& Then They Loved (Ampersand Love #3)

6. Pride

6

Pride

Vera

I f she were the religious sort, she’d say god had a bad sense of humour. Either that or Vera had done something terrible in a past life and the laws of karma dictated that balance would be restored by making her repent all her life this time around.

She didn’t usually dwell on such woe-is-me feelings. After all, so many people had it much worse than her. But sitting out here, waiting for her turn to walk into the conference room to present her ideas to a board of people, the head of which she knew was a man who hated her, she had to wonder if she needed to invest in some sort of good luck charm. Maybe hiring a priest to exorcise any malevolent spirits lurking about her would be prudent. Somebody or something was pulling the string upon which she kept tripping into chaos.

She had become the poster child for talent without success. Nothing she’d achieved so far had come to her easily because her start to life had not been easy. Born to an absentee father who’d wanted a son, and an immature mother who’d blamed an infant for her marriage falling apart, Vera’s foray into life had begun with a series of rejections. Her maternal grandfather had stepped in, and for the first few years, Vera had happily lived under the misconception that her parents were working in a different country to earn money and would soon return to take her to a home that would be filled with every toy she could ever want. When she’d found out the truth. . .

Vera sighed, shaking the thought from her head. There were certain moments that would always stand out starkly against the beige canvas of one’s memories. The memory of her mother’s voice telling her she should’ve been abandoned at an orphanage? That still held the power to hurt her.

Were she inclined to moan and bitch about her life, she would have no dearth of topics to do so. But that wasn’t how she was built and that was certainly not the woman her grandfather had brought her up to be.

Ah, Nanu, she smiled. The thought of her favourite person in the world cooled her spiralling anger and her focus returned. She inhaled deeply, letting out a stream of air through pursed lips, taking the necessary time to regain control over herself. She pulled out her phone from her pocket, tapping the screen to see the wallpaper.

One of the nurses in the care centre had clicked it—a candid photo of Vera sitting on the floor, her head in Nanu’s lap while he brushed her hair out. Only Vera knew how much his hands had shaken, or how frustrated he’d gotten each time the brush slipped from his weakening grip. Parkinsons was taking away his ability to do the things he loved, bit by excruciating bit.

Despite the worry of his worsening health, every time Vera looked at this picture, she was reminded that no matter her struggles, she was loved beyond measure by this one man. Ambernath Talwar was the best grandfather anyone could ever have, and Vera would do everything possible to make him proud. She owed it to him to do well at her job and give him a chance to celebrate her successes with her. For as long as she could remember, it had always been them against the world—two peas in a pod—Vera and her Nanu.

Ambernath had been everything she had ever needed: a parent, a friend, a cheerleader.

It was her turn to take care of him now. While she was doing as much as she could, he deserved better. Which meant that she could not afford a petty and egotistical boss-hole to derail her from the presentation she’d been working on for months.

With that thought providing her with renewed motivation, she pasted a confident smile on her face when her name was called, heading straight to the front of the boardroom to pull up her slideshow. She took a quick scan of the panel of five within the room. Of all the creative directors present, one had been her mentor and nodded at her in support. The other three, she’d met in passing. And then, there was Vihaan. She may as well count him as opposition because he’d never vote in her favour.

But his status as the CEO of the company was new. It was unlikely he’d force a unilateral decision upon the rest of the department heads if they were sufficiently convinced by her. Which meant that if she could sway at least three votes for herself, she could get her project passed into production.

The lights dimmed, signalling her to begin. Vera clicked on the play icon and squared her shoulders, taking a fortifying breath before delving into her topic.

VIHAAN

Vihaan sat across the table, his front seat position affording him an unobstructed view of his nemesis. She’d been an absolute pain in his butt while they’d been in school together, but he’d never imagined one day that he’d sit in a position of power over her.

He could destroy her so easily, he thought, watching closely while she introduced herself to the four other senior personnel who’d been part of the vetting process. Contract or not, he could dismiss her without an explanation and there wasn’t a damn thing she’d be able to do. Sure, she could complain to the worker’s board, and try to lodge a case against his business. But he had a team of lawyers on retainer who were paid exorbitant fees, enough that they would keep her mired in hearing delays and slander charges till her money dried up and her motivation for justice was shot.

He could remove her from his life as simply as throwing away a used napkin, with no consequence to him.

Why then had he chosen to play along when she’d refused to quit? He’d never been able to resist a challenge from Vera when they’d been younger. The inherent determination with which she’d stood up to him had him intrigued.

No, no, no! Not intrigued. Just. . . curious. In the same way an eagle looks at a flopping fish before putting it out of its misery.

He leaned back in his chair, glad for the opportunity to observe her under the cover of the dim lights. With one elbow on his armrest, hand hovering in the air near his face, he twirled his pen between his fingers, spinning it over his thumb and catching it just before it toppled past his knuckles.

Over and over he did this, unable to understand why he’d given Vera the impression that he’d let her work at Ethos. His eyes swept over her, trying to focus on the words she was speaking.

He couldn’t.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. One, he was supposed to have never seen Vera again. Ever.

Two, if they’d been meant to meet, then it should have been when he had a stunning woman on his arm to flaunt. He’d have shown her how utterly and completely he had forgotten all about her. He might even have pretended to not remember who she was to really drive in the point that she meant nothing to him.

Vihaan knew he was a handsome man. Not that there weren’t better looking people out there—but none of his lovers had ever seemed displeased with his face or physique. He played sports, he worked out, had good hygiene and style. The looks he drew were not all because of his money.

Vera was supposed to have seen that, maybe drooled over him while he ignored her, and felt immense regret for having lost him.

Instead, he’d stood in front of her, tongue tied, unable to utter a word when she’d welcomed him to his own fucking company in that cool, impersonal tone, addressing him with all the formality one would expect from an employee.

As if she’d never moaned his name before.

As if she’d never shuddered in need under him.

As if she’d never hidden her true face and left him devastated at the discovery.

I didn’t enjoy it. Her snippy declaration in the break room still burned in his ears. The vein on the side of his forehead throbbed as he quelled the impulse to stand up and yell at her for being a liar.

His eyes narrowed, zeroing in on the stubborn tilt of her chin. The witch had known exactly how to provoke him. Fuck, it had been mere minutes in her presence and he was thinking about things he shouldn’t be. Didn’t enjoy it? How dare she? There was no way she’d faked the orgasms or the absolute surrender in her body when she’d been in his bed.

Or. . . had she?

Had his recollection of their intimacies been clouded by the feelings he’d had for her? Had he simply been projecting the same enjoyment he’d experienced?

Goddamnit! This was not what he wanted to be thinking about right now! He gnashed his teeth, glaring at her despite knowing it was futile. She was far too engrossed in impressing everyone to note that he was skewering her with his eyes.

How easily she reminded him of his failures. He’d never been insecure, yet a few words from her made him question things he otherwise wouldn’t have. So many times he’d wanted to ask her why she’d betrayed him. So many times he’d held back. He wouldn’t lay out his grievances with her now and have it seem like he was still the same eighteen-year-old boy whose heart she’d trampled all over in her bid to make a quick buck.

Her heels clicked twice when she stepped back towards the screen, her eyes bright with excitement as she delivered her notes. “Why the hell aren’t you ugly?” he grumbled under his breath, so quietly that no one noticed. He squinted, trying to see if maybe she’d magically begun to look worse in the past couple hours since he’d confronted her. Nope.

Her skin was perfect. Her hair looked so luscious, it made him wonder how much it weighed. And her smile? Fucking flawless, even if it was fake.

She looked tired, and had lost some roundedness in her cheeks. But all that had done was make her seem like a consummate model who was better suited for the runway in Milan and Paris. She looked like she should have been drinking wine, eating fancy cheese and modelling couture. Instead, she was standing in a dark boardroom, wearing clothes that should have been burned as soon as they’d been taken off the rack, confidently discussing target demographics.

Vihaan’s eye passed by the bar graph that was up on the screen. He tried to read the numbers and make sense of what he was seeing, until she pointed towards a particular portion, drawing his attention once more to her ring-less finger.

She may not be married, but he’d seen her acting quite chummy with that other employee—the anchor whom every person within the channel seemed to be enamoured with .

He’d reviewed her file over the weekend, trying to learn as much about her as he could. Of course, not much about her personal life could be deduced through employee files. He’d been able to confirm that she was receiving health support funding as part of her contract, with the cheques being paid to a care facility for the elderly. He supposed Vera’s grandfather was still alive.

Vihaan had good memories of Mr. Ambernath Talwar who had been employed as his father’s driver since before Vihaan was born. He’d grown up addressing the elder Mr. Talwar as Nanaji to show respect for his age, a fact that had irritated Vera who’d often waspishly reminded him that he couldn’t claim her grandfather as his.

It was one amongst the many things that had fueled the rivalry between two young children which had eventually bloomed into a short-lived love affair the year they’d turned seventeen.

His fists clenched over the pen he’d been twirling, barely catching it before it fell. He didn’t want to be thinking of the past, but seeing Vera so unexpectedly had been a shock to his system. Worse, the forty-eight hours between then and this morning had felt nearly as long as the years they’d spent apart, making him wonder if he’d been in some form of time capsule. Nothing else would explain the anxiety and desperation that had threatened to overwhelm him when he’d driven into work that morning.

It wasn’t because he was eager to see her. It was because there was something almost morbidly fascinating about facing one’s demons. Or perhaps, the sarcastic little voice in his head said uninvited, he was just a masochist longing for a date with pain. Because Vera Talwar was destruction and devastation wrapped in a sinfully sexy body. She shifted, pointing to an infographic on the screen. He should have been paying attention to her numbers but the red of her lips was distracting. She leaned down to type something into the computer and without meaning to, his eyes focused on the darkened hollow between her breasts, her neckline giving him a momentary view of soft flesh encased in black lace. Or was it satin? Fuck, it looked soft.

Involuntarily, his gut clenched, the familiar stirrings of desire sparking within him. He must have made some sound of discomfort because she straightened, shooting him a frown, as if he’d disturbed her on purpose.

“Did you have a question, Mr. Oberoi?” she asked.

“I do,” he conceded, needing somehow to make this presentation go faster. Any more incidents of his blood rushing south and he would be in no shape to walk out of this room. The image of her breasts and the hint of lace was burned into his retina and he felt miserable. “I don’t need you to explain trends and numbers, Ms. Talwar. We have reviewed the data already. What I want to know is why you think your proposal deserves to be our next showcase project?”

Vera’s lips tightened, thrown off her momentum by his question. Still, when she spoke, her voice had no trace of unsurety.

“For years,” she started slowly, “I worked behind the scenes of the shows for this channel. Through them, I have come in contact with multiple small business owners. India has several small scale industries, SSI’s, that are just as successful as the bigger name brands. We always talk about IT, agriculture, healthcare and renewables. There isn’t nearly enough spotlight on the SSI’s.”

“What do you hope to achieve by shining the light on them?”

“I want to present the lesser known faces behind the businesses that power a majority of our daily consumer reports. The average Indian isn’t going out and purchasing steel for construction and medicines in mass quantities. What they are buying are pickles and masalas made by family-run businesses, toys for their children that remind them of their own childhood, handlooms and handicrafts that showcase a little part of India within their homes. I want to encourage knowledge of the industries we do have and the effort that goes behind running it. ”

In the periphery of his vision he saw a few heads nodding along in agreement.

“To what end?” he asked anyway.

“Pride,” she replied, a tiny tilt to her lips softening her previously serious expression. “I’m not saying we can replace all purchasing of imported products with what is manufactured within India. But we can certainly move the needle towards more conscientious decision making by showing consumers how their purchases fund a stronger Indian SSI model.”

Despite himself, Vihaan had to admit that it was one heck of a pitch. He’d deliberately made Vera present last. He’d wanted to make her sweat a little while she waited. Instead of putting her at a disadvantage, it had worked in her favour by giving him an immediate picture of her project in comparison to her peers. One was a food-based game show that seemed like every other culinary show out there, and the other was a reboot of an old drama which, while good for nostalgia, would likely not pull viewership from a larger population.

Vera’s list of SSIs included everything from fashion and food to art and decor, and would attract the younger to middle-aged audience on any platform they choose to air the show on. He could already picture how good this would be to pitch to the market. Tapping into patriotism and pride was a sure way to gain interest and following.

“Unless anyone else has any questions,” he announced, looking around the room for confirmation from the other chair members, “you may leave, Ms. Talwar. You’ll be informed of our final decision shortly.”

As the door closed behind her, Vihaan turned towards the creative heads who’d begun to compare notes. He let them delve into the details of the three presentations, dissecting the pros and cons. Within no time, they were sitting at a tie. Two votes for the culinary show, and two for the short series on SSIs .

Everyone’s eyes rested upon him, waiting. The tip of his blue pen had left hundreds of dots near the edge of the paper with Vera’s agenda on it. It would be so easy to reject this. He should choose the food show with the jolly host. Life would be simpler.

But simple was boring.

With one side of his brain raining curses at him while the other laughed maniacally at the doom he was inviting into his life, he heard himself announce, “Proposal number 3. Ms. Talwar gets my vote.”

Despite his personal feelings being firmly negative, her presentation had impressed him. And he knew without a doubt that two things would come to pass in the near future.

One. Vera would hurt him again.

And two. He was going to have one hell of a tough time getting rid of her.

Fuck.