Chapter 14
“This looks like a drug lord’s bed in a low-budget porn movie.”
“Naomi!” Cynthia shot a furtive glance over her shoulder at the densely packed furniture store before sending a quick, silent note of thanks to the universe that the owners were nowhere in sight.
Naomi grimaced and placed a hand on the ornately carved headboard of the four-poster bed.
“Sorry,” she murmured, tracing her fingers over the gold leaf inlay.
Whether she was apologizing to the bed, Cynthia, or the store, Cynthia wasn’t quite sure, but she didn’t sound the least contrite when she added, “But threesomes will be had in this monstrosity.”
Cynthia bit down on her bottom lip to school her expression, but a snort-giggle escaped anyway.
They were surrounded by heavy, dark wood in the form of elaborate dining room sets, palazzo-inspired china cabinets, and an absurd number of velvet chaise longues.
Her clients at Kashmiri Dining had sent her here because the owner of Wakeem’s Furniture Gallery Superstore was a friend of a friend’s nephew or cousin or something, and if anything in the store inspired Cynthia’s vision for Kashmiri’s newest restaurant, then a discount was guaranteed.
Her friend’s description of the bed had been kind; to Cynthia, the entire store belonged on the set of a low-budget porn movie.
The things I do to keep clients happy. On a tired exhale, Cynthia perched on the edge of a dark purple chaise and was forced to admit, it was comfortable.
Leaning back on her hands, she allowed herself a moment to enjoy the feel of soft, plush velvet against her palms. If only for a brief second, it felt nice to relax.
“Either that lounger is making you rethink your stance on casting couches or something’s on your mind,” Naomi commented as she bent to examine a gaudy chandelier lamp.
“What makes you say that?”
Naomi threw her a bemused smile. “You’re literally sitting on the job, which I have never, ever seen you do.”
Although Cynthia straightened, she couldn’t bring herself to stand up.
She and Naomi had worked together only a few times in the past year—usually to introduce each other to contacts or to use each other as a second opinion—but the observation was astute.
Cynthia had always prided herself on the hustle, on doing everything and making the right impression on everyone without breaking a sweat. In heels, no less.
But the added work of her and Rohit’s special project at Kumar Construction was neither quick nor light, and while Rich had delegated Rohit’s other priorities to staff, he had not offered Cynthia the same courtesy—not that she had expected him to.
Her father had never shown any specific or lengthy interest in her projects or clients and, likewise, she liked to keep things under wraps so the results could speak for themselves.
A handful of times, Rich had congratulated her on her success—usually after her work was recognized in a local newspaper or magazine—and as offhand as her father’s compliments were, they made Cynthia want to catch them in midair, wrap her fingers around them, and squeeze.
Most of her clients had graciously accepted the unanticipated shuffling in her schedule so she could focus on the inner workings of Kumar Construction, but still, she was burning the candle at both ends and her energy was tapering.
“It’s been a long few weeks,” Cynthia drawled, resisting the urge to kick off her shoes. Sitting was one thing, but she would never give in to the extent of her fatigue while on the clock. Besides, the owner might pop up at any moment.
Naomi plopped down on a nearby wingback chair heavily brocaded in silver thread and gestured at Cynthia’s chaise. “Why don’t you lie down and tell me about it?”
Cynthia looked down the length of the velvet chaise as if the suggestion had merit.
When she looked back at her friend, Naomi had pulled a pad of paper from her large purse and was watching her intently, a red crayon poised between her fingertips.
Cynthia rolled her eyes with a laugh, but she couldn’t help but wonder, what was it like to be so casual and comfortable with oneself that you could be silly and weird and risk looking ridiculous?
Cynthia was confident, sure, but she was always, always hyperaware of her surroundings, of how she looked, how she behaved.
Even before Rohit’s appearance in her life, every little thing she did had felt like a grain of sand on a scale, tipping the balance one way or another toward perfection.
Maybe that was what tired her out most of all.
Cynthia brushed her fingers over the velvet again and forced a lighthearted tone. “What kind of deranged therapist uses red crayon?”
Naomi waved the crayon in the air with a flourish.
“The expensive kind. And also, I spent the day with Dev’s nieces yesterday.
I think half the crayon box spilled in my bag.
” With a careless shrug, Naomi tossed the crayon so it landed in Cynthia’s tote bag at the foot of the chaise.
“Seriously, though. Do you want to talk about it?”
Cynthia’s answer was stalled by the persistent vibration in the pocket of her skirt. When Cynthia saw her mother’s name on the screen, she held up an apologetic finger. “Sorry, but I should take this.”
“Fine, but I’ll be billing you for this, too,” Naomi responded.
Switching her “one minute” finger to flipping Naomi the bird, Cynthia straightened, crossed her legs, and brought the phone to her ear. “Hey, Mom,” she said. “I’m with a vendor right now, can I call you back?”
Her mother’s voice was tinny and choppy. “Cynthia…We’re stuck in Vancouver and it’s…Can you…and then take them…Rohit.”
Plugging her ear with her finger, Cynthia’s eyebrows lowered in concentration as alarm flooded through her.
Her parents had flown to Vancouver yesterday to meet with the Feirhair group to talk more about acquiring their chain of motels.
Well, at least her father had. Sipra never missed an opportunity to tag along to a major city to shop and see old friends.
“I can’t hear you,” Cynthia said. “You’re cutting in and out.” Glancing at her phone’s clock, she turned up the volume. “Aren’t you supposed to be on a flight home right now?”
There was a bout of silence before her mother’s voice returned, somewhat clearer than before. “Is that better?”
“I think so?”
“It’s pouring outside, and I think it’s…with my cell reception. Our flight was canceled, something about…storm.”
“Okay,” Cynthia said, waving a dismissive hand at Naomi, who watched with concern. “Thanks for letting me know. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Wait! I need you…something for me.”
Cynthia’s jaw tightened. Another thing to fuck with her day. “What is it?”
“It’s…go to the house and grab the bag…for Rohit.”
Great. It wasn’t any old thing but Rohit that Sipra wanted Cynthia to fuck with. Wait. That wasn’t right. Cynthia cleared her throat as blood rushed to her ears. “Can’t it wait until tomorrow?”
“What?”
“ Tomorrow. Can’t it wait until tomorrow ?” Behind her, Naomi smothered a giggle.
“Absolutely not…very important. Your father insists…too.”
Cynthia’s nails raked tufted lines on the chaise as she half listened to her mother’s disappearing and reappearing voice on the line.
They were stranded in Vancouver and their first thought was the Chosen One.
The fact that he was on the forefront of not only her father’s mind but her mother’s, too, sent a sharp, cold stinging sensation through Cynthia’s chest.
“I’ll text you…address,” her mother was saying. “And you can—”
“His address? Why?”
“To deliver the…Haven’t you…listening?”
His apartment. This evening, Cynthia would be going to Rohit’s apartment.
The iciness in her stomach turned on a dime and burned hot, inflaming her from the inside out.
Every inch of skin was aware of every follicle of hair on her body.
She felt an erratic pulse skitter through her, toeing the line between embarrassment and something else—something that made her sit forward in her seat, her toes curling in her shoes.
Anticipation.
Dinner at a pub was one thing. She could fake nonchalance in public, but his apartment?
Where he would likely be alone, maybe half-dressed, and not expecting her?
Would he welcome her? Spy her through the peephole and remain silent until she left?
With a sinking heart, Cynthia belatedly realized that it was Friday.
Maybe he’d have someone over. Maybe he wouldn’t be home. But still…
His apartment.
“Cynthia?” her mother asked, sounding both tired and exasperated. “Are you…take care of this?”
There was no getting out of it. While Cynthia wasn’t one to shy away from risking her mother’s displeasure by not doing precisely as asked, there was no way she could leave Rohit hanging by not following through.
Not after everything that had happened in the last few weeks.
Not after he’d taken the blame for her, and not after meeting his family and finding them much too easy to like.
“Okay, fine, I’ll deliver the package to Rohit’s place.” In her periphery, Naomi’s head jerked up from where she’d been texting on her phone, her eyes wide.
It was no surprise when, as soon as Cynthia ended the call, Naomi pounced, practically leaping to join Cynthia on the chaise. “What happened?”
Cynthia pointedly inched away and damn it if Naomi didn’t follow, an obnoxious grin taking up the better part of her face. “It’s nothing,” she said, her voice short even as she fought the baffling urge to smile. “Just a favor for my mom. I have to get some kind of package to Rohit tonight—”
“At his apartment.”
“I’m just going to drop it off—”
“At his apartment.”
“—and leave.” When Naomi opened her mouth again, Cynthia shot her a warning glare. “If you say ‘at his apartment’ again, I will shove that red crayon in your mouth. This isn’t a big deal.”
Naomi scoffed. “You had dinner with him a few nights ago.”
“So?”
“You said you had a nice dinner with him a few nights ago. At the Pipe and Straw.” Naomi wiggled her shoulders. “The food at the Pipe and Straw sucks, Cynthia, which means the nice part had nothing to do with the food but with the man .”
“Would you calm down? All I said was that it was nice .”
“?‘Nice’ from Cynthia Kumar is like a five-star Google review from the queen.”
“The queen does Google reviews?” Cynthia asked dryly.
“Well, if it wasn’t Rohit’s company, what made the dinner so ‘nice’?” Naomi asked, exasperated.
Cynthia ducked her head and plucked an invisible loose thread off the seat and dropped it onto the floor.
“All right, I enjoyed hanging out with Rohit”—Cynthia paused as Naomi’s short, giddy little squeal ravaged her eardrum—“and I might have met his family, too.” She raised a warning finger. “ Don’t scream in my ear again.”
“You met Rohit’s family,” her friend repeated, her eyebrows practically brushing her hairline.
“They video called Rohit halfway through dinner and we talked for a few minutes. It was no big deal,” Cynthia added quickly.
And it wasn’t a big deal, not at face value.
But the whole evening had been the highlight of Cynthia’s week.
Granted, it had been a hellish week, but once Cynthia and Rohit had placed their orders at the Pipe and Straw, everything that followed had ensued so easily, and gracefully, like the clean, clear blue calm after a rainstorm.
The food had been awful, but the company had been welcome, the conversation effortless.
It had been as easy as hanging out with Naomi, and even now, days later, it brought a silly little smile to Cynthia’s face.
Unfortunately, it was a smile that Naomi did not miss as she eyed Cynthia critically. “When are you going? Are you going to change before? Do you have time to shower? Will you text me after?”
Luckily, Cynthia was saved from answering by a loud male voice. “You must be Cynthia!”
Both Cynthia and Naomi rose to their feet as a short, rotund man in suspenders made his way toward them, arms spread wide like a ringmaster.
Well before he reached them, Cynthia stuck out her hand in case he did something weird, like tried to hug her or something—one could never be too careful as a young, female interior designer.
She’d had clients ask her out on dates before, had endured men staring at her legs while she walked through concepts for floor plans.
As he pumped her hand in a too-strong grip, Cynthia was momentarily distracted by his bristly, curling black mustache and the thick gold chain bracelets adorning his wrists. In the porn set cavorting as a furniture store, he was right at home.
“Sorry I’m late,” he said as he pulled a box of cigarettes from his shirt pocket. “Smoke break.”
Cynthia and Naomi watched in silence as he pulled a cigarette from the box and stuck it behind his ear. He misinterpreted their staring and pulled out another. “How ungentlemanly of me. Cigarette?” he asked, proffering one in their direction.
Cynthia shook her head, but Naomi wordlessly accepted, much to Cynthia’s surprise.
“This is my colleague, Naomi Kelly,” Cynthia said. “And I’m Cynthia Kumar. Nice to meet you.”
“And I am Wakeem himself! What do you think of my magnificent collection?” Wakeem spread his thick arms wide again, his white shirt straining at the buttons.
With a forced smile, Cynthia cast a look at the assortment of eyesores around her. “It’s one of a kind.”
“Worthy of a movie set,” Naomi added with a straight face.
“I knew I would like you two,” Wakeem said, nodding his approval. “You tell your Kashmiris that if they want a piece from Wakeem, they can have it at forty percent off! Hang on, let me grab my business card.”
“God help me,” Naomi murmured when he was out of earshot. “But I think I like him, too.”
Cynthia looked pointedly at the cigarette clutched in her nonsmoking friend’s hand. “Great, well, maybe you two can go have a smoke together.”
Naomi laughed and, for the second time that day, threw the item into Cynthia’s tote bag. “Or maybe you’ll need it after hooking up with Rohit in his apartment.”