Chapter 18
Jaiman smiled at himself in the mirror rather nervously. He tugged on his collar, loosened his blue tie, then pulled it back up. The casual look wouldn’t work tonight. He needed to show that he was a worthy opponent, and that meant looking like the proud owner of the very respectable pub next door, thank you very much.
Perhaps this would be a great opportunity to network with other industry professionals. If Harish had invited Flora, of all people, he certainly must have invited other celebrity chefs and restaurateurs. Although Jaiman was relieved Flora would be there to support him, part of him was also concerned. With the amount of press she got, her showing up to Harish’s party meant the food and drink paparazzi would follow too. Vodka Vada was surely going to be packed tonight.
He ran his hand along his clean-shaven face, took a deep, long breath, and headed downstairs to the parking lot. As he drove to the Deshpandes’ mansion, he sang along to the radio—albeit shakily and off-key—then stopped outside their wrought-iron gate and honked three times. He got out of the car and was leaning against the side wall when his phone buzzed.
Jia:
2 mins!!!
Jaiman:
Okay
Chuckling, Jaiman took a selfie and sent it to Flora with the caption: I’m bloody anxious, but I’m still hotter than Harish, right?
Flora:
Yessss, you handsome boi. See you soon!
Jaiman tugged on his tie as he waited, his thoughts going to his date on Wednesday. It had gone well, by all means, although they hadn’t kissed. Kritika had given him her number and said she’d love to go out again. He hadn’t texted or called her yet. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to, but maybe he should? What did he have to lose, after all?
Jaiman started to type out a text to Kritika, but looked up at the sound of the gate creaking open. Jia wore a ruffled, low-cut, sequined blue dress that sparkled in the moonlight, her stiletto heels clacking against the ground as she walked up to him. A small, pink heart-shaped pendant rested against her neck. Her brown eyes were lined with dark blue tonight instead of their usual black, and her eyelids shimmered silver. She put both hands on her hips and struck a pose, showing off the backless design. “Well? How do I look?”
Perhaps she hadn’t noticed that Jaiman’s jaw had dropped; perhaps she didn’t know his pulse was beating so fast he could hear it thrum through his veins. “Beautiful,” he said, sliding his phone into his pocket.
Jia’s cheeks turned pink, and she looked away, grinning to herself. “Thanks.”
God.She looked like a dream come true. He wanted to step forward, take her hands in his, touch his lips to her plump, red ones, feel the heat of her body as he ran his fingers down her back. Instead, he opened the car door for her.
She slid inside and looked at her makeup in the rearview mirror. Jaiman started the car and waited patiently while Jia touched up her lipstick and put on her seat belt. “Ready to go?” he asked, his voice squeaky.
“Don’t be nervous.” Jia clasped his hand with hers and squeezed twice. “I bet his date doesn’t look half as beautiful as me.”
Jaiman smiled, his eyes crinkling. “Definitely not.” He turned up the volume of the radio and sang along to pop music, loud and braying, until Jia let out a giggle and joined him. They sang at the top of their lungs, Jia shuffling around in her seat and moving to the beat, and fuck, in that moment, Jaiman didn’t care that Harish’s new venture meant trouble for J’s Pub. He didn’t care that his own pub’s opening night had had only five customers—the Deshpandes, Anshuman, and Flora, nobody else. And he didn’t care about the tiny voice in his head telling him he was a failure, and that tonight would prove it.
He only cared about the woman sitting beside him, smiling at him in between lyrics and dancing in her seat like she didn’t care about anything or anyone else, either.
Thiswas Vodka Vada? Jia’s mouth fell open as the car pulled up in front of Harish Chandran’s new pub that took up both floors of the two-story building next to J’s Pub, looking much more impressive in the nighttime than it had during the day. The sign out front blinked the name of the pub in neon orange, while the logo—acocktail glass with the round vada as a garnish—popped in a bright neon pink.
A parking valet strode up to the front, dressed in black pants and a black shirt with the orange-and-pink logo on it, but Jaiman shook his head no, drove into the entrance of the basement garage, and parked neatly in the one spot reserved for J’s Pub. The rest of the garage was packed, half of them luxury cars, some of which had chauffeurs snoring in the front seat. Jaiman gritted his teeth as they got out of the car. “I guess Harish bought out the basement too.”
Jia wound her arm around Jaiman’s to avoid tripping in her sky-high heels and patted his biceps. “He won’t buy out your regulars,” she insisted. “Who wants to have breakfast foods like vada and sambar with their vodka shots, anyway? It’s such a terrible idea.”
Jaiman said nothing, but merely scoffed, and they headed out of the basement and up to the front door of Vodka Vada. They showed the email invitation to the man at the front desk, who greeted them politely and held the door open.
A blast of cold air from the AC hit them as they stepped inside, and Jia tightened her grip on Jaiman’s arm. Damn it, she hadn’t thought to bring her favorite faux-fur coat. She shivered just the slightest, and Jaiman slid his warm, hard body out of her grasp. “What are you—” she started, then paused.
Jaiman was shrugging out of his suit jacket. “Here,” he said, putting the jacket over her bare shoulders. It smelled like him, musky and citrusy—god, it was like someone had wrapped incredibly hot arms around her. She sank into the jacket and let out a sigh.
“Better now?” Jaiman smiled, scratching the top of his head.
“Toasty warm,” she replied. She put the jacket on completely, the hem falling just below her knees, and rolled up the sleeves so her diamond bracelet would show through. “How do I look?”
“Like you’ve been swallowed whole by my jacket.”
Jia punched him on the shoulder, and he fake-winced, chuckling. “Well,” he slipped his hand into hers and whispered in her ear, his breath tickling the side of her neck, “let’s show Harish how hot my date is.”
“Let’s do this,” she replied, mildly distracted by the tingling of her skin.
They dove in and out of the crowd as Jaiman looked for his rival. Meanwhile, Jia used her free hand to rub that spot on her neck. Jaiman had called her beautiful and given her his jacket to wear, but other than that, this seemed like your average platonic date. If only her body could find someone else to be attracted to besides Jaiman Patil.
Her mind wandered to a question TheReMix had once asked about her romantic type. She’d always wanted to be with someone who could challenge her emotionally and mentally, and yeah, that was Jaiman to a T, but it was also TheReMix. And unlike Jaiman, they were supportive and kind even when they disagreed with her choices, but it didn’t make sense to think about TheReMix that way. She’d never met them. She didn’t know what they looked like, if they had other pen pals, whether she was anything more to them than one out of the hundred random writers whose blogs they read every week.
But they were so much more than a pen pal to Jia. They were her confidant and her biggest cheerleader.
Vodka Vada was packed. Jia smiled and waved at a few minor celebrities she knew from society parties. Atul from work sat at the bar, dipping a spoonful of idli into his bowl of sambar. A whiskey glass sat beside his plate. Jia scrunched her nose. What an odd combination. Atul must have been here to write a review for Mimosa; she hoped he would rate the place poorly. As they walked past the counter, she overheard him say to a bartender on duty, “My compliments to the chef.” Another reporter sitting beside him nodded in agreement. She had a margarita and a masala dosa in front of her.
Oh, fuck.Maybe South Indian food really did go well with alcohol. She rubbed her palm along Jaiman’s arm as her heart thudded in concern. He turned to her, his lips brushing the side of her temple. “What?”
“Nothing,” she said, telling herself to ignore the tingles. “Never mind.”
“There’s Flora,” Jaiman said. He whooshed out a breath as though preparing for war, then pulled on Jia’s hand and led her to the impeccably dressed tall woman.
Flora wore an off-shoulder mini dress in a plum color that made her lithe legs look even better. “Miss Celebrity Chef Long Legs” had been Jia’s secret nickname for Flora for years, and today she looked the part more so than usual.
“Hey,” Flora said, kissing Jaiman on either cheek and politely nodding at Jia. “This is Gaurav, my friend and date.” She gestured to the gorgeous man on her arm. Jia recalled seeing him at last year’s Mumbai Fashion Week. Except she’d seen him with…his boyfriend.
Jaiman shook Gaurav’s hand and looked toward the packed bar, his jaw clenched. “I don’t see Harish anywhere. Do you ladies want something to drink?”
“You know my order,” Jia and Flora said at the same time, then laughed in unison. Jia didn’t know what Flora drank, but her own choice of drink outside of J’s Pub had always been a mimosa, long before she’d started working at the magazine, perhaps because it had been her mother’s favorite read. She couldn’t imagine drinking anything else—unless it was a Whipped Rose, of course.
The men headed to the bar, talking softly, so Jia took the chance to stand on her tiptoes and whisper in Flora’s ear, “Um, doesn’t your date have a…”
“Boyfriend?” Flora nodded, her mouth widening in a grin. “Not tonight, he doesn’t. At least not when Harish is looking.”
Jia stared at her, confused. “So is he your archenemy too? Or are you trying to make him jealous?”
Flora’s gaze traveled to the bar, where Jaiman and Gaurav were talking to the bartender. “Yeah, we never got along, mostly because Jaiman hated him. And please,” her collarbone flushed red, “why would I ever want to make Harish jealous?”
“All right,” Jia mumbled, unsure if that was all there was to it. But tonight wasn’t about Flora; it was about being the best possible date for Jaiman. The men returned with Jia’s and Flora’s cocktails and made polite conversation, sipping their drinks until Jaiman’s body stiffened, and Jia knew he must have spotted Harish Chandran, at long last.
“There he is,” Jaiman said shakily.
Harish Chandran was a short man of medium build. With his curls slicked back with oil and the glasses framing his face, he looked like a grown-up high school nerd—except he wore a well-tailored beige suit with a gray shirt underneath, and a pink tie hung loosely at his neck. The pop of color clashed with the rest of his outfit, but somehow, his nonchalant confidence ensured he looked more attractive than Flora and Gaurav combined.
Jia shook her head. No nice things would be said or thought about that man. It was unfair to Jaiman. “Shall we say hi?”
“Yeah.” Jaiman took a deep breath and swiped at his face. “Let’s say hi.”
They set their empty glasses aside and stepped forward. Harish noticed them and waved them over. He shook Jaiman’s hand, perhaps more forcefully than expected, because although Jaiman kept a smile on his face, Jia noticed a slight tick in his jaw that only disappeared when Harish withdrew his hand. “Jaiman, welcome to the launch party. Flora, thanks for coming,” he said, shaking her hand too, holding it for almost a second too long. Then his eyes moved to Jia, and he gave her a once-over, one eyebrow shooting up. “And who is this?”
“This is Jia Deshpande,” Jaiman said, “one of my best friends.”
Well, that made it obvious this was not a date, but she decided to stick her hand out and not let her disappointment show. Instead of a handshake, Harish took her palm and kissed along her knuckles. That was…gentlemanly of him. “Nice to meet you,” she said, quickly withdrawing her hand before he could impress her anymore.
Harish chuckled and put his hands in his pockets. “Same.”
“And this is my date,” Flora started, her eyes glinting as she gestured to her gay fake boyfriend for the night, but Harish stopped her with a raised finger.
“Oh, yeah, you’re Gaurav Shinde, right?” he addressed the male model, whose hand was still being held in Flora’s death-grip.
“Do we know each other?” Gaurav asked, frowning. He looked around the pub, as though wondering if he’d been here before. Suddenly, his eyes widened.
“Your boyfriend,” Harish said, looking triumphant, “helped me with my décor and furnishing. An interior designer, isn’t he?”
Gaurav dropped Flora’s hand and ran his fingers along the side of his ear. “Right. That’s why this place looks so familiar. You’re featured in his portfolio.” At that, Flora and Jaiman’s faces both turned red. Jia tried not to laugh, amused as she was.
“Well, get yourselves drinks, have some food.” Harish leaned forward and added, “Socialize a little. I invited a few reporters, you know.”
“I can see that.” Jaiman clenched his jaw. “Where’s your date, Harish?”
Harish held his arms out and shrugged. “I didn’t bring one. Figured I might do some socializing too.” He smirked at Jia, then at Flora. “Lots of beautiful women here.”
If a gaze could kill, it would be Jaiman’s. He put his arm around Jia’s waist, tugged her closer, and said, his eyes fiery, “I agree.”
Harish held Jaiman’s gaze for a few seconds, matching the ferocity, his chin up.
Jia licked her lips. It was obvious their enmity hadn’t stemmed just from being next-door restaurateurs or academic rivals. This seemed to go deeper than that. “I want a drink,” she said, tugging Jaiman away. “Bye, everyone.”
“Bye,” they said. Flora and Gaurav remained with Harish, but Jia found herself a quiet table for two in a corner and physically pushed Jaiman down on the seat. “What was that about?” she whisper-yelled. “The glaring, the hand on my waist mere moments after calling me one of your best friends?”
Jaiman didn’t speak for a few moments. His eyes were on the food and drink menus stacked in the center of the table. He tapped his finger on the white wood. “He’s still just the same,” he said, his voice low. “I always feel like a loser around him.”
“What does that mean?” Jia squinted. “You won. He didn’t bring a date.” Then she chuckled. “Probably couldn’t even get one.”
Jaiman gave a low laugh. “He dated every girl I had my eye on in culinary school before I could. The only exception was Flora.” He laughed, louder this time. “Thank goodness for her.”
Jia’s eyes widened. She didn’t know Miss Celebrity Chef Long Legs had a romantic history with Jaiman, and she couldn’t pass up a chance to talk about Jaiman’s love life when he had handed it to her on a South Indian rice platter. “You always said she was just your best friend from school.”
Jaiman signaled to a passing server and ordered a ginger ale for himself, since he was driving, and another mimosa for Jia. Then he turned back to her. “We are best friends. But we also dated for two months. I guess you could call her my first—and only—girlfriend. It didn’t work out for…a lot of reasons.” He played with the edges of the menu, then looked up. There was an intensity in his eyes that made it impossible for Jia to look away.
“What reasons?”
“Ah, fuck.” Jaiman scratched the back of his ear, which had turned pink. “Just reasons. And Harish never made a move on her. But he took everything else from me. The internship I wanted, the trophies I wanted, the letters of recommendation I wanted.” He smiled weakly at Jia. “I can’t let him do that anymore.”
Jia pulled his palm away from the menu and held his fingers with both her hands. “He won’t. We’ll show him.”
Jaiman’s eyes softened, and he opened his mouth to speak, just as the server brought over their drinks. “A toast,” Jia proclaimed, clinking her glass with Jaiman’s, “to J’s Pub, and its owner, Jaiman Patil, who has the best culinary taste and would never mix vodka and vadas, thank goodness.”
“Cheers to that,” he replied, his lips twitching with a smile. As they had their drinks, they chatted about Papa fretting over his upcoming annual health checkup, and what presents to buy for Anshuman’s birthday next month. Jaiman mostly responded and barely talked, his face falling more and more as Harish walked past their table countless times, fending off compliments about the party, the food, and the pub.
Jia was in the middle of talking about her two future dogs and if only Papa didn’t think he was allergic, when Jaiman pushed her empty cocktail glass away and gestured for her to stand up.
“What?” she asked, blinking. “Do you want to leave?”
He held a hand out and bowed. “A dance, if you please?”
Jia looked at him blankly. She gestured to the crowd, where people were either having a meal at their tables or mingling with one another. “Nobody else is dancing yet.”
“Then we’ll be the first.” Jaiman led her to a semi-empty space and spun her around, and a laugh burst out of her.
“Are you drunk on ginger ale?” she asked.
“No,” he rolled his eyes, “I’m just showing you off to everyone.”
Jia bit her lip so she wouldn’t snort. “All right, then. Let’s show them.” She twirled on her toes, her dress flaring out, and Jaiman caught her before she could spin again and pulled her closer. His hand moved to the small of her back, over the jacket, and he smiled; he smiled so wide and so bright that it tugged on Jia’s heartstrings. She put her arms around his neck, and they swayed slowly to the electronic music beats that thumped over the speakers.
Jia returned to talking about her future dogs. “Maybe I’ll move out someday and adopt them, so it wouldn’t affect Papa’s so-called allergy. But how can I leave him all alone in that big house?”
“Tanu and Anshuman are right next door,” Jaiman said. “And we’d visit every weekend for game night, anyway.”
We’d visit.That phrase felt intimate, almost romantic, as though he was insinuating they’d visit…together. Jia shrugged off that thought. She’d had enough confusing thoughts about her love life for one night.
“Anshuman’s hardly ever home.” Jia sighed. “I’m sure Tanu gets lonely too. Papa would push himself to work more, and then complain of even more illnesses. No. It wouldn’t work out.”
“You’ll have your dream life someday,” Jaiman assured her, grinning. “Someday soon.” He twirled her around again, and as they switched to talking about Jia’s work, that smile didn’t leave his lips, nor did his hand leave her back, not until Jia’s stomach grumbled and they said bye to Flora and Gaurav, and decided to grab some food at J’s Pub.