Chapter Three
Chapter
Three
“People don’t turn down money! It’s what separates us from the animals.”
—Jerry Seinfeld, Seinfeld
The next morning, Harsha paced around in the living room of her cramped one-bedroom apartment, thankful for the music blasting from her phone that mostly hid the sounds of her upstairs neighbors having louder-than-porn morning sex.
Amid thoughts of last night and the white lie she’d taken one step too far, she sighed at the crumbling yellow paint and the smell of mold that never went away. Every inch of her wall was crammed with photographs she’d clicked of her friends, her life in Berkeley, and her trips to Europe. But even the wave of nostalgia from those pictures couldn’t make up for the colossal downgrade in lifestyle she was now experiencing.
Harsha had grown up in a luxury gated community with a gym, spa, and temperature-controlled swimming pool, then moved to a simple one-bedroom apartment in Berkeley that had felt like a safe space, if not home. India would always be home, and she’d known as much.
However, going from that safe space to living in a building with leaky ceilings and paper-thin walls was…a weird transition, to say the least.
Deciding to be independent and not take her millionaire father’s money, despite his insistence that she wouldn’t make it on her own, might have been the wrong choice. One she was majorly regretting now. She’d spent two years after high school traveling across Europe with Aunt Pinky whenever her uncle headed there for different shoots, and that was where she had fallen in love with photography and bought her first camera. Once her parents had had enough of her globe-trotting lifestyle, they’d pushed college on her, so she picked California—the farthest place from them—and chose photography as her second major. The goal had always been to move back to India in the future, armed with independence, more maturity, and life experience. India was home.
If there was only one thing she had in common with her father, it was being stubborn. No way would she let him control her life anymore. She decided she would move back and find her footing in a new city, completely unknown to her, a good distance away from her parents. She would prove that she was capable and successful.
But she hadn’t expected to start dating a rich man like Shashank, find comfort in the world of luxury again, and then get dumped with no warning, leaving her alone to fend off her family’s expectations once more.
Harsha paused in front of a framed picture she’d taken of two swans whose necks made a heart, and she thought back to last night. The wisp of that idea had started to take proper shape inside her head since Veer walked away from her at the bar, and she wasn’t sure if coming up with this fake-boyfriend proposition made her crazy or a bloody genius.
Neha’s vicious smile flashed before Harsha’s eyes along with the stinging words she’d said last night: “Your first plus one! It’s nice that you’ve finally moved on from boring white boys.”
Bloody genius it is.
She slid her laptop into her Gucci tote bag—a birthday present from Maa she couldn’t bring herself to part with—and booked an Uber, which were thankfully so much cheaper in India than California. Harsha would apologize to Veer, convince him to be her fake boyfriend, and if worse came to worst, she’d pay him to play along, maybe fifty thousand rupees or so. She couldn’t make a payment like that from her own bank account anytime soon, but that was fine. Papa’s money from the trust fund was right there, dangling in front of her nose like a carrot. After returning from California, she had vowed never to touch that money, but breaking that vow would still be an easier hit to her pride than going to the anniversary party or Neha’s wedding stag. Harsha didn’t even want to imagine what faux consoling line Neha would come up with as she conveniently worked the breakup into every conversation. It would be the bridezilla nightmare that never ended.
So that settled it. Harsha had been put in this precarious situation because of her parents’ interference in her personal life, so why couldn’t she make them pay for it?
“Hi, welcome to Sunstag!” Deepika’s cheery barista voice hit Harsha’s eardrums as she walked through the doors, looking around for Veer in his black-and-yellow barista uniform. Damn it, he wasn’t at the counter yet.
She held back a sigh. Hopefully, it wasn’t his weekly day off. “Hi,” she finally said, handing over her loyalty card. “I’ll have the usual latte.”
Deepika nodded, grabbing a tall mug, black marker, and label. “Do you want your extra whipped cream on the side or—”
“Just put it all on top of the coffee, thanks,” she said impatiently. She craned her neck to look toward the kitchen. Two male voices sounded from inside, but not Veer’s. “Um”—she rubbed the back of her neck—“is Veer around?”
“He is.” Deepika’s eyes narrowed, then her polite smile returned. “I’ll ask him to bring your order upstairs.”
“Thanks.” Harsha took her card as well as the wooden table number sign and headed upstairs, setting her tote bag and laptop at her favorite workspace by the staircase with yellow lightbulbs hanging over her head. The mural gracing the wall next to her depicted coffee bean plantations in all their glory. On the other side of the café was a floor-to-ceiling window overlooking Vittal Mallya Road, one of the priciest and prettiest neighborhoods in all of Bangalore. Sometimes, when she didn’t have much work, she liked to sit by the glass and take photographs of the luxury cars that drove by.
“One vanilla latte with oat milk.” Veer’s stiff voice brought her back to the present moment. Her heart dropped to her stomach when he correctly stated her order. Shit. He must really be mad ather.
“Thanks. Veer, can we talk?” She nodded at the chair across from her.
He set the coffee mug down and glared. “I’m not done with my shift yet.”
“There’s nobody here.” Harsha gestured toward the café, empty during the early morning hour. “Please, sit. Let me explain. Please. ”
“Fine.” He fumed, pulling out a chair and sitting. “What do you want?”
“I want to apologize,” she said. “I shouldn’t have disrespected you like that. It’s just, my cousin has this air of superiority when it comes to people who aren’t—” She paused at the tick in Veer’s jaw. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have disrespected you or your job, regardless.”
Veer scratched his beard, but his teeth were still clenched. “It’s all right.”
As he stood, Harsha added, biting her lip, “Also, I need a favor.”
“A favor.” He let out a whoosh of breath, one hand on the back of the chair. “Let me guess, you once again want me to pretend to be Veer the Sunstag district manager and your boyfriend for the sake of your overinflated ego?”
She winced and took a sip of her latte. “Yes?”
Harsha knew how weird and unfathomable this proposition sounded, so she wasn’t surprised when Veer’s eyes bulged out. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
“Look, you’ve met Neha. The rest of the Godboles are exactly the same. Judgmental, invasive, and—”
“Rich,” he finished for her.
Harsha averted her gaze, cheeks flushed. “I haven’t been on good terms with my parents in months. They think I’m an ungrateful embarrassment to the family name, that I’m helpless without them. I can’t go to those events alone and prove them right. I—I can’t.” Her voice broke at that last word.
Veer’s lips turned downward. “That sounds like a big problem,” he agreed, pushing the chair back into the table. “Lucky for you, I studied acting in college.”
Harsha’s breath caught in her throat. She was seconds away from squealing and thanking him when he held up a finger. “ Unlucky for you, I’m not interested. Have a good day.”
Okay, this was it. Her one last shot. Time to pull the money card.
Veer turned to leave, unable to believe Harsha’s audacity—were all rich people this entitled? Then she yelled, “I’ll pay you!”
He paused sharply and glanced back at her. Did he…did he hear that right? “ What? ”
Harsha’s lips twitched. “I’ll pay you, Veer.”
Slowly, he sat back down, his heart racing. “How much?”
“Name the amount, and I’ll do my best.”
Veer’s stomach twisted itself in knots. Half a million rupees was a lot to ask for from a woman he barely knew. But then again, the woman in question was crazy rich—she was Madhusudan Godbole’s niece, after all—and Arjun’s tuition had to be paid by Monday night. He looked from her flushed, eager face to her red tote bag with the Gucci logo, and decided to do it.
“Half a million,” he said finally.
Harsha’s jaw dropped open. “Half…a…million?” she repeated.
“That’s what I said.” Veer put his hands in his lap, hoping she wouldn’t notice the trembling of his fingers.
She burst out laughing. “Are you kidding? I was thinking, like, fifty thousand rupees.”
Veer scoffed exaggeratedly, as if Harsha were making the biggest mistake of her life turning down his offer. He got up from the chair. “Good luck with your family.”
Please don’t let me leave, please don’t let me leave, he thought to himself as he turned to go. Please don’t let me—
“Wait!” Harsha said.
Veer sighed with relief internally, but when he turned to Harsha, all he did was quirk an eyebrow at her. The things he’d learned in acting school were finally coming in handy.
“I have three conditions,” she said.
“I’m listening.”
“One”—she counted them down by hand—“you’re Veer Kannan, a district manager for Sunstag Café and my head-over-heels-in-love boyfriend. Two, you’ll pretend to be him for my uncle and aunt’s anniversary party and Neha’s wedding. And three”—she gulped—“you will never tell anyone about this. Not your friends, not your family, not even your diary.”
Veer nodded and held his hand out. “Deal. But you’ll pay me in full by Monday.”
“I’ll pay you in three installments over the next six weeks,” she said slowly. “One up front, and the final two after each event.”
His hand twitched. Fuck. That wouldn’t work for the tuition deadline. But even the first installment was more than he could manage on his own…Veer held her gaze for ten seconds that felt like an eternity, weighing his options, before giving a slight nod. “Okay.”
Harsha jumped up and shook his hand, her excitement palpable. “Yes! Deal. Give me your number, and we’ll meet tomorrow to discuss everything. And sign a contract. Thank you, thank you, thank you!”
He let go of her hand and smiled softly. On the inside, he was dancing with joy, but he couldn’t let that show. At least, not yet. “I should get to work. Deepika’s probably wondering where I am.” He texted Harsha his bank account details and went downstairs to the counter.
“What did she want?” Deepika mumbled under her breath as Veer sidled up beside her.
“Just to apologize.”
“Oh. Well, she’s got some nerve. Hi, welcome to Sunstag!” She directed her attention to one of the regulars walking in, and Veer went ahead and prepared some pending drink orders.
Veer had always dreamed of being paid hundreds of thousands of rupees to play a major role onscreen. But never in all his acting days had he expected to be the lead in a fake dating scheme, all so his favorite customer could one-up her equally shallow cousin.
Talk about dramatic.
He could do this; the three installments were substantial enough that he could figure something out with the college admissions department. He’d call them this afternoon and negotiate something, since they hadn’t replied to his email yet.
As far as he knew, BII did not offer payment plans, perhaps not even to their financially underprivileged students. But he wasn’t going to ask them for a whole year to make the payments—this was about six fucking weeks. Less than a quarter of a year. They’d agree. They would.
They had to.
Not to mention, Harsha’s uncle was a direct line to Bollywood. Veer hadn’t seriously thought about acting in two years apart from going for the occasional audition for advertisements and radio commercials. Thanks to the canceled sitcom, the roles he missed out on after his agent left him, and the financial responsibilities he had toward his family, he’d given up hope. But now? Veer could convince Madhusudan Godbole to like him enough to offer him a role. Mom could afford to buy any Kanjivaram silk saree she wanted from the market. Veer could pay Arjun’s tuition in full next year, long before the deadline. Sure, he hated the subtle undertones of misogyny in Madhusudan Godbole’s rom-coms, but beggars couldn’t be choosers.
Veer let out a short breath and went over to a table with a tray of drinks. When his phone vibrated thrice to indicate a notification from his bank, he grinned more than usual at the customers, even wishing them a “happy day,” because why the hell not? He was rich now.