Chapter 3
chapter 3
As Naomi reached the front entrance of Gia’s Bazaar, she paused to glance down at her outfit. Buttoned or unbuttoned, her black blazer looked stiff and uptight paired with her second-favorite pair of dress pants. Usually Naomi opted for something more comfortable and lived-in for on-site research for prospective clients—something that was easy to move in so she could dive into unearthing a business’s hidden gems. But since her disastrous first meeting with Gia, Naomi couldn’t shake the doubt lingering in her mind. Or Gia’s cold, skeptical gaze.
Relax. You don’t look like you sell insurance , she reassured herself. Since leaving the bazaar the day before, Naomi had been indulging in a lot of silent pep talks. She had two days to come up with an idea that would blow Gia away, and if she didn’t come up with something soon, she was at risk of running out of empty platitudes to reassure herself.
Under normal circumstances, Naomi would have brainstormed a whole list of ideas to use as jumping-off points for the owners to help create a vision for their business. But that wouldn’t hold up this time, not if Naomi was in direct competition with another brand consultant. She needed an idea to end all ideas—a proposal with the power to stock her fridge for the next few months and keep the creditors at bay. She needed an idea that would clean-sweep the podium and bring a tear to Gia’s eye. No, not just a tear. She wanted Gia to weep at her genius.
Much to Naomi’s delight, Gia’s Bazaar was deserted again, and the intimidating owner was nowhere in sight. After all the guarantees she’d made the day before, if she could conduct her research entirely unnoticed, all the better. Her conscience couldn’t handle any more half-truths or attempts at faking a confidence that was barely skin-deep.
As if she could leave her guilt at the door, Naomi jogged toward the cash register and surveyed the store. The aisles were jam-packed with miscellaneous items as far as the eye could see. Where should she even start?
At the familiar tinkling of the beaded curtain behind her, Naomi whipped around, ready for a rematch with Gia. Instead, she found herself face-to-face with a tall, broad-shouldered guy staring back at her in surprise. Even though he looked a bit droll, assessing her presence with a rainbow feather duster hanging from his hand, he commanded her attention. He was gorgeous, if a person was into the tall, dark, and brooding type.
Which Naomi definitely was.
Like Gia the day before, his eyes immediately dropped to her hands. And just like then, when he found them empty, he looked at her with suspicion. It was a terrible sense of déjà vu.
“Hi,” Naomi said, powerless against both the flirty smile spreading across her face and her hand reaching forward.
He scowled in return and made no move to return the handshake. “Not interested.” Naomi’s hands flew to clutch the lapels of her jacket; she had known the blazer was a mistake.
“Excuse me?”
“I’m not sure what you were told, but I’m not looking for anyone right now.” His voice was deep and velvety, reminding Naomi of tangled sheets before sunrise.
Naomi shook her head, confused. “I’m sorry, who are you?”
The guy rolled his eyes. “Dev Mukherjee.”
Realization sank through Naomi, dragging her bones downward. He looked like he might be related to Gia—her son, maybe. They shared the same dark chocolate eyes, unsweetened and hard. Had Gia sent Dev in to tell her she was no longer being considered for the redesign?
Maybe she had changed her mind and was sending this random guy to do her dirty work.
“I’m sorry you wasted your time,” he continued, gesturing at her carefully chosen ensemble. “I can tell you take this whole thing very seriously. But you shouldn’t have bothered.”
This whole thing. As if she could just abandon her desire to win the contract to the bazaar. As if it were no big deal. Naomi set her jaw. “I was under the impression you would give me a chance to prove myself.”
“Forget everything you’ve been told. It’s not going to work out.”
Dev braced his hands on the countertop, his exasperation clear. The lines of muscle curving up his tense forearms did little to distract Naomi from her growing indignation. It was one thing to lose a job, but to be dismissed so rudely by a surly stranger with a serious lack of social skills?
Even Naomi had her limits.
“But your mother told me she’d give me a shot!”
“Are you seriously playing the mother card?” Condescension dripped from Dev’s full lower lip. “Will all of you be this determined? Because, just a tip, guys don’t respond to desperation.”
“Desperation?” Naomi repeated, her voice rising. A hot rush of shame and anger burst through her, burning her professional composure into a crisp. It was clear that this guy had never had his credit card declined at the grocery store.
“I’m not desperate,” she said, even though she totally was. “But I might be the best fit.”
“That sounds pretty presumptuous of you.”
“Did your mother tell you to be rude to me? Is this some kind of test?”
Dev narrowed his eyes in response. “Look, I’m sorry if you’ve been making the rounds and no one’s taking the bait—”
“The bait!” Naomi squeaked.
“Sorry,” he said, holding his hands up, looking more defensive than contrite. “That was a poor choice of words. I’m sure your résumé is great and you have a ton of attractive qualities. And you’re certainly nice to look at—”
Naomi looked down at her outfit in confusion. “What?”
Dev continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “But I’m just being straight with you. You’re not what I’m looking for.”
There it was. Gia was sticking to her ludicrous list of criteria and had decided to cut Naomi loose. All of Naomi’s fears bubbled to the surface, sour and hot: somehow Gia had gleaned that she wasn’t South Asian enough for her tastes. When it came down to value, Naomi’s qualifications, previous success, and passion for the job would never measure up to what she lacked.
Thank goodness she hadn’t told Gia that she, too, was Bengali. Although it was a card that Naomi always kept close to her chest, somehow she knew that this rejection would have hurt a lot more if Gia knew about her cultural heritage. Especially since, other than knowing that her grandparents had emigrated from India forever ago, Naomi’s mother had chosen to keep all knowledge of language, culture, and family traditions to herself.
Despite the disappointment simmering in her chest, Naomi swallowed the many choice words dying to land a knockout punch. She couldn’t afford to make a scene even though she suspected nothing would feel better than to put Dev Mukherjee in his place. She would find another way to impress Gia, with or without researching the bazaar, because come hell or high water, Naomi was determined to present an outstanding idea on Friday.
Naomi settled for a dark glare before turning on her heel and storming toward the exit.
She was almost at the door when it swung open and a cheerful-looking lady bounced in.
“Are you Naomi? My goodness, you are even prettier in person!” She grabbed Naomi’s hand and pumped it in an enthusiastic handshake. “I’m Aashi.”
Hopped up on adrenaline, Naomi couldn’t do much more but hold on to Aashi’s hand for dear life.
“Give it a rest, Mashi,” Dev called from the register.
Without releasing Naomi’s hand, Aashi turned to Dev and raised her eyebrows. “Give what a rest? I’ve wanted to meet Naomi in person for a while now.”
Naomi shook her head, confused. “Wait. I thought your name was Aashi ,” she said to the woman whose hand she clutched.
“Oh, Mashi is what all my sister’s sons call me,” Aashi explained. “It’s a cultural thing.”
“Right, of course,” Naomi croaked, her hand growing clammy under Aashi’s strong grip.
Luckily, neither Aashi nor Dev noticed her blunder. “Did Mom come up with that backstory or did you?” Dev asked his aunt.
“Backstory?” Aashi frowned. “Why would I need a backstory?”
“You only read her profile yesterday,” Dev said, shaking his head in irritation.
“Yesterday? What are you talking about? I interviewed Naomi last week…” Aashi trailed off and burst into laughter. She still hadn’t let go of Naomi’s hand, forcing Naomi to stand awkwardly beside her as the other woman’s entire body thrummed with unrepressed mirth. But it was a small price to pay when Naomi caught a glimpse of Dev’s face.
He looked mortified. His mouth flapped open and closed a few times, not unlike a voiceless sock puppet, before he finally mumbled something in a foreign language.
A rapid-fire exchange occurred between Aashi and Dev for a few long seconds before Aashi started laughing again. This time, though, she pulled Naomi into a hug.
“Oh my goodness,” Aashi chortled into Naomi’s shoulder. “Did he try to fire you? I’m so sorry for my nephew, don’t mind him. He mistook you for—”
“Mashi!” Dev said sharply.
Aashi’s grin was wicked. “He mistook you for someone else.” She giggled and wiped her eyes.
As her world righted itself, Naomi stole a glance at Dev, who, to her delight, looked ready to crawl into a dark hole and die. Good. Served him right.
Turning back to Aashi, Naomi nodded as she tried to gather her wits. “I’m so pleased to meet you.” And she was. Even though her nerves were still frazzled, everything about Aashi warmed Naomi’s soul, from her easy smile and lingering laughter to her reassuring grip as she tugged Naomi toward the cash register.
“This is my nephew Dev.” Aashi’s impish smile was back. “But I guess you’ve already met.”
Dev let out a strangled groan. Buoyed by Aashi’s energy and the relief that she was still in the running to rebrand the store, Naomi managed a weak smile. When Dev stared back sullenly, she reached for something—anything—to temper the lingering tension between them.
“So you work here?” she asked.
“No.”
“Oh, so you pitch in every once in a while.”
“Not really.”
“Do you help out with the store in any way?”
“Nope.”
They stared at each other in silence. When Naomi realized her cheek muscles were straining to maintain a polite smile, she turned to Aashi, who was watching them with an amused gleam in her eye.
“I wanted to do a bit of research today,” Naomi said, more to Aashi than her stoic nephew, “to help me come up with some ideas for the rebrand.” When she heard Dev sigh, she quickly added, “Nothing intrusive. You won’t even notice I’m here.”
“Doubtful,” he muttered.
“Nonsense,” Aashi said. “We’ll be happy to help you poke around, won’t we, Dev?”
Silence.
“Come, let’s take a walk around,” Aashi said, ignoring Dev’s lack of enthusiasm. Naomi fell into step beside her, willing herself not to glance back when she heard the rustle of Dev following behind. She could feel his intense gaze boring a hole into her back.
They meandered through aisles of miscellaneous everything, some with English words marked across the packaging, others not. While Aashi kept up a steady stream of chatter, Naomi fought to maintain a poised expression on her face as self-doubt settled in her chest. Whoever won the contract would have to overhaul this place from the inside out, but the piles of neglected products were failing to inspire insight into the bazaar’s hidden potential.
Naomi would have to dig. “So, how did Gia come to own the bazaar?” she asked.
“Oh, it’s kind of a romantic story, actually.” Aashi beamed. “My sister was having a hard time acclimating to living in Canada. This was before they started having kids. I mean, I was here, too, but on a student visa, so I was very preoccupied with my studies. Gia was lonely—”
“Because my dad was obsessed with his surgical career and didn’t have time for anything else,” Dev interjected in a flat voice from behind them. He was like an umbrella on a sunny day.
“So he bought her the bazaar as a surprise. Something to help pass the time and adjust to her new life.”
Naomi cocked her head and reached for a random bottle off the shelf. She couldn’t read the writing, but the kid grinning at her from the label suggested that whatever was inside was delicious. “Did it work?”
Aashi nodded while Dev shook his head. Baffled, Naomiwhipped her head between the two of them before settling on Aashi.
“It did, but not in the way it was intended,” Aashi explained gently. “Gia didn’t care much for sales or business, but it didn’t matter. Her husband’s income was more than enough for the family. What mattered was that she was one of the only South Asian stores at the time and the Desi community came for the import items from India. She started making friends, practicing English…She loved being in the store. It became a haven for her.”
Naomi gave the bottle in her hand an experimental shake. It rattled. Pills. “That story is kind of romantic,” she mused. When Dev let out a faint grunt in response, she shot him a sideways glance. “So, what happened?”
Aashi hesitated and turned to Dev.
“My dad had a stroke last year, and my mom turned all her energy toward caring for him instead,” Dev answered stiffly, his eyes riveted on the bottle in her hand. “The business wasn’t turning much of a profit to begin with, so my mom closed shop for almost eleven months. And then, when she reopened after my father’s passing, the neighborhood had undergone a one-eighty and the few people who had once frequented the bazaar had moved on.”
“It makes sense, I suppose,” Aashi mused. “A huge part of the bazaar’s lure was Gia. She treated her customers like guests. Like family. When she stopped coming—and the surrounding businesses jumped ship—there was no reason to come down here anymore.”
Naomi barely registered Aashi’s explanation. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from Dev, whose face had remained cool and composed while talking about his father’s death. And although nothing about Dev invited physical touch, Naomi found herself resisting the urge to reach out and pat his shoulder or… something . She tightened her fingers around the bottle instead. “I’m so sorry, Dev.”
A shadow flitted across Dev’s eyes, and all at once he appeared both vulnerable and distant like a lone blackbird flying across dark gray clouds. His lips parted but before he could respond, a synthesized version of a popular Taylor Swift song sliced through the air.
“Oh, excuse me,” Aashi said, reaching into her purse and pulling out a jeweled cell phone case. “That’s my eldest’s ringtone.” With an apologetic nod, she shuffled to the next aisle, phone to her ear.
The moment broken, an uncomfortable silence descended upon Naomi and Dev. Once again, Naomi struggled for something to ease the tension. Normally, the right words—a light joke, a kind compliment—were easy for her to find. However, under the scrutiny of Dev’s gaze, she felt rattled.
She settled on jiggling the bottle again. “This kid looks happy,” she remarked, turning the label to face Dev. “I wonder what these pills do?”
Dev lifted a dark eyebrow. “You don’t know?”
“Should I crack open this bottle and find out?”
Dev eyed the bottle for a long moment before meeting her eyes. “That’s Hajmola,” he said. “They’re all-natural tablets to help with digestion and to control flatulence.” Dev’s mouth twisted slightly, and the hint of a dimple flickered in his right cheek. “You’re welcome to try as many as you want if it’ll help you with your research.”
The tips of Naomi’s ears burned, and she cleared her throat, aware that Dev was watching her every move.
“You’ve never had Hajmola before?” Dev remarked. “Every brown kid I’ve ever met has had this jammed down their throat at least a dozen times.”
The heat of humiliation slid into cold trepidation. There it was: that subtle reminder that separated her from the likes of Dev and his mother. They were talking about something completely insignificant—a stupid herbal remedy for children—but it was like a bucket of cold water thrown in her face. She was not like them.
Nor was she one of them.
Naomi replaced the bottle on the shelf, shuffling backward when Dev stepped forward to line the bottle up next to the others, as if its placement mattered in a store that hadn’t received a single customer since she’d stepped inside.
“My family favored home remedies,” she replied, the words sounding empty in her own ears, and she hastened to add a truth to her lie. “Besides, you can’t get this product in the small town I’m from.”
“Your parents didn’t stock up on them whenever they visited home?”
For as long as Naomi had been alive, her mother had never taken her “home”—whether that was the house she grew up in or her family’s place of origin. Not even the world’s most sought-after meditation retreat could tempt her mother to India. But there was no way Naomi was going to reveal that information to Gia’s son. It would be an additional strike against her, yet another reason she was unfit for the job. Turning away from the stomach pills, Naomi pointed toward a folding table and a stack of upholstered chairs pushed into the corner next to the cash register. “What are those for?”
“Gia used to set up a table and a few chairs in that corner every morning,” Aashi said, rejoining them as she tucked her phone in her purse. “She’d invite her friends to join her for tea and a snack, which was usually whatever mishti she had made that day.”
“ Mishti means ‘dessert’ in Bengali,” Dev supplied. Naomi waved him off, not wanting to interrupt the picture Aashi was painting.
“So many patrons became loyal customers and friends after tasting those sweets,” Aashi chuckled. “And my sister’s chai is out of this world. But when my brother-in-law had his stroke and required constant care, the setup was unnecessary. Without Gia here, it’s a waste of space.” Aashi paused to nudge her nephew. “Remember, Dev?”
“Yeah, there’s nothing my mom loves more than gossip and feeding people.”
The smile on Aashi’s face was wistful. “My sister loves to play hostess.” She traded an unreadable glance with Dev before brightening again. “As much as I’ve loved this trip down memory lane, I have to run and take my daughters to high school orientation. Can you believe fall will be here soon?”
Naomi shifted, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. She’d purposely gone without air-conditioning all summer to cut down on costs, but she would never admit out loud why she was more than ready for a cool autumn breeze to sweep through the city.
“I hope we were able to help you with your research,” Aashi continued. “Dev can answer any more questions you have. It was great to meet you in person, Naomi.” She paused to give her nephew a pointed look before squeezing Naomi’s upper arm. “Good luck.”
Naomi bit her lip as she watched Aashi exit the store. A quick glance at the bottle of digestive pills suppressed any urge to put forward further inquiries about the Mukherjees’ business. She also wasn’t sure how nice Dev would play now that his aunt wasn’t in the sandbox.
“I think I’m good for now,” she said.
“Did you want me to ring up the Hajmola?” he asked with a straight face.
The cool fabric of Naomi’s blazer provided little relief against her heated neck. Oh, she so badly wanted the last word. It was immature and unnecessary, unworthy of the professional standard she held herself to. But the desire to end things in an abrupt, mic-drop kind of way—and throw him off-kilter for a change—was strong. Naomi settled for a tight, close-lipped smile before whirling around and making a second attempt at a haughty exit. But just shy of the door, she couldn’t resist turning to where Dev had moved back to the cash register and taken the rainbow duster back in hand.
“Dev?”
“Yeah?”
“Who did you think I was when I first walked in?”
He ducked his head and busied himself with quick, jerky sweeps over the counter.
“No one important.”