The Marriage Game

by Sara Desai

  “You know what you need to take your mind off Sam?”

  “Gulab jamun? Maybe I need sweets.”

  “A massage.” His hand moved down her back, rubbing small circles over her spine. “Is this okay?”

  So relaxing. If her stomach hadn’t been so bloated from all the dal, she would have asked him to massage her while she lay on a table. “Yes.” She sighed. “Feels nice.”

  “I can make you feel so good, you won’t feel bad anymore.” His hand slipped lower to the curve of her rear. Back massages were good. Bottom massages by fuckboys, not so much unless she had sunk so low she wanted to go down this road.

  “I don’t like feeling bad,” she said, considering. “It makes my stomach hurt.”

  “You won’t have to feel bad anymore.” Danny pulled her to her feet. “My girlfriend is out of town so I am all about your pleasure, baby. I want to see that beautiful smile.”

  “Sure. Why not?” If this was her life from now on, she might as well get started and learn to enjoy random hookups with fobby fuckboys in closed restaurants and behind the hedges at weddings where she would always be the bridesmaid and never the bride.

  “Sweet.” He grinned, flashing a golden tooth. “Why don’t we go into the back office and I’ll make you forget about Chris and Quentin and Adam and Morgan and Jonas and—”

  “Sam.” Her voice hitched. “I want to forget about Sam. I want to forget about how he made me laugh, and how good-looking he is, and how he was so protective every time I met a new guy, and how sweet he is with his sister, and how irritating he was in the office when he stole my desk and organized my pencils, and how I never thought I’d love an A’s fan, but I do. And yet, he’s no better than any of the other guys who broke my heart.”

  Danny wrapped his arms around her and pulled her against him, his thick erection pressing up against her belly. “I’ve got all the love you need right here.”

  Layla’s stomach protested the pressure with a loud gurgle. “Oops. I think you were right about the dal.”

  “That’s okay, babe.” He squeezed her tighter, his fingers digging like little claws into her rear. “I won’t hear anything over your moans of pleasure.”

  “Maybe don’t squeeze so hard.” She tried to pull away and relieve the pressure.

  “I want you to feel what you do to me, how much I want your sexy ex-con ass.” He pulled her tighter, ground his hips against hers.

  Bile rose in her throat. Her mouth started to water, and not in a good way. “Actually, I’m feeling something else . . . Maybe you should . . .”

  With a huge shove, she pushed him away, just before her stomach heaved the contents of her night of self-indulgence all over the tile floor.

  “Oh God.” She fell to her knees and vomited again. “Every time I think that’s the end, I discover a new level of hell.”

  “Don’t worry,” he said. “I’ve got an extra toothbrush.”

  She heaved again.

  “Maybe not.” He checked his watch. “Look at the time. I’ve got to meet someone . . . somewhere. You good to close up?”

  “Sure.” She collapsed on the floor, disgusted by how pathetic she had become. If even Danny was running away, she had hit rock bottom. She had to accept that it was all over—the game, the office, the business, and Sam.

  • 23 •

  “I’M sorry. GenSys Medical has decided to terminate your employment effective today.”

  Sam couldn’t muster more than a sympathetic nod for the dude on the other side of the table. He was a bastard not even his best friend would stand by. Might as well live up to his reputation.

  “No.” Jordan thudded the table with a meaty fist. “There must be some mistake. Check again.” At six feet, four inches tall and weighing at least 280 pounds, Jordan looked more like a professional wrestler than a genetic research scientist with two Ph.D.’s who had spent the last fifteen years in a windowless laboratory.

  Claire Watson, GenSys’s HR manager, didn’t even blink at his outburst. Karen was cold and hard, but Claire took it to a whole new level. She had an app that allowed her to track employee reactions and so far she’d earned nineteen stars for eliciting tears.

  “One more for the win,” she whispered to Sam before giving Jordan the details of his termination package.

  “You’ve got no fucking heart.” Jordan followed Sam to the door where two security guards were waiting to escort him off the premises. Usually, Sam hated same-day terminations for their sheer brutality, but today, he couldn’t bring himself to care.

  “You’ve got no soul,” Jordan continued. “How can you do this to good, honest, hardworking people? What did I ever do to you? This isn’t right.”

  Sam flinched inwardly, hearing Nasir’s voice instead of Jordan’s. What had the Patels ever done to him? When had he stopped feeling sympathy for the people whose lives he had to destroy? Was John right? Had he truly become the monster he’d been hunting? Was he no better than Ranjeet?

  “It’s not personal,” he said, more to convince himself than the distraught man beside him. “Sacrifices have to be made for the greater good. If we didn’t let some people go, no one would have a job.”

  “Why me?” Jordan’s voice caught, broke. “I never had a bad review in my life.”

  Why Nasir? Why Layla? Why did they have to suffer for Nisha to be avenged? In his heart Sam knew it wasn’t right. When had he lost sight of what was truly important?

  “I know this is all a shock . . .” Sam launched into his speech without the usual preamble. “. . . but it could be the best thing that has ever happened to you. Once you put the past behind you, the sky’s the limit.”

  “Don’t feed me that BS platitude,” Jordan spat out. “You clearly don’t believe it. Why should I?”

  Did he believe his speech? Was the destruction of someone’s life the best thing that could happen to him or her? Nisha’s accident had taken him away from his dream of being a doctor and put him on his current path. He felt no joy in his partnership with Royce, but it paid the bills and helped him to shut off his emotions so the burden of guilt didn’t weigh so heavy on his heart. But he hadn’t put the past behind him. He lived it every day, and it had dragged him farther and farther down into a darkness that had seemed impossible to escape. Until he met Layla.

  Before he could answer Jordan’s question, the security guards arrived and escorted the scientist away.

  “How about dinner at my place tonight?” Claire suggested when he returned to the boardroom. “I’m not much of a cook, but then I’m not really inviting you over to eat.” She licked her lips. “Not food, at least.”

  He was saved from having to turn her down when the next employee knocked on the door. Layla might not want him, but there was no other woman he wanted but her.

  “Shari Patel,” Claire whispered as she handed him a copy of Shari’s file. “She and Jordan worked together in the same lab. If she cries, I’ll get a gold crown.”

  Patel? A cold chill seeped through his body when the next employee walked in. She was shorter than Layla, her face softer and rounder, and her dark hair fell straight to her shoulders. He couldn’t see any resemblance, but he needed to be sure.

  “Are you related to the Patels who own The Spice Mill?” he blurted out after she sat down.

  “Different Patels.” She gave him a warm smile. “Although I’m sure if you trace the family tree back, you’ll find we are all related in some way. You know Jana and Nasir?”

  “I know Nasir and his daughter, Layla.” Her name caught in his throat, and the memory of the pain in her face when she walked into the party sliced through his heart like a dagger. It was getting harder and harder to feel the righteous indignation over her attempt to expose him that had sustained him since the party.

  “I heard they’re closing The Spice Mill,” she said. “Such a shame. I remember going to
their restaurant in Sunnyvale when I was a girl. They made the best masala dosas . . .”

  Sam winced inwardly at the unintended blow. Even the words masala dosa made him feel sick inside.

  “How about we take that trip down memory lane another time and move things along,” Claire said impatiently. “Unfortunately, your employment at GenSys has been terminated effective today . . .”

  Sam gave Shari the details: the need to restructure, taking one for the team, her choice of money now or after consulting a lawyer . . .

  Shari signed the document and took the check without saying another word.

  “Do you have any questions? Any issues you want to raise?” Claire didn’t get any points for employees who signed quietly and walked out the door.

  “No.” Shari stood to go. “I knew it was coming. I’ve put the word out in the community that I’m looking for work. I’m sure something will turn up.” She smiled at Sam. “You know how it is.”

  Yes, he did know how it was for the Patels. The ties that bound them were so strong they could weather any storm. Lone wolves, however, limped blindly through the snowy wilderness, starving and vulnerable without their pack.

  “Thank you for your service to the company,” Sam said, thrown off his game by her calm acceptance of the situation.

  “You’re welcome.”

  With a puzzled glance for Claire, Sam escorted Shari to the door. “I know this is all a shock, but . . .” He trailed off, suddenly feeling like a fraud. “I had a speech, but it doesn’t feel right to give you advice that I’m not following myself. I’m just . . . sorry. I’m really sorry this had to happen to you.”

  “It’s okay.” She clasped his hand. “I know you’re just doing your job. I forgive you.”

  I forgive you.

  Those three words broke him, even though he didn’t know why. Something inside him crumbled. He hadn’t asked for forgiveness, but now he wondered if it was what he’d been looking for all along.

  * * *

  • • •

  SAM pushed open the door to the office above The Spice Mill and flicked on the light, reeling at the mess. It was clear no one had been in here since the party. Bottles and cans covered every surface. Fruit and canapés rotted on trays. Someone had spilled red wine on Layla’s chaise and the angry black stain had spread over the seat.

  He put down his cleaning supplies and used his broom to clear a path through reception to the office where the portable dance pole lay discarded on the floor along with Layla’s broken goldfish bowl and the two dead fish.

  Not so lucky anymore.

  “So this is what it looks like when you totally destroy your life.” Nisha wheeled herself along the path he’d just cleared for her. After leaving GenSys, he’d driven straight to his parents’ house and told her about everything, from the Alpha Health Care contract to the game he’d played with Layla. Far from judging him, she had insisted on coming to the office to help clean up the mess.

  “I didn’t think things could get any worse, but now I’ve lost Layla, possibly the contract, and I’m pretty sure I just gave Nasir grounds for terminating the sublease, although he won’t be my landlord for long. Royce hasn’t answered my texts or calls, so I might even have to leave the partnership, and I haven’t spoken to John since he knocked me out at the gym.”

  “And all because of me.”

  “No, because of me.”

  Nisha leaned over to pick up a discarded champagne bottle. “I didn’t know you felt so guilty or that you would go to these lengths to bring Ranjeet to justice. I was just so glad to be free; I didn’t care what happened to him.”

  “You don’t want justice?” Sam asked the question he should have asked years ago.

  “Not at the price you had to pay. My focus is on rebuilding my life. I want to look forward, not back. I love that you tried to make it right, Sam, but sometimes you have to let things go.”

  His little sister wasn’t little anymore. Despite her injuries, she had managed to overcome the anger and bitterness that had been holding Sam back from embracing his life.

  Nisha looked over as the door opened. “Who’s that?”

  Sam followed her gaze, his gut clenching when he saw John in the doorway waving a hand in front of his nose.

  “What is that smell?”

  “Rotting caviar.” Sam’s throat tightened when his friend walked toward them. “We came to clean up. What are you doing here?”

  “I heard voices and was hoping Layla was back with some snacks from the restaurant, but it’s just you.” His gaze fell on Nisha and he smiled. “John Lee of Lee, Lee, Lee & Hershkowitz, at your service.”

  Sam made the introductions. John kept staring at his sister like he’d never seen a woman before. He stuttered through a conversation about the weather with such a lack of language skills it was hard to believe he could even say his own name in court.

  “Seriously, dude.” Sam stepped in front of Nisha, blocking John’s view. “She’s my sister.”

  “Yes, she is.” Nisha rolled around him. “And your sister is talking to your friend and doesn’t want to be interrupted.”

  “He interrupted us,” Sam protested.

  Nisha sniffed. “We were having a conversation about how you need to let people handle things on their own. Weren’t you paying attention?”

  “If you’re worried that her wheelchair is an issue,” John said, “I’ll just remind you that your personality handicap hasn’t stopped us from being friends.”

  Puzzled, Sam frowned. “What personality handicap?”

  “Your inability to see things that are staring you in the face.”

  Nisha laughed out loud, and the look she shared with John suggested an interest in more than just a friendship.

  “The only thing that is staring me in the face right now is this mess,” Sam said in an attempt to change the uncomfortable conversation.

  “Well, let’s get busy.” John grabbed a garbage bag.

  “You’re going to help?”

  John swept a pile of empty cans into the bag. “I said what I had to say at the gym, and I admit I felt a bit bad knocking you out, although I’m never letting you live that one down. But now it looks like you’re starting to pick up the pieces. That’s when you need your friends the most.”

  “It’s one hell of a mess.”

  “Then we’ll handle it one piece at a time.” John held up a sparkly pink G-string. “Let’s get the cleaning party started.”

  * * *

  • • •

  “WHAT have you been doing since you left Glenlyon Morrell in New York?” Miles Fanshaw, executive director of City Staffing Solutions, leaned back in his plush leather chair as he sipped his morning coffee.

  Layla had always imagined having an office like this. Huge windows. Incredible view. Giant desk. Thick carpet. Framed artwork on the wall . . . What was that picture, anyway? It wasn’t anything, really. Just a scribble of random colors. Messy. Meaningless. Chaotic. Sam would have hated it.

  “I thought about starting my own recruitment agency, but it didn’t work out,” she said honestly. “My parents run their own business, and they made it look easy, but I’m not cut out to go it on my own. I prefer the stability and security of working in an established company where I can learn from people like you who are at the top of their game.”

  Not only that, she needed the money to help her parents, both with their relocation. She’d hit rock bottom the other night in the restaurant with Danny. After waking up on the cold tile floor beside a pool of her own vomit, she’d decided enough was enough. She’d pulled herself from the brink before and she could do it again. She was a Patel, and Patels didn’t give up.

  Miles smirked. “Stability is definitely a weakness for you. Or do you just have trouble keeping a handle on your emotions? I know many women do.”

 
Misogynistic bastard. “So do many men,” she said tightly. “However, I can assure you, I’m a professional, and I act that way at all times—”

  “Maybe not all times.” He handed her his tablet with the “Blue Fury” video playing on the screen. “I talked to your previous employer before our interview. She told me why she let you go.”

  Layla’s stomach sank. Would she never be able to leave her past behind? “I’m not that woman anymore.”

  Miles laughed. “People don’t change. Starting a business in a highly competitive field with minimal experience isn’t something a conservative person would do.” He studied her intently. “We need women like you, Layla. Sexy, pretty, passionate, and willing to think outside the box . . .” He smirked. “We’ll just need to keep you away from the balcony.”

  “I don’t think my looks are—”

  “You could have a very bright future here,” he said, interrupting. “Of course, you’ll have to start at the bottom and show us you can keep those emotions under control, but in a few years you could be my assistant . . .”

  Layla tuned him out as he explained the long career path to partnership and what she would need to do to work her way up the corporate ladder. Is this what she really wanted? Starting from the bottom again? Sacrificing self-respect for success? Maybe her business hadn’t started out strong, but it was her business. She’d run it the way she had wanted. She’d answered to no one. Even Sam, who had far more experience running his own company, and had never treated her as anything less than an equal.

  And Miles was wrong. She had changed. Sam had hurt her deeply, but she hadn’t flung her dosas at him. She had held her head high and walked away even though her heart had broken in two.

  It was her heart that made her different. She cared about the employees she placed. Everyone had told her to focus on the corporate clients, but if she built a reputation for solid, long-term placements with quality staff, they would come to Layla Patel for their personnel.

  Patel Personnel. The name hit her like a thunderbolt. Too perfect. Too late.