Chapter 27
A few days later, when Jaiman had only just begun to process Flora and Harish’s relationship, the news became public. Maybe someone had overheard them at J’s Pub, or she had been spotted with Harish at VV, because a tabloid leaked their relationship and posted photos of them together, and Flora’s publicist was forced to confirm it was true.
Jaiman didn’t know if their relationship was in jeopardy, or if the news was only helping bring more customers in, because he hadn’t talked to Flora since Christmas Eve. She had been texting him regularly, but he’d barely replied to her.
He had never felt lonelier in the big city of Mumbai that had been his home for most of his life. Jia had finally resumed bringing him granola, but save for small talk, there was no conversation between them. But tonight, the pub was moderately full, and money was one thing he didn’t have to worry about. He’d made enough to renew the lease agreement and cover next month’s rent.
As he was handing shots to a few regulars at the bar, one of the waitresses came out of the kitchen and tapped him on the shoulder. “Um, Jaiman sir? We have a bit of a problem.”
“What?” Jaiman excused himself and walked inside the kitchen, where it was surprisingly hotter than usual.
“I don’t know what’s wrong,” she told him, as she gestured to the chefs and servers wiping sweat from their brows and tugging on their collars, “but I think the cooling system broke down.”
“Fuck,” Jaiman swore under his breath. He’d set up the cooling system when the pub first opened, and the warranty period had only recently lapsed. “Can you all get through this, just for tonight?”
The chefs exchanged glances. “Yeah,” one of them said. “But we should probably close the kitchen soon.”
Jaiman nodded. He went outside and announced to the pub that it was the last call for food, so they could order up if they wanted to. “And everyone’s next round of drinks is on me,” he added when murmurs of disappointment rang out. He turned away from the customers for one second, cursing. Fixing the cooling system would cost him an arm and a leg, not to mention all the free drinks and no food. And the only cash available to him had to be kept aside for the deposit.
After the kitchen had shut for the night and the customers started to leave, Jaiman excused himself from the bar and headed to his office to take a quick break before he got too overwhelmed by the free drink orders and the frustration and the broken cooling system and the loneliness and—
God, he was fucked. He closed the pub early, returned home, and sat on his couch. Perhaps a drink was in order. Jaiman didn’t drink much, mostly because he loved taking his car everywhere and was vehemently opposed to driving with even a sip of alcohol in his system, but hell, he had nowhere to go tonight. He took out a bottle of whiskey his dad had left him years ago and went over to grab some ice when his phone buzzed with a call.
It was the cooling system’s customer support. “Thanks for calling us. Unfortunately, we can only send someone to fix it next week.”
“N-next week?” Jaiman stammered, pounding his fist against his knee. “But I can’t run my pub without a functional kitchen. There has to be something you can do.”
“I apologize, sir, but we’re short on staff this time of year.”
“And—and how much would the estimated cost be?” He gulped, crossing his fingers. Please be less than the deposit, please be less than—
They gave him an approximate figure, and he groaned internally.
“We’ll be in touch when a service personnel is assigned to you. Have a good evening.”
Jaiman hung up. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He couldn’t afford to pay for the repairs and the deposit and next month’s rent. And if he had to shut the kitchen until next week, he would lose even more money.
He set his phone aside and searched in his bag for his recipe book. He needed something to distract him, but shit, he must have left the diary at the pub.
Sighing, he went back to the kitchen and uncorked the bottle sitting on the counter. What did he have anymore? Not the pub, not his best friend, not even Jia. Especially not Jia, who was moving on and finding love with someone else. She was seeing that matchmaker soon, wasn’t she?
He didn’t blame her. He of all people knew how much loneliness stung. The quiet mornings in his office, the weight of just his body on his king-sized bed, the hours spent daydreaming about a life with the woman he had wanted since he was twelve—
Jaiman made himself a drink and took a sip. He wiped the side of his nose and let the tears fall, thinking about everything that had transpired since that stupid speed dating mixer.
Would things be the same between him and Flora? Surely, Harish reciprocated his feelings of hatred. He would definitely sway Flora against Jaiman. They’d drink dirty martinis and laugh at Jaiman’s countless failures. They’d celebrate the success of their respective gourmet restaurants. Together, they’d be the power couple of the fine dining industry, doing interviews around the city, maybe even the country, while Jaiman desperately thirsted to get out of obscurity.
No, it wasn’t even about obscurity anymore. It was about surviving a life without the pub, without Flora, without Jia. He wasn’t quite sure he wanted that life in the first place.
He swallowed the rest of his drink in one go, the alcohol burning the back of his throat. He coughed, then made himself another drink. He’d worry about his messed-up life some other time. All he would let himself want tonight was a dozen pegs of whiskey to numb the aching of his heart and the hollow, empty space in his belly.
And Jia.
He wanted Jia here.
No. He needed her here.
Jia sat on her bed in her nightgown, scrolling through the third article she’d found on contract law in the past half hour. TheReMix’s suggestion about rereading her Mimosa employment contract had been sound, but she didn’t know how to make sense of all the legalese. Everything on the internet was so complicated too.
There were two choices before her: agree to Monica’s proposal and let Mimosa get all the credit for her idea, or stand up for herself and risk getting sued. She shut her laptop with a frustrated groan, thinking. Jia only knew one person who went to law school: Tanu, who had jetted off to the Maldives with Anshuman for a short Christmas vacation, and would probably be at the airport now for her flight back to Mumbai.
But if she asked Tanu for help, she’d have to fess up about the blog. That wasn’t the worst thing in the world, though, was it?
Jia grabbed her phone and sent Tanu a text asking if she had time to talk when it buzzed with a call from Jaiman. She rolled her eyes. What does he want now? She nearly declined the call when her eyes fell on the time. It was past eleven. Jaiman didn’t usually call her this late. What if…what if it was an emergency? Her hands shook as she answered. “Hello?”
Seconds later, Jaiman’s weary voice echoed in her room. “Jia.”
Jia sat up, her heart thudding. Why did he sound so…off? “Are you okay?” she asked. “You seem—”
“No,” he whispered, and the ache in his voice told Jia something was very wrong. “Can you come over? Please?”
All her anger dissolving, Jia shot up from the bed and grabbed her purse. “Of course. I’ll be there soon.” She flew down the stairs, still in her nightgown. The light was on in Papa’s study. He probably wouldn’t notice she was gone, and she didn’t have time to lose.
She put on her shoes at the front door, her mind racing with thoughts of what might have happened. This didn’t sound like just a bad day. Was he hurt? Were his parents in the hospital? Or did it have something to do with J’s Pub?
Well, Jia would find out soon. She walked to her car in quick strides and drove to Jaiman’s house as fast as she could under the speed limit.