2. Mayukhi
TWO
Mayukhi
Music pounded out of the speakers of her gorgeous little, cherry red Mini Cooper as Mayukhi zipped through the late evening traffic. She had her windows down and the wind blew through it, carrying with it a hint of rain. She loved this season. The magic of the monsoons always got to her, improving her mood.
Mayukhi pulled into her apartment building, waving at the security guard who saluted her. Raghu Chacha was a sweetie and was always extra helpful with her shopping bags when she came home after long days out with her girls.
She parked, a little too haphazardly, in her spot in the basement and popped the trunk open. She grabbed her gym bag and hefted it over her shoulder, before shutting and locking the car. Her family owned the entire fifteenth floor of this building which afforded them six car parks in the basement which was a good thing since it meant she didn’t really need to align her car between the pillars perfectly. Her parking skills were legendary, and not in a good way.
She was still humming to herself when she keyed her way through the front door. She handed her gym bag to one of the helpers who materialized out of thin air and toed off her sneakers, padding through the hall in her socked feet. She loosened her hair from its tight ponytail, running her fingers through her sweat dampened hair. She grimaced hating the feel of the sticky strands.
“Mayukhi!”
She jumped at her father’s irate shout from somewhere to the right. Shantanu Chatterjee appeared from the gloom of his study like a ghoul from a graveyard. His balding pate gleamed slightly in the overhead lights and sweat poured down the side of his face like it usually did when he was stressed out. Which, just for the record, was always.
“Why are you yelling?” she asked testily. Her relationship with her father was a study of contradictions. She may not like him, but she loved him. He was her father, wasn’t he? She had to love him. Mayukhi loved her family fiercely, what there was left of it that is.
“What did you do?”
“Many, many things.” Mayukhi dropped onto the leather recliner on her right and stretched. “It’s been a long day.”
Her father made a weird, strangled noise. “You’re behind that article, aren’t you?” He pointed a stubby finger at her. “Don’t even deny it.”
“I wasn’t going to.” Mayukhi bundled her hair into a messy bun. “I’m bloody proud of it. The journalist is a friend of Naveen Kumar’s. You remember him, right? From Crestwood? It was very sweet of him to extend himself like that but when he heard about our troubles with Adajania, he reached out to me himself.”
“You idiot,” her father hissed.
Mayukhi stared at him in surprise. “Baba, you know what he’s done. This is justice!”
“I know what I suspect he’s done. I know what I discussed with my family in the four walls of my house. This was never meant to be the outcome. We shouldn’t be doing anything like this without proof.”
“It’s a speculative article.” Mayukhi honestly didn’t get what all the fuss was about. “Naveen said that-“
“He said that it didn’t cite us as a source so we’re safe. I’m sure he also said that the language was vague and didn’t make any direct accusations. Am I right?”
“Yes.” A flicker of unease streamed through Mayukhi as she watched her father pace and gesticulate.
“Naveen Kumar is using you, us really, as collateral damage in the war they’re waging on Adajania and his friends.”
“War?” A disbelieving laugh escaped her. “Baba, what dramatics! What war?”
“Do you remember Varun Gokhale’s death?”
“Of course.” Mayukhi felt a momentary sadness for an old schoolmate whose life had been cut short, so unexpectedly. Road accidents were really the worst, she thought. If only people followed the rules and –
“His wife shacked up with Adajania and his friends and is now trying to screw the Gokhales over for money.”
Mayukhi’s rambling thoughts screeched to a halt. “What?” She gaped at her father, her mouth falling open. “Dhrithi is screwing Ishaan Adajania?”
A weird flutter of something she couldn’t identify moved through her at the thought.
“Please Mayukhi.” Her father shot her a look of distaste. “Watch your tongue.”
“Baba, hold on!” Mayukhi scrubbed her hands over her face. “I know Dhrithi. She’s a nice girl. She would never do anything like this and she sure as hell wouldn’t associate with the likes of Ishaan Adajania.”
“Nice girl!” Her father snorted. “Bharat Gokhale has told me everything. Money grubbing slut she is.”
“Baba.” Mayukhi was genuinely shocked. “You watch your tongue!”
The doorbell rang, interrupting the standoff between father and daughter. A helper appeared at the entrance of the drawing room.
“Sahib, aapse koi milne aaya hai.”
Before her father could respond, she heard footsteps clicking through on their Italian marble and then Ishaan Adajania himself appeared in the doorway. His beautiful navy-blue pinstripe was sheer perfection, the deep red of his tie setting the dark grey of his shirt off to perfection. Brioni, she thought. He was wearing a Brioni.
There wasn’t much Mayukhi could claim absolute knowledge of but fashion…fashion was her bitch. She’d gotten her degree in fashion at the Rhode Island School of Design and launched her own label ten years ago. Her label M-zire had conquered the market and still held its own as a luxury custom brand and she could honestly say none of her models had ever worn a suit as well as Ishaan Adajania did.
Silence fell over the trio as they stared at each other and then Ishaan smiled, a smug, mocking smile that made Mayukhi’s palm itch with the urge to slap it off his face.
“Shall we sit?” Ishaan asked. He didn’t wait for either of them to answer but chose a spot on the couch and sat down, one leg elegantly placed on the knee of the other.
The shoes were Armani, she thought dispassionately. Acutely conscious of her sports bra peeking out of her loose t-shirt, leggings and sweaty hair, Mayukhi sat down across from him, her gaze holding his. She thought she saw amusement in the dark inky depths of his eyes, but she wasn’t sure. She couldn’t look away, much like people struggled to look away from a cobra when it had you in its sights.
“What do you want Adajania?” her father asked brusquely.
“Recompense,” Ishaan said, his smile broadening, a cruel twist of what were otherwise very beautiful lips. “Your daughter has cost me money, time, and most importantly, she’s aimed muck at what is otherwise a spotless reputation.”
“Please!” Mayukhi snorted. “It was one measly article. I am sure you had it taken down before it could do much damage.”
Ishaan looked at her. She could almost see the calculations taking place in that manically intelligent brain of his. “I did, actually.” He shrugged. “So, if you knew that, what did you hope to achieve by it?”
“I wanted you to know that we won’t take what you’re doing lying down.” Mayukhi tipped her chin up and glared at him. “You can’t steal our intellectual property and –“
“Two years, three months, and sixteen days,” Ishaan said softly.
Mayukhi blinked. “Excuse me?” she said frostily.
“That’s how long my team has been working on that project. We have the data and the research to back it up. When did your office come up with this brilliant idea, Chatterjee?”
Mayukhi’s father stayed silent, his face falling as the facts didn’t align in his favour.
“If anything,” Ishaan continued with lethal softness. “I could make the case that your team stole the idea from mine.”
“Then why didn’t you?” Mayukhi blustered.
“Because anyone can have an idea,” Ishaan said mildly, stretching one hand over the back of the couch, his body language relaxed and comfortable. “It’s what you do with it that matters, Kraken.”
“Stop calling me that,” she snapped.
Ishaan grinned, one mocking eyebrow rising at her ire.
“What do you want, Adajania?” her father asked brusquely. “You’ve made your point. Now, tell us, why you are here?”
“There is chatter in tech circles about that asinine article and your wild accusations in your social circles.”
“Circles that don’t include you,” Mayukhi said snidely. A childish insult, for sure, but right now she would fight with whatever she had. To her surprise, she thought the barb had landed. She saw his body tense slightly before it relaxed again.
Ishaan sent her a mildly chiding look. “Shhh! Don’t talk while the adults are talking, darling.”
Oh, she really wanted to slap him!
“Do you want money?” Shantanu Chatterjee asked. “Is that what this is about?”
Ishaan burst out laughing, a genuinely amused sound that rolled over Mayukhi and made her want to reach for it and see if she could get it to seep into her skin.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” he chortled. “I can buy and sell you ten times over.”
“Then what do you want? An apology? Okay, I’m sorry.”
“Oh, but that won’t cut it either,” Ishaan mused. “A public slander of my image and then a private apology just won’t work. I want this to be fixed. The wild accusations need to disappear, the slurs about my origins and my intelligence that have been bandied about your little clubs, and the insinuations that I would stoop to stealing from your little company, all of it needs to go away.”
“So, if an apology won’t fix it and you don’t want money, what do you want? What are you going to take to go away?”
“Your daughter,” Ishaan smiled, a smile that sent terror arcing through Mayukhi. “I’ll take your daughter.”