by Sara Desai
“You didn’t tell me you were famous, babe.” Evan gave her a nudge. “‘Blue Fury.’ I gotta say, a woman letting it go like that is pretty hot.”
“I’m leaving.” Layla grabbed her coat, her face an expressionless mask.
“Layla. Wait.” Sam moved to join her and she held up her hand, warning him away.
“How could you do this?” She hitched her breath. “I thought you were doing something nice. But this really is a game to you.” She pressed her palm to her lips. “Did you and Evan set this up? Do you think I’m going to walk away from the office because you humiliated me?”
“No. Of course not. I didn’t know about the video. I mentioned you’d been with Jonas. Evan was checking out his channel when he saw the video—”
“Well, guess what?” She cut him off as if he hadn’t spoken. “I’ve already hit rock bottom, and there’s nowhere for me to go but up. I don’t need any help. Not from you and not from Evan. I’m going to have the best damn recruitment business in the city and I’ll do it on my own.”
“Jesus Christ, Evan,” Sam shouted when she walked out the door. “What were you thinking?”
“Come on. It was hilarious.” Evan ran a hand through his shaggy hair. “Who doesn’t like to see themselves on the big screen? Five million views and she’s worried about fifty people in a bar?”
“You’re an ass.” Sam threw a punch and caught Evan in the jaw, knocking him off his seat.
“What the fuck was that?”
“You weren’t paying attention.”
Evan jumped up, tipped his neck from side to side, making it crack. This fight clearly wasn’t going to end with one punch. “Well, I’m fucking paying attention now.”
* * *
• • •
“LAYLA!” Sam ran through the SoMa district, blood dripping from his nose. He’d managed to get in a good first punch, but Evan had proven himself the better fighter yet again by drawing first blood before they both got kicked out of the bar.
Why did he keep making the same mistake over and over again? Why couldn’t he protect the people he cared about? He knew what Evan was like. Once he had a couple of drinks, he started thinking with his dick.
Sam pulled out his phone and typed out text after text. If he could just get everything back under control . . .
But it was damn hard to focus when he didn’t know if Layla was safe. Had he really introduced her to Evan to further his own cause or because he genuinely wanted to give her a hand?
Where are you?
SoMa isn’t safe at night.
Stay away from 6th to 11th.
Are you driving?
Don’t answer that. It’s not safe to text and drive.
Let me know you’re safe.
He stopped in front of an all-night ’50s-style diner to staunch the blood coming from his nose with the bottom of his shirt. His nose wasn’t broken, but it was going to be badly bruised.
His phone buzzed and he checked the screen.
I hate you.
You’re a dick.
P.S. I’m safe.
P.P.S. What happened to your face?
Sam’s head jerked up and he looked around. She could see him. A tap on the window drew his attention. Layla was inside sitting at a counter in the window, eating french fries and sipping a milkshake from a giant parfait glass.
Breathing a sigh of relief, Sam made his way through the bustling restaurant. The decor was classic ’50s with a red and white checkerboard motif. Silver stools lined a curved counter where servers roller-skated back and forth to the partially open kitchen. Vintage movie posters, and photos signed by the era’s greatest stars hung on the white-tiled walls above the red vinyl booths and small tables. Someone had put a few coins in the jukebox and Elvis’s “Jailhouse Rock” cut through the noise.
“I already ordered.” She barely glanced at him when he sat on the empty stool beside her. “I eat when I’m stressed.”
“I’m just glad you’re safe.”
“Do you?” She looked up from her drink, meeting his gaze.
“Do I what?”
“Eat when you’re stressed?”
Sam didn’t know why they were having a conversation about food, but he was grateful she was speaking to him at all. “I usually just eat when I’m hungry.”
“Yet another thing that we don’t have in common.” She sucked hard on the straw, her cheeks narrowing, lips pursed into a tight bow. All his blood rushed to his groin and he tried to push away the sensual visual image. But when she released the straw to lick the creamy drink off her lips, he let out a groan.
“You’re really hurt.” She handed him a napkin, and he used it to wipe the sweat off his forehead.
“It’s nothing.”
“You’re dripping blood on my fries. It kind of looks like ketchup.” She pulled the plate closer to her. “What happened?”
“I hit Evan. He hit me back.” The two simple sentences didn’t even begin to describe the fight they’d had in the bar. Real-life fighting was nothing like the controlled sparring they’d done in the ring. It had been no holds barred, no piece of furniture unturned, no thoughts about any bystanders, just a desperate struggle to survive.
She tipped her head to the side. “Because of me?”
“I was angry at myself for not stopping him in time.”
Her face softened the tiniest bit. “Does he look as bad as you?”
Sam shrugged. “Not even close. He’s semipro. He’s been fighting for over fifteen years. I’ve never even won a sparring match against him. I got in my first punch because he wasn’t expecting it. After that it was pretty much a humiliating beatdown.”
“You should probably clean up in the restroom. I’ll get some ice. Try not to look at any kids on your way. They might not have seen the Creature from the Black Lagoon.”
Sam hesitated, still unsettled by her seeming nonchalance. Hadn’t she just run from the bar distraught? Didn’t she just text that she hated him? Maybe this was a ploy to get him out of the way so she could disappear again. “Will you be here when I get back?”
“Are you kidding? My burger is on its way.”
By the time he returned, her meal had arrived along with a bag of ice. Sam tended to his face while Layla tucked into her hamburger. He liked that she enjoyed her food. He’d always wanted a girlfriend who didn’t steal his dessert.
Except she wasn’t his girlfriend, and she never would be. “I’m sorry about tonight.” He closed his eyes as the cold pack soothed his skin. “I should have just set up a proper business meeting, but to be honest I didn’t trust him around you.”
She paused midbite. “Why? Is he some kind of violent criminal?”
“He can’t resist a beautiful woman.”
Layla’s brow creased in a frown. “Is this part of the game you’re playing? Showing up here, pretending like you defended my honor, saying nice things . . .”
He opened his mouth to answer, unsure what to say. “I’m not playing a game. You are beautiful, Layla.”
Layla gave a tiny shake of her head. “I didn’t feel beautiful when I saw the women Jonas had brought to our bed. Don’t get me wrong. I have no desire to be that thin. I like my curves. But it was like he was saying there was something wrong with me, and it made me even angrier because he was right.” She attacked the burger like it was a Scooby Snack. Did she really not see her own beauty? Evan had been falling all over himself to get her into bed, and the dudes with the mason jars weren’t the only ones who’d been checking her out in the bar.
“What exactly do you think is wrong with you?”
“Do you want a list?” She took another bite of her burger. “Ever since Dev died, I can’t hold it together. I was so depressed I slept with pretty much every guy in my college class, and then when I moved to New York to start over
, I couldn’t make my relationships work. Jonas was just the last straw. I didn’t love him, but I wanted to love him, just like I wanted to love all the other losers I hooked up with. I think that’s why I lost it when I walked in on him.”
“I can’t even imagine the pain of losing your brother.”
She stared out the window for a long moment and then sighed. “You can see why an arranged marriage is my best option. I don’t have to deal with love or emotional commitment. It’s a contract. Two people with a shared interest in companionship and family with none of the heartache that goes along with it.”
Sam flinched inside. “There’s no guarantee you’ll wind up in a better situation.”
“That’s true, but my dad knows me better than anyone. He wouldn’t hook me up with a creep.”
Sam hoped that was the case. His parents had done their best to screen out inappropriate suitors, and yet somehow Ranjeet had slipped through. Maybe things would be different for Layla. She deserved to be happy. Despite all that had happened to her, she remained upbeat and without any of the regret or bitterness that tainted his life.
“What if your dad doesn’t know you as well as you think?”
“Who knows you, Sam?” She ran her finger gently along his swollen jaw. Far from pain, electricity zinged through his body, warming his heart.
“I’m a lone wolf.”
“You are looking pretty feral right now.” She pressed a soft kiss to his injured cheek. “I saw a documentary on wolves. They’re pack animals. Their chances of survival go down when they have no family.”
“I have a family.” His hand went to his cheek where she’d kissed him. He could still feel the press of her lips against his skin. “I just don’t spend much time with them. Work keeps me busy.”
“That must be so incredibly hard for them. My parents called or texted me every day when I was in New York and once a week Daisy would set up a video chat for them. They just wanted to stay in touch.”
Sam felt a thickness in his throat, a heaviness in his chest. He had never thought about the effect his actions would have on his parents or how they would feel when their son cut them out of his life. All he knew was a guilt that ran so deep he had to push away anything and everything that could possibly be blamed. Why would they want him around? He had failed them. He wasn’t worthy of being their son.
“Are you okay?”
“Yes.” He shook off the bad feeling. “Aside from the bruises, I’m perfectly fine.”
They talked about baseball, the changes in the city since she’d gone to New York, and their shared love of the ’50s music that was playing on the jukebox. There were no snarky comments or sarcastic remarks. She was thoughtful, intelligent, and knowledgeable about everything from Indian politics to global warming. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had such a lively and interesting discussion.
After she finished her meal and threatened to break his bruised nose when he offered to pay the bill, he walked her to her car, keeping a watchful eye on the street. He loved the area but it wasn’t always safe at night.
“Thanks for coming to explain,” she said when they reached her Jeep. “I was planning all sorts of nasty things to do to you tomorrow.”
“Why am I not surprised?”
She gave him a quick hug. “Go home and look after those bruises.”
Unable to stop himself, he wrapped his arms around her, and they held each other in silence in the still of the night.
“Sam?” She looked up at him, dark eyes glittering under the streetlights.
His gaze dropped to her mouth, those soft, lush lips silently calling his name.
“Yes?” His head dropped lower, heart pounding in time to her rapid breaths.
“I texted Daisy before you found me.” She pulled away and gave him a rueful smile. “If I were you, I wouldn’t drink the coffee for the next few weeks.”
• 10 •
“FAROZ Jalal. Age thirty-eight—”
“He’s too old for you.” Sam held open the door to the busy coffee shop on the Embarcadero and gestured Layla inside.
Bemused by his gallant behavior, Layla waltzed through the door, imagining herself as a desi version of Scarlett O’Hara with an extra dose of tan.
“Did you hit your head on the way over?” she asked over her shoulder. “You’re batting for the wrong team. You’re supposed to tell me age doesn’t make a difference. I like the idea of being with someone mature and worldly. It means I can be fun and silly. I can dance and sing and he’ll look at me with fond amusement before sweeping me off my feet and ravishing me in bed with all the erotic skills he’s learned in the extra years he’s been alive.”
Sam snorted. “It will make a difference when he’s popping the Viagra and you’re still at your sexual peak.”
“That’s a very pessimistic and utterly depressing way to view marriage.” She looked around for a table in the big, open, industrial-chic coffee shop where Faroz had suggested they meet. “Very you. Are you being so down today because of your face full of bruises? They look worse now than they did on Saturday night.”
She still couldn’t believe Sam had fought with his friend over the “Blue Fury” video four nights ago. Never in her life had she imagined herself as a femme fatale, nor could she wrap her head around the concept of Sam as the good guy in any scenario. With the cuts and bruises on his face, he looked badass today, and she hated to admit how much it turned her on.
“I’m a realist,” Sam said. “I suffer under no illusions as to the physical or emotional effects of aging.”
“Now who sounds like he’s old enough for some performance-enhancing drugs?”
Sam gave an affronted sniff. “I have never—”
“I’m just teasing, Sam.” She wiggled her fingers. “You’re always so serious, it makes you an easy target.”
His jaw tightened and he cleared his throat. “Tell me more about Faroz.”
Layla checked the résumé on her phone again. “He lives at home—”
“Christ. Not another one. Doesn’t anyone have their own place?”
“Please don’t swear,” she said over her shoulder. “And if you do, use Urdu so people don’t understand. Not everyone has the money to live on their own.”
“He’s thirty-eight, can’t find a woman on his own, and lives at home. That equals loser,” Sam said. “Why are you wasting your time? I want to get you married off and out of the office, but there’s no way this guy is a real candidate. Why did you even agree to meet him?”
“Because he has an interesting job. He’s in the CIA.”
Sam swore in Urdu using a few words Layla hadn’t heard before. “CIA agents don’t tell people they’re in the CIA. It defeats the entire purpose of being a secret agent.”
“There’s nothing I love better than a mysterious man.” She put her purse on an empty table. “Maybe he did it for exactly that reason. You think he can’t be in the CIA because he said he’s in the CIA. It’s the perfect cover. Just think, Sam. I could be married to a secret agent.”
“I can’t think. My head hurts trying to follow your logic.”
“We can’t all be smart.” She grabbed his arm when he pulled out a chair to sit beside her. “Don’t sit down. You’ll need to find a different table.”
“Why?”
“I don’t want to hurt your feelings, but you kind of put a damper on the last date. You have a bit of an intimidating, unfriendly vibe going, especially when you scowl and glare at people, like you’re doing now, and it doesn’t help that you look like you were in a bar fight.”
“I was in a bar fight.” His forehead creased. “And I’m not scowling.”
“Well, then, you’re smiling upside down.” She pointed to a table nearby. “You can sit there. Close enough to keep things respectable, but far enough that you won’t scare him away.”
Layla had a sudden burst of envy for the long-sleeved fine cotton shirt that hugged his broad shoulders and muscular chest. When he adjusted his tie, his shirt tightened around well-defined biceps, and she let out a soft sigh. Four days ago, her lips had been only inches away from that chest and her body had been pressed against his. She’d felt something. And so had he. In more ways than one.
“Something wrong?” His lips tugged at the corners in a knowing smirk.
“No.” She dropped her gaze, forced herself to study the slightly worn patina of the dark circular table. “I was letting out some air so I could take a deep breath to calm my nerves.”
“I’m Faroz.” A tall dude in a dark suit, sunglasses, and a crisp white shirt put two mugs of coffee on the table. “You were expecting me.”
“This is Sam. He was just leaving.”
“No, I’m not.” Sam sat down beside her.
“I’ve taken the liberty of getting your coffee to save time.” Faroz sat across from her. “A venti triple shot, almond milk mocha with extra whip and extra sauce. The warmed chocolate croissant is on its way.”
“How did you . . . ?” She sucked in a sharp breath and looked at Sam in alarm. He responded by raising an open hand in a told you so gesture that did nothing to alleviate her concerns, and everything to ratchet her stress level up to ten.
“Classified.”
Layla laughed. “Is it one of those if I tell you, I’ll have to kill you kind of things?”
Faroz didn’t smile. “Yes.”
Sam edged his chair so close to Layla they were almost touching.
“I thought you were going to get a coffee,” Layla said. “And we had agreed you would sit elsewhere.”
His jaw set. “We didn’t agree.”
“Don’t mind him,” she said to Faroz. “He’s harmless.”
“I’m not harmless. I was in a fight.” Sam gestured to his face. “I didn’t like the way the last guy was looking at her.” He growled under his breath, like he was a guard dog instead of a companion. Or maybe he was playing Twilight’s overly protective vampire, Edward, to her Bella. Did that make Faroz Jacob? She’d never liked the dark-haired werewolf. She’d been Team Edward all the way.
