn’t been sitting on the bench beside her.
So cute. Too bad her team was trash.
“It was a bad year.” She sat up and glared at him. “I’m not about to abandon my team for one bad year after decades of success. Everyone deserves a chance, whether it’s finding a job or playing ball.”
“You seem to have a soft spot for underdogs.” He glanced over at Dilip “king of the underdogs” Sandhu, who was quizzing one of the waiters about dessert.
“And you lack faith in people.” Layla unbuttoned the top button on her blouse and fanned her shirt as if she’d just participated in an activity that made her hot. Sam looked at Dilip to make sure there was no inappropriate staring, but the dude was fully engaged in his conversation.
“I’m realistic,” Sam continued. “Appearances can be deceiving. Behind a mild-mannered man, there may lay a dark villain. I’ve made it my mission to root those people out of every company I visit so the businesses can thrive.”
Layla’s lips quivered at the corners. “Or so stockholders can get more money at the expense of average working people who are doing the best they can. No one is perfect, Sam. I’ve taken paper clips from my office and added a few extra minutes to my lunch break. Am I a bad person? If you came to my business, would you have fired me?”
Yes. But he had the good sense not to share his vision of the world that had lost its color and was now black and white.
“What are your ambitions in life, Dilip?” Sam asked after the waiter had taken Dilip’s order.
“I want to become world manager of weights and measures.” Dilip spoke carefully as if he’d rehearsed his words. “It will require a lot of travel, but with the wife at home looking after my parents and our kids, I think I have a good chance.”
Silence.
Well, except for the sound of hope fizzling and dying.
“That’s very . . . admirable,” Sam said, scrambling for a way to save the interview. “He wants to rule the world. How much more ambitious can you get?”
Layla held out her hand. “Thank you for coming, Dilip. It was lovely to meet you, but I don’t think it will work out.”
“But I can dance.” Dilip jumped up before Sam could stop him. “I’ve been learning ‘Khaike Paan Banaraswala.’” He flailed in the empty space beside them, attempting to reprise Shah Rukh Khan’s dance from the Bollywood movie Don with its famous spit-on-the-floor finish.
“Hugs, dude.” The barefoot, bearded waiter in his grain sack uniform placed a blueberry on the table before wrapping his arms around the profusely sweating Dilip.
“He must think you were having an episode of some sort,” Sam said when Dilip looked to him in confusion. “Just go with it. He probably doesn’t get much love in the sack.”
Layla kicked him again. Same place as last time. Still worth it.
After Dilip had finished his dessert—deconstructed artisanal blueberry pie with a dioxygen crust—and Sam had lost a fight with Layla over the astronomical bill, they bid Dilip a fond farewell and headed back to the office along the busy sidewalk.
“Take this.” Sam handed Layla the paper bag from the café. “You must be hungry after our feast.”
She reached for the bag. Hesitated. “Is it poisoned?”
“No.”
“Squished?”
“No.”
“Did you put a spider in the bag? If so, I’ll have to burn it to the ground.”
“No insects of any kind.”
“Shards of glass? Hot chilies?”
“You don’t get the full twenty questions, either.” Sam led her to a bench in the shade. “I am giving it to you in good faith. Now eat it before you waste away.”
“Thank you.” Layla sat beside him and pulled out the Reuben. “Would you like some gummy bears?” She offered her handbag.
“I’d rather eat massaged bison balls with fermented kraut surprise.”
Layla laughed, a real belly laugh that ended in a snort. It was the best sound in the world. Why did it have to come from the woman who irritated him the most?
“Poor Dilip. I felt sorry for him.” She bit into the sandwich and groaned. “So good.”
Sam felt that groan as a throb in his groin. Had they put something in the pureed Antarctic water? If anything, he should like her less after their lunch. She supported a rival team.
“It’s not too late to call him back,” Sam said. “You, Dilip, his parents, and your six kids could form your own Bollywood dance troupe.”
“Give it up,” she muttered under her breath.
“I never give up,” Sam said. “It’s my greatest strength.”
“How do you know it’s not your greatest weakness? Maybe there are times you should give up and you can’t. I kept trying to be as good as Dev, but I never was. I kept trying to make my relationships work, but I couldn’t. So finally I gave up on finding my Westley and now I’m going to marry someone I don’t love so I don’t have to deal with all the drama. Stubbornness isn’t always a positive quality.” She dabbed her mouth with a napkin, and Sam had a sudden urge to know just how soft her lips were and how they would taste with that little bit of mustard in the corner.
“It is if you call it tenacity.” He’d tried every avenue to get justice for Nisha, and now that a door had opened, he was going to do everything in his power to get that contract. Nothing was going to stop him.
She tipped her head to the side. “That was very insightful.”
“You sound surprised.”
“It wasn’t what I was expecting from a man who knows twenty different ways to say sex.”
Sam preened. “That’s nothing compared to the number of ways I know of having sex.”
“Lucky thing you’re not a Giants fan,” she teased. “I wouldn’t be able to control myself.”
“Yes,” he said as she licked the mustard off her lips. “Lucky.”
• 8 •
“BETA! We brought food.”
Layla’s heart skipped a beat when she heard Taara Auntie’s voice in the hallway. She bolted out of her desk and ran over to Daisy. “Sam is going be back any minute. I can’t let them know I’m working alone in an office with a handsome, single man.”
“If you hadn’t turned down Bachelor #3, it wouldn’t be a problem,” Daisy said. “You’d be engaged to Tarak the firefighter and writing wedding invitations to all his single firefighter friends so I could get laid.”
“He showed up in sweatpants and a rugby jersey and he was obsessed with sports.” Layla’s pulse kicked up a notch as she contemplated how to avoid the auntie invasion. “He said he has a TV in every room of his house including the bathrooms so if he has to get off the couch he doesn’t miss a second of his game. He wanted me to send draft menus of the food I planned to make for his sports championship parties: Super Bowl, Stanley Cup, World Cup . . . He boasted about all the famous players he knows. He offered to give me autographed balls.”
“I’d like to receive autographed balls.” Daisy snickered.
“Beta!” The sound of chappals thudding on wood grew louder. The Indian leather handcrafted slippers were useful both for walking and discipline, although it had been years since her parents had threatened her with a flying chappal.
Her heart pounded. There was nothing she could do. They knew she was here. She just had to get them out before Sam came back.
Max ran to the door, barking in excited anticipation. He knew when Taara Auntie was around, there would be human-size portions of food for him.
&
nbsp; “There you are. And Daisy’s here, too!” Taara Auntie walked in carrying a giant plastic container. “Good thing I made enough to share.”
Salena Auntie came in next with Lakshmi Auntie behind her. Layla gave them each a hug. In their jewel-tone salwar suits, they brightened up the office. “It’s so nice to see you. I’m afraid I don’t have much time. I’ve got—”
“A bucket, I hope,” Salena Auntie whispered in her ear. “That stuff is toxic. I had a spoon of it this morning and only now I was able to leave the restroom.”
“I’ve never been up here before.” Taara Auntie sidestepped them and walked into the office. “Nice and bright. Very modern. Which desk is yours?”
“That one.” She pointed to the Eagerson.
“And who works at the other desk?”
“Uhhhh . . .”
“I do.” A sly, wicked smile spread across Daisy’s face. “I was sitting at the reception desk in case a client came in.” She picked up Max and carried him to Sam’s desk. “But here I am at my desk with its neat little rows of pencils and tidy little piles of paper and perfectly organized files.”
Layla’s skin prickled in warning. “Daisy . . . Maybe you shouldn’t—”
“But what was I thinking?” Daisy brushed a hand over the pencils, scattering them across the desk. “It’s much too tidy. I can’t work like this.” With another sweep, she spread the papers and files, spilling some on the floor. Max barked in excitement and she let him down to play in the mess.
“How is the business going?” Lakshmi Auntie placed a fishbowl on Layla’s desk. Two little goldfish darted in and out of a pink castle and a few plastic plants.
“Not so great.” Layla sighed. “I’m getting lots of calls from people looking for work, thanks to the family spreading the word, but no interest from the companies I need to hire them. I’ve been cold-calling every day, but the employers I’ve targeted are either using online services or they’re working with other agencies. It’s only been two weeks, but I thought things would be going better by now.”
“Do you tell them who you are?” Taara Auntie asked. “Who wouldn’t want to hire the daughter of two Michelin-starred chefs?”
“I do mention it sometimes, but it hasn’t helped.”
Lakshmi Auntie patted her arm. “Don’t call on Tuesdays, Thursdays, or Saturdays. Those are bad-luck days. And wear a black thread around your wrist when you call.”
“Superstitious nonsense.” Salena Auntie shook her head. “How is she supposed to run a business when she can only make calls for half the week?”
Lakshmi Auntie shrugged. “I didn’t make the rules, but I did bring her a pair of fish for good luck.”
“Thank you, Auntie-ji.” She leaned over to give her aunt a kiss.
“You have to try my new fusion dish,” Taara Auntie called from the kitchen. “I call it ambrosia masala. Instead of chickpeas in a channa masala, I used marshmallows and added some mandarins and pineapple to the onions like in the American dessert.”
Layla and her aunties made their way to the kitchen, where Taara Auntie was filling a bowl with her new dessert. Layla’s stomach clenched when the scent hit her nose. “I would love to try it, but I’ve got a client—”
“What the hell is going on?” Sam’s angry voice rang through the office.
“Oh. And here he is.” She raced out to find Sam scowling at Daisy, who had her feet up on his desk.
He whirled around to face her. “Look what she’s done to my—”
“Mr. Mehta. How nice to see you.” Layla grabbed his hand and shook it hard. “Please play along,” she whispered. “My aunts are in the kitchen. One of them is obsessed with matchmaking. If she sees you—”
“Who is here?” Salena Auntie called out.
“Just a client.” Layla pushed Sam toward the boardroom, keeping his back to the kitchen so her aunties couldn’t see his face. “I’m afraid I have to go into a meeting. Thank you so much for coming.”
“Is he single?”
“He’s in the arts,” Daisy said. “Musical theater. Jobs are scarce so he’s hoping Layla will find him a new gig. He was in Annie a few months ago. Maybe you saw him. He was the one wearing the curly wig and the cute red dress.”
“Oh.” Salena Auntie gave a disappointed sigh. “Arts.”
Layla shoved Sam into the boardroom and closed the door. “Please, Sam.” She stood with her back to the door and pressed her hands against his chest in case he tried to escape. “Just stay here until they leave. I know it’s wrong, but you don’t understand what they’re like. They’re desperate to get me married, and I don’t want someone’s husband’s third cousin’s son popping into the office with his mother because they were”—she made mock quotation marks with her fingers—“‘Just in the neighborhood.’ Or hearing how we’re suited because we both like grapes and were born on a third Wednesday. I want to do this myself.”
She looked up through her lashes to find Sam studying her intently. She suddenly became acutely conscious of how hard his chest was beneath his shirt, how his broad shoulders blocked out the room, how she could feel the rapid thud of his heart beneath her palms, and the warmth of his breath on her forehead. She drew in a deep breath and inhaled the sharp, rich scent of his cologne. He was so much bigger than her, so strong. If he wanted to get past her, it would be no trouble for him to move her aside. In fact, he could easily have resisted her pushing him into the boardroom in the first place . . .
“Pretty please with a cherry on top,” she whispered.
His eyes darkened, smoldered. Electricity sparked between them. She had a curious urge to lean up and kiss him. It made no sense. This was Sam. The man she loved to hate.
“The dog goes.” His deep voice rumbled in his chest, breaking the spell.
“What?”
“The dog goes or I walk out that door and tell them the truth.”
Flames licked both her cheeks as his words finally sank in. Of course it had to be a negotiation. “You’re talking about Max?”
“Are there any other dogs running around the office?” He drew in a ragged breath. “Yes, Max. This is a place of business. We can’t have animals barking at me every time I walk by. It’s unprofessional.”
“Maybe if you didn’t growl at him, you two could be friends.” She shuddered, shaking off the inexplicable moment of desire.
Sam reached for the door and she pushed against his chest again. “Okay. Okay. I’ll talk to Daisy. But he really is an emotional support dog. It’s just been her and her dad and brother since her mom left them to pursue a career in New York. Max got her through a really rough time.”
“Are you trying to get me to feel sorry for her?”
Layla shrugged. “She would hate that, but she hasn’t gotten over her mom leaving the way she did. When my family found out her dad was struggling to cope alone, they stepped in to help—taking care of one another is what my family does—but it wasn’t the same as having her mom around. I got Max from a shelter when she was really down. They’ve been together ever since.”
“Most of my relatives are in India,” he said. “And the few that are here I rarely see.”
“Sounds lonely. I can’t go anywhere without an uncle or aunt or cousin popping up. And they always have food. Daisy and I were in the movie theater the other afternoon and, this is no lie, Pari Auntie was there with her kids and an entire shopping bag filled with Magic Masala and Kurkure that she’d brought over from her last trip to India. And she was like ‘Eat, eat’ and I was like ‘Okay, okay’ because no one has to ask me twice to eat Magic Masala chips.”
Sam frowned. “You see movies in the afternoon?”
“Don’t judge me,” she said. “I’m self-employed in a business that I can’t seem to get off the ground, and I have a movie habit. And don’t say streaming services, because some things just have to be seen o
n the big screen.” She took a deep breath. Whenever she was around Sam she couldn’t stop talking. One day she would run out of air. “How do you get your kicks?”
“Fight ring.”
“I didn’t mean literal kicks.”
His lips quivered at the corners like he was fighting back a smile. “I train at an MMA gym five times a week. It’s a good stress release.”
“Sounds intense, but also kind of cool. Have you ever used your skills outside the gym?”
“No,” he said after a long pause. “But once I was very, very tempted.”
Disconcerted by the pain in his voice, she bit back her sharp reply. “For what it’s worth, from what I know of you, the guy probably deserved it.”
“Yeah, he did.” His voice was hard and cold.
Heat engulfed her. The idea of Sam meting out justice Fight Club style made her body turn to mush. Seeing him vulnerable, even for a moment, made her wonder what hidden depths lay beneath that prickly shell.
“All clear!” Daisy shouted from outside.
Layla stumbled back when the door suddenly opened behind her. She lost her balance, hands flailing until she grabbed Sam’s tie. Her foot hit something hard. Sam grunted, tipped forward. Unable to fight gravity, Layla went down, pulling Sam on top of her. They landed in a heap on the floor.
Daisy looked down from above. “Well, isn’t this cozy?”
Max barked and licked Layla’s face, his little tongue soothing the burning in her cheeks.
Layla turned her head and saw two pairs of shoes, one large, black, and shiny and the other pink Converse decorated with sparkles. Thankfully, no chappals.
“What the hell, Layla?” Sam spluttered. “That was a $200 tie!”
“Get off me. It’s not my fault. Daisy should have warned us that she was going to open the door.” She wiggled beneath Sam but his hard, heavy body was impossible to move, and the more she squirmed, the harder a certain part of it seemed to get.
