Chapter Twenty
Arya
When Bianca and I reenter the ballroom, most of the guests are seated. Bianca makes her way to her table, while I do the same. A quick glance over my shoulder reveals her leaning down and kissing Dash to ease the concerned look on his rugged face.
A pinprick of longing strikes my chest at the love between them.
I turn back around.
My gait falters, seeing Nathan and Samaira sitting cozily at my table. Of course, we’re seated together. How else will the gods torture me than by making me sit across his smug face?
Currently, it’s buried against Samaira’s neck as he whispers in her ear. Her slim frame is draped all over him, making it seem she’s perched on his lap rather than her chair. She laughs at whatever he utters, drawing curious attention to them.
My nose wrinkles in disgust, catching his hand disappear under the table.
Isn’t he scared of the board members watching his behavior? He’s making the tense situation worse for himself and a million times harder for me to fix.
I reluctantly stomp my way to them, hearing the host announce that everyone should be seated and that the auction will begin soon. I’m rather loud as I drag out my chair roughly, making Nathan and Samaira pull apart at the noise.
Samaira’s brow furrows.
I shoot her an apologetic smile as I plop down, promptly skating my gaze to Nathan. There’s taunting amusement in his eyes from being able to tell I’m annoyed with his mighty presence. Reaching for the flute, he casually takes a sip of his champagne, flexing his bicep in the process.
My nipples pebble when he licks his lips afterward.
When I look up, his gray eyes are hooded.
Ripping my gaze away, I study the other people at our table. There is another couple, Mr. and Mrs. Roshan, owners of the biggest fast-food chain restaurants in our country and known for their philanthropic work.
Next to me sits Rithvik Verma.
A young millionaire at the age of twenty-eight, who rose to success after his diamond merchant business took off last year.
He gives me a polite smile, introducing himself, “Hello, I’m Rithvik. Nice to meet you.”
I can immediately sense his hidden nervousness as though this is all very new to him. From what I heard about his background, he comes from a middle-class family.
“Hii, I’m Arya. Have you ever been to an auction before?”
“Am I making it obvious that I haven’t?” he says lightly.
I chuckle, leaning closer to keep our chat private. “I’m just good at reading people.”
Except when it comes to a certain man.
“I’m learning that skill.” In a sheepish tone, Rithvik confesses, “The world of the rich is kinda new to me. I was advised to attend these parties and mingle with the ‘right’ people rather than donating anonymously.”
He’s like a breath of fresh air, humble and untouched by the corruption that runs rampant among the rest of the people. “It’s all about staying in the limelight.”
“Sounds taxing,” he groans.
Smiling at his reaction, I take a moment to admire him. Dressed in a gray three-piece suit, molded to a decent body, and his hair in messy curls, he’s handsome and cute. Although not as fit as Nathan.
Stop comparing men to him.
He’s not the standard.
“It can be, unless you have friends,” I tell him.
Turning his body sideways, he tilts his head, asking, “Do you attend a lot of these?”
“I’ve been dragged to quite a few by my parents. So, now, I only attend if…” A vibration shakes my thigh, startling me. I realize it’s my phone. “Sorry, excuse me.”
I look down to check.
A text from Nathan is sitting at the top of my notifications.
Mr. Gentleman: Didn’t I give you a task? He doesn’t work at my firm, in case you’re confusing him for a board member.
I stiffen at his tyrannical text. God forbid I have one decent conversation at this event. Locking my screen, I pay attention to Rithivik.
“Anyone important?”
“No,” I say loudly enough for Nathan to hear. “Just those annoying insurance policy texts.”
Another buzz hits my thigh.
“Seems they really want you to buy one.”
“They’re wasting their breath.”
Unlocking the phone, I read what Nathan’s sent.
Mr. Gentleman: Flirt on your own time.
Flirt? Is he blind? Where was I flirting?
He’s the one with his hands on the cat in heat draped over him.
Mr. Gentleman: This isn’t a club for you to pick up men.
The fucking audacity of him.
Fuck him!
I’ll show him how I flirt.
Silencing my phone, I shove it into my purse and set it on the table, so he can see he’s being ignored. Tucking my hair behind my ear, I place my hand near Rithvik’s and bat my eyelashes at him. “So, where were we?”
“You were giving me tips on how to make friends at these parties.” He smirks boyishly. “Since I’m such a novice and all.”
I inch my fingers closer, grazing his purposely. “You’re off to a good start. Stay honest and sweet like this, and you’ll make good friends.”
“So, no showing off my wealth?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Should I consider us friends, then?”
“Maybe.”
“Because I do have another invite and would lov─ Shit!”
Both of us screech and push our chairs back when a red liquid splashes onto his lap. A few droplets spilling on my dress. I follow the trail for the source, watching it stop near the overturned glass that’s right in front of Nathan.
My wide gaze flies to his face, his eyes burning in mean satisfaction.
He did this!
“Fuck!” curses Rithvik, dragging my focus to him. “I’m all wet.”
I hurriedly grab some tissue papers, about to press them against the top of his pants, when I’m interrupted by Nathan’s commanding voice.
“Arya.”
I look at him.
“I’m sure he can clean himself up.”
My hand automatically drops before I realize what I’m doing. Does he really believe he has the right to boss me around? Suppressing my glare because I can sense Mr. and Mrs. Roshan taking in the exchange with rapt eyes, I retort, “It’s called being polite, Mr. Singhania.”
“It’s okay, Arya,” cuts in Rithvik, gently taking the tissue from my hands. “I can do it. Thanks.”
“Probably good to cut the party short and go home,” drawls Nathan, relaxing back in his chair like he didn’t orchestrate all of this. “Wouldn’t want to give people the impression you pissed your pants.”
Rithvik’s cheeks flush in embarrassment. “Excuse me.”
As he stands, his chair skidding across the floor, I take out my phone and fire off a text.
ME: Stop behaving like a bully.
His response comes a minute later.
Mr. GENTLEMAN: Pick a lane, angel. Either I behave like your boss or the man you keep eye fucking.
ME: How about you read the situation and act accordingly?
MR. GENTLEMAN: You complain when I do that.
MR. GENTLEMAN: A perfect example is what happened right now.
MR. GENTLEMAN: I told you to focus on your job. Yet you keep making me resort to extreme measures.
ME: So you did spill your drink on him!
MR. GENTLEMAN: Be a good girl and don’t disobey me next time.
ME: You really have some nerve, Nathan.
ME: Go boss around Samaira and call her a good girl. I’m sure she’d love it.
MR. GENTLEMAN: Jealous, little minx?
The back and forth has my blood pumping faster and hotter. A heady dose of pure ecstasy coursing in my veins.
This is what was missing last time.
Do I crave it when he pushes my buttons? Secretly enjoy flirting with him in the name of arguing?
MR. GENTLEMAN: Can’t deny being jealous?
The taunt jerks me out of my stupor. With furious fingers, I type.
ME: Go back to treating me like you did the other day at the café.
I pause, not hitting the send button and stare at the message. He was cold and detached. His curt replies were like shards of glass digging into my skin.
Do I want that version of him?
I should… right?
So why can’t I send him the text?
A bubble forms, indicating he’s typing. I inhale sharply when his message comes through.
MR. GENTLEMAN: What if I told you that you’re the only woman I’ve ever called a good girl?
A little of my rage fizzles out.
I shake my head.
He’s lying.
There’s no way it’s possible.
Scared of how badly I ache for it to be true and hating myself for being so weak, I daringly lift my head.
I’m sucker punched in the chest as he stares at me hot and heavy, while his oblivious date looks up at the stage where the auction has begun.
Her hand absently rubs across his pecs, drawing my attention to the sensual move.
The violent urge to rip her fingers off his body claws its way up my inside.
For a second, my vision turns orange with jealousy.
Cutting my eyes away from them, I lurch to my feet and scurry out of the ballroom. No one pays me any mind. Too busy participating in the bidding war and bragging about their endless wealth in the name of donating.
This is the second time in the same night that I’ve run away because of him.
I never thought of myself as the woman who gets knocked off sideways because of a man’s beauty or powerful physique.
Especially whose personality and attitude make me want to throttle him half the time. He’s so vindictive that he invited my sister to throw me off balance.
The joke's on me because Kian and Iris didn’t even show up.
Nathan Singhania is a jerk.
He’s playing mind games with me.
Don’t get swept in it, Arya.
Men are nothing but trouble.
I look up and down the brightly lit hallway, searching for an escape to the garden I caught a glimpse of earlier. I’d rather be stuck with insects and mosquitoes than sit across from him. Maybe having my blood sucked will get rid of his drugging effect.
Lifting the hem of my gown to avoid tripping, I take a step.
“Where are you going?”
Yelping at Nathan’s dark voice, I spin around to face him. He’s standing a hairbreadth away from me. How the heck did he sneak up on me so quietly?
I jut out my chin defiantly. “None of your business.”
His eyes narrow just as I give him my back and head for my escape.
Barely a step ahead, he taunts, “Running away again?”
I halt.
“I forgot it’s what you do best.”