Chapter 6
chapter 6
“And this color scheme…” Naomi paused to suppress a yawn before opening a new tab on her laptop screen. Although she’d won the bazaar’s contract earlier that same day, she felt like she’d lived a thousand hours since. Years, maybe.
Oh well. I’ll sleep when I’m dead and debt-free , she thought, scrolling through the page with renewed determination.
“This color scheme would offset these countertops in a more subtle way,” she finished, pointing to the screen.
Nick Santiago, her contractor-turned-best-friend, barely spared the screen a glance as he maneuvered his blue work truck into a parking stall. “Sounds good.”
Naomi side-eyed his handsome profile. “Is that all you’re going to say, Santiago? Are you even listening? I need your input.”
As usual, Nick was unruffled. “Since when?”
“Excuse me?”
“Dude, we’ve done our fair share of projects together and you’ve never needed this kind of input from me.” He leaned across her to pull the glove compartment open and grabbed his wallet. “You’re the most self-possessed and confident person I know when it comes to making decisions about things like theme and décor,” he continued. “You point, I hammer. It’s how we do.”
Another yawn threatened to unhinge Naomi’s jaw. “I know. But this project is…different.” Since her victorious—but anxiety-inducing—win, Naomi had been combing over swatches, burrowing through design magazines, and falling down one rabbit hole after another. She kept second-guessing herself and spinning in circles as she looked for answers to what felt like the wrong questions.
All thanks to Cynthia. But deep down, Naomi knew there was more to the growing anxiety than a few snide remarks. She had oversold herself, had been too convincing that she could fake her way through this.
Nick drummed his fingers across the steering wheel. “Can we eat now?” When Naomi failed to respond, he turned resigned eyes to where she was scrolling through yet another Pinterest board. “They liked your pitch, Nae. Why are you freaking out? Is it the deadline?”
“Kind of.”
“I told you, my crew and I can get it done in three months, don’t worry.” Nick studied her face. “Come on, tell me what’s really going on in your head. But make it quick, I’m hungry.”
Naomi shifted in her seat. “I feel like I’m swinging for the fences with a broken bat.”
“You and your sports analogies.” Nick half smiled. “English, please, for those of us who weren’t forced to watch sports with our fathers while growing up.”
“I liked it!” Binge-watching the Olympics with her stepfather had been an important tradition to Naomi, well worth being bleary-eyed and lethargic at school the next day. To this day, the smell of popcorn and strawberry licorice reminded her of those late nights, the pair of them on matching recliners, trading snacks back and forth.
“All work and no food makes Nick a bitch,” Nick reminded her.
“What I meant is that I have the vision for what I want to do for Gia’s Bazaar, but the parts of the picture aren’t coming together like they usually do.”
Nick looked more than a little puzzled, and she didn’t blame him in the least. They’d met when Naomi had started at Adams Naomi couldn’t imagine what it would be like to have someone like her as a mother. If Gia wanted to marry off her son, then Dev was definitely going to have to deal with a barrage of women parading through his life for the next few weeks. Or months. After all, Gia seemed like a woman with plenty of stamina. Dev would need to get a lot more creative at turning women away, lest one decided to hurl something much more dangerous his way, like a steak knife.
He needed an ace in his pocket—something that would protect him from a fate he clearly didn’t want.
An idea was coming to her, half formed and fuzzy around the edges but enough to jolt her upright in her seat. Startled, Dev’s head swiveled, as if the next potential bride was already descending upon him. At this rate, he’d need a shield: something to repel women in search of wedding bells and three children in three years.
“Something or some one ?” Naomi mused out loud.
“What are you talking about?”
“ You need a way to deter these women,” Naomi said, her brain working overtime. When Dev nodded, her words picked up speed. “And I need help with the bazaar.”
“You do? Since when?”
Naomi risked a quick glance over her shoulder to where Nick was happily digging into a complimentary basket of what looked like chips. He didn’t seem too concerned about her whereabouts or that he was dining solo, but still, she lowered her voice.
“Listen,” she said, leaning forward and beckoning Dev to do the same. When he obliged, she was momentarily distracted by his scent. Mint and something woodsy that reminded her of a quiet forest at night. Not what she would’ve expected from him, but also not displeasing, either. “I know everything there is to know about making the bazaar look good on the surface. But when it comes to what’s underneath, I need help. Your mother’s expectations far exceed what I’m equipped to do, but you’re the perfect person to make sure I’m leading the redesign in the right direction. In the direction that Gia would approve of.”
Dev tilted his head to the side. “And how are you going to help me in return?”
“My presence alone is a deterrent for brides on the prowl. Look what happened this morning!”
“With Lalita?”
“Larisa,” Naomi corrected. “As soon as she saw I was in the picture, she retreated. It didn’t take much else for you to get rid of her.”
“I don’t know…” Dev’s fingers toyed with the wet napkin. “That doesn’t sound like it’ll work.”
“Think about it. How easy is it going to be for these women to ambush you when you’re busy working on the rebrand with me? Your mom might back off, too, considering she wants the job done in three months.” With every word, Naomi found herself nodding more and more confidently. When a small cramp formed at the base of her neck, she forced herself to stop and settled for her most winning smile.
To her relief, Dev’s face was thoughtful. Which was great, because Naomi was on a roll. “It’s the perfect plan,” she continued. “I’ll get what I want, and you can avoid what you don’t want.” When Dev’s forehead crinkled with uncertainty, she went for the ace in her sleeve. “And you said it yourself: your mom would never suspect something was going on between us, meaning she will have no idea that you’re pulling a fast one on her.” Naomi smiled and sat back in her chair. “It’ll be seamless. A Michael Phelps gold medal sweep.”
A dark cloud flickered over Dev’s face, stormy enough to quell Naomi’s barely contained exhilaration.
“What?” she asked. “What’s wrong?”
“If we do this, people are going to talk about you.”
“What do you mean?”
Dev shifted in his seat. “It’s public knowledge that I’m on the marriage market, but you’re not. The South Asian community doesn’t really endorse casual dating, and if people see you’re with me…”
Naomi shifted in her seat. As far as the Kelowna South Asian community was concerned, she was a nobody. And ever since her disastrous attempt to join her college’s South Asian Student Association, Naomi had forced herself to be comfortable with her nobody status. She had quickly learned that there were certain unspoken codes in place for people hailing from the same mother ship. The international students were united by a shared language and a desire to re-create cultural events that reminded them of home, while the first-generation kids complained about their restrictive upbringings and rolled their eyes before attending all the activities hosted by the international students. Everyone had known their place and what to do.
Except Naomi, a second-generation Indo-Canadian who had been cut off from the same traditions these students came together to celebrate. Still, she had paid her fees and sat through exactly three meetings, where she had tried to feel comfortable in her own skin amid the bilingual teasing and Bollywood hits playing in the background.
It had been awful.
She would never fit in and never allow herself to care that she would forever be on the outside. But as a brand consultant, she wanted to be a somebody. And that somebody was not the person who slept with her clients.
But technically, she wouldn’t be sleeping with Dev, and if people insinuated as much, she would know it was untrue. As would Gia, who would rather die than allow the rumor that her son was involved with some whitewashed, ethnically ambiguous brown girl to gain much traction.
Besides, was she really going to let the threat of a little rumor ruin the first job she had landed in too long? The dollar signs were already imprinted on her eyes, her wallet salivating in anticipation.
“I don’t care,” she told Dev. “I don’t care what they say about me.” If anything, it was motivation. Naomi would have to ensure that this rebrand was a monumental success—a complete turnaround that had people vying for her business card rather than speculating over her questionable methods.
“Your parents won’t freak out if people start gossiping about you?” Dev sounded more flabbergasted than cautionary now.
Naomi was winning him over, she could feel it.
“They won’t care,” she said. Because there’s no way I’d ever tell them. Especially not her mother, who would ditch even the most exclusive yoga oasis and drag her back home if she found out how deeply her daughter was submersing herself in the South Asian community. “So, what do you say?”
Dev ran a hand through his hair, grimaced, and then wiped his damp hand on his pants. “I’m in.”