thirteen Too Close for Comfort
thirteen
Too Close for Comfort
Whoever wrote those movies had clearly never experienced the wind flipping their umbrella inside out, getting splashed by a speeding vehicle or being stuck somewhere and wondering—like Neil and I were right now—if the only way to get home was to swim.
We were standing under the office building, watching as a man with his pants rolled all the way up to his crotch waded through knee-deep water. Neil let out a string of cuss words. ‘There’s no way I’m taking my car through that. It’s practically a swimming pool.’
I nodded, tapping my phone to check the status of my Uber booking. There are no drivers available right now. Great, just great. ‘Maybe we can just walk to the train station?’
Neil looked at me like I had completely lost it. ‘Through this muck? You’re joking, right?’
I sighed, defeated. It was already half past eight and the rain showed no signs of slowing down. HR hadn’t been kidding about that storm warning.
The security guard left his post and walked up to us. ‘Madam, you should go back inside. The news is saying trains are suspended.’
Neil blew out a breath, looking up at the thundering sky. ‘He’s right, we’ll just have to wait it out.’
The realization that I was stranded in the empty office with Neil Desai didn’t hit until we were back upstairs.
Even the office guard must have left after us, because there was no one to let us in and we had to punch in with our biometrics again to enter.
With all the lights switched off and flashes of lightning flickering through the windows, the place looked like the set of a low-budget horror movie.
I fumbled around in the dark until I found the switchboard. The overhead bulbs blinked to life, casting a cold, fluorescent glow over the rows of workstations. Which only made things worse, because now I could see everything clearly, including Neil’s chest through his rain-soaked tee.
‘Um … you’re wet.’ I was painfully aware of how stupid I sounded, but what could I do? It’s not like there was a manual on what to say when you’re accidentally stranded with your intern. Your infuriatingly attractive, soaked intern.
‘Yeah, you were hogging all the shade downstairs.’ Neil shook his hair out, sending a few droplets straight onto my face. What was this, a men’s perfume commercial?
I cleared my throat and looked away. ‘What do we do now?’
‘You hungry?’ he asked as he flapped his t-shirt, airing it out. I exhaled, relieved I no longer had to worry about staring at the outline of his pecs.
I nodded. ‘Shall we raid the pantry?’
He grinned, almost boyishly, like I’d just proposed we do something naughty. It made my cheeks heat up.
Ten minutes later, the wet-socks smell in the pantry had been replaced by the comforting aroma of noodles and masala. I stood by the stove, stirring the half-cooked Maggi with a plastic fork. The rain hadn’t let up. If anything, it had gotten worse, rattling the windows with sharp, angry bursts.
‘Can you add some ketchup to it?’ Neil asked from behind me.
‘What? Ew, no,’ I said, personally offended at the request. ‘I’d rather season it with my own blood.’
His loud laugh filled the tiny room. ‘Holy hell, that’s terrifying.’
I shrugged, unfazed. ‘I’ve heard of many criminal ways people like their Maggi. Adding ketchup while it’s cooking tops the list. Hands down.’
He held up his hands. ‘Fine, fine. I didn’t know I was dealing with the Maggi police.’
‘You should be grateful,’ I said, stirring the noodles. ‘Not everyone is lucky enough to score a Michelin-star meal in the middle of an apocalypse.’
He hummed thoughtfully. ‘What if the world really was ending tonight … what would you spend your last few hours doing?’
‘Certainly wouldn’t be here with you,’ I said over my shoulder.
I could almost hear him rolling his eyes at me. ‘That’s not up to us, is it? What would you do if you couldn’t leave?’
I mulled it over as I poured the soupy noodles into two plastic bowls. ‘I’d call my family, I guess. Let mom and dad rehash memories from my childhood.’ I wiped a noodle splatter off the counter, smiling into the distance. ‘What about y—’
I turned around with the bowls in my hands … and promptly forgot how to speak.
Because Neil was standing by the water dispenser, very much shirtless, casually wringing out his soaked t-shirt like he was in a men’s locker room, not our very tiny, very co-ed office pantry.
My eyes followed a faint water droplet as it slid down his collar bone, gliding over the firm muscles of his chest and taut abs before disappearing beneath the waistband of his jeans.
I stood frozen to the ground as he reached into his bag and pulled out a dry-fit gym tee.
If he noticed how blatantly I was staring at him, he didn’t comment.
Snap out of it, I gave myself a mental kick.
It’s just a body. A male body. You’ve seen those before.
Sure I had. Just … not one that looked like that.
It took a monumental amount of effort to keep my eyes on the floor as I approached one of the benches. When he joined me, he was no longer shirtless. A small, treacherous part of me was disappointed. What has gotten into you, Kavya?
I busied myself with blowing on the noodles, pretending the steam fogging my face was the reason for the way my cheeks were heating up. Say something, anything. ‘So, would you call your parents too?’
‘Mmm, wouldn’t be my first pick. My dad and I are not on the best terms and mom … well, let’s just say she’d probably be too busy with her friends to take my call.’
Something about the way he said it, so matter-of-fact, without any pain or emotion, made me want to reach out and touch his arm. ‘I see. Who’d you call, then?’ I asked instead.
He hummed, twisting his fork through the noodles. ‘My oldest friend, I suppose. Haven’t spoken to her in a bit.’
‘How come?’
‘We … fell out.’
I hesitated for a second, then blurted out, ‘Is this “friend” a Lakmé model, by any chance?’
He looked up sharply and, for a split second, I thought I’d crossed a line. Then that lazy grin returned. ‘So you’ve been stalking me, huh.’
‘Technically, my flatmate did all the stalking. I was just presented with the evidence.’
‘Right, blame it on your friend.’ His voice was low, almost teasing. ‘Classic defence.’
I kicked him under the table, my sandals connecting with his shin a little harder than I’d meant to, but he just smirked. ‘Only the guilty resort to violence, you know.’
‘Whatever,’ I muttered, crossing my ankles so I wouldn’t be tempted to kick him again. ‘So what happened? Why did you guys break up?’
‘Uh …’ He stirred the noodles absently, his eyes averted from mine. ‘We’d known each other forever. Grew up on the same street, same school, same group of friends … but I guess she just grew up faster than me.’
I tilted my head, curious. ‘Faster, how?’
‘She was a very sorted person, you know? Laser focused on her modelling career, future plans, all of that.’ He let out a short, almost sheepish laugh.
‘I, on the other hand, was a bit too unserious in my early twenties. I was just kind of having fun and winging it. Maybe she got tired of waiting for me to meet her at her level.’
It was strange hearing him talk like that. There was something unexpectedly sincere in his voice, something that made me rethink the version of him I’d built in my head. ‘And now you’re not?’ I asked. ‘Winging it, I mean.’
He gave a small, crooked smile. ‘Not entirely. I think I’ve finally figured out what I actually want to do.’
‘Which is?’
‘Start my own streetwear label,’ he said quietly, like he was half expecting me to laugh. ‘I know what you’re thinking. Rich guy wants to launch a clothing line … it’s not very original, but it’s the first thing that’s ever made sense to me.’
I nodded, thinking about how perfectly it suited him. ‘There may be many unoriginal things about you … but your sense of style isn’t one of them. Sometimes I still can’t believe you’re @devilwearscolaba … you’re basically the voice of Gen Z fashion.’
He bumped his knee against mine, grinning. ‘Didn’t take you for a fan.’
I forbade my facial muscles to break into a smile. ‘So, what’s stopping you from launching the label?’
He sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth. ‘Ah, that.’ He rubbed the back of his neck, embarrassed. ‘I kind of blew a lot of my dad’s money on random business ideas, so … let’s just say his faith in me is at an all-time low. Like, even lower than usual.’
I need to prove to my dad that I’m not a complete waste of space. His words from the other day echoed in the back of my head. Oh. Oh. Something clicked in my brain and it felt like I had finally figured him out. Like I had solved the mystery of Neil Desai.
‘So that’s why you need that recommendation letter.’
‘Yep.’ He gave me a small nod. ‘Man, I don’t know why I told you all that. Now I feel naked.’
Naked. My brain took that as an invitation to conjure a shirtless image of him, the vision of his abs still burnt into my memory from earlier. Damn it, Kavya. How about you try not mentally undressing him for the rest of the night?
I was fairly certain I had caught the flu. The sickness must’ve been making me delirious.
There was no other explanation for why my brain, which had done a fantastic job of being immune to Neil’s charms so far, had suddenly turned into mush. Hormonal, irrational—not to mention unprofessional—mush.
My phone buzzed on the table. Nikita. I grabbed it and practically sprinted to the hallway, hoping she could help me figure out what the hell was happening.
‘Where are you? Are you safe?’ She sounded worried.