Chapter 28
chapter 28
As Naomi looked up at the gorgeous glass office tower in front of her, she suddenly realized why Cynthia walked around with a stick up her…
No , Naomi chided herself, not today . Not after her breakthrough with her mother. Naomi wasn’t showing up unannounced at Cynthia’s place of work for round two in the Thunderdome. She was there to clear the air, or at least speak up for herself—as civilly as possible—since their last confrontation had left her speechless.
Still, as Naomi stepped through the revolving door and received a cordial nod from the security guy whose polished black suit looked like it cost more than her monthly rent, she was glad she’d worn a flattering pencil skirt and her nicest blazer.
Although Cynthia worked independently as a brand consultant, her office was on the same floor as Kumar Construction, one of her father’s many, many companies and, as such, any PR, facelift, or interior design needs went through Cynthia first, as she had often reminded Naomi.
“Hold the elevator, please!” a smooth baritone called, and Naomi instinctively jammed her high-heeled foot forward to prevent the doors from closing just in time for a tall South Asian guy to slip inside, his arms piled with folders. Naomi caught a glimpse of his thick black hair and thought of the silky strands above the nape of Dev’s neck, how he always pulled her closer when she gave the hair there a light tug.
The memory gave rise to an involuntary shiver, which the guy misread as an invitation to speak.
“Thanks for holding the door,” he said, gesturing with his chin to the stack of files in his care. “Can you press thirty?”
Naomi glanced at the top folder in his hands. The Kumar Construction logo was stamped across the front. “I’m going to the same floor.”
He cocked his head in her direction, interest clear in his eyes. “Oh, really?”
“Yeah, I’m here to see Cynthia Kumar.”
“Are you a new assistant or something?”
Naomi’s smile fell and she turned her eyes back to the elevator doors. “No. I’m her…” Frenemy? Competition? Rival? “Colleague.”
“So you’re a brand consultant, too?”
Naomi gave a curt nod even though her stomach turned at the assumption. Whether she’d continue to find work as a brand consultant in Kelowna and the surrounding area after the bazaar was said and done was another matter altogether.
The hint of flirtation in the guy’s voice was unmistakable. “Well, I hope to see you around,” he said as the doors slid open and he stepped out. “Don’t be a stranger.”
Naomi watched him leave. He was tall with broad shoulders and a charming smile. Undeniably handsome. But she felt nothing. Maybe if he had glared at her with a scowl, she might’ve felt a little flutter in her stomach.
But it was unlikely.
Naomi shook her head and approached the receptionist, who directed her to Cynthia’s desk situated in a large corner office with floor-to-ceiling windows. Of course.
It was exactly what Naomi had pictured. Cynthia’s workspace was a trendy oasis of clean metal lines, cool tones, and a glass desktop that would never dare to smudge. It was not a cozy little office by any means; the only décor items were an expensive-looking paper-weight and an abstract painting on the wall.
“Nice office,” Naomi said from the doorway. She meant it. It suited Cynthia.
Cynthia’s head snapped up and her eyes narrowed. “You’re the last person I’d expect to see here.”
“Can I come in?”
For several moments, Cynthia studied her in silence.
“I’m unarmed,” Naomi added.
The corner of Cynthia’s mouth twitched, and she gestured to one of the stiff ivory-white chairs facing her desk. “Have a seat.”
Naomi perched on the edge of the chair and tried to relax her grip on her purse. “I want to talk about what happened at the grocery store.”
“So talk.”
She hadn’t expected otherwise, but still, it miffed Naomi that Cynthia wouldn’t even attempt to make this easy. From her slightly lifted eyebrow to the expectant set of her mouth, Naomi doubted that Cynthia believed she even owed her an apology.
But maybe Naomi didn’t care. An apology from Cynthia wouldn’t change anything, and Naomi was done feeling ashamed of her life. She was a poor, barely Bengali brand consultant with loose morals.
It was time she started owning it.
“You caught me off guard that day at the grocery store and I wanted to follow up.”
Cynthia smirked, clearly expecting a concocted story that would cover Naomi’s tracks.
But Naomi was done with lying, too.
“You were right. Well, kind of. I had been sleeping with Dev.” Naomi shrugged against the tremor of shame slithering down her spine. “I’m in love with him.”
All traces of arrogance flew from Cynthia’s face. Naomi had stunned herself, too. On some level, she had suspected as much especially when, even after their awful fight, she kept waking up in the middle of the night to the rustle of her hand seeking through cool, empty sheets for his.
She loved him.
But she had never said it out loud before, much less to anyone else. Naomi had been too scared of the words, of how they might slice across her already bruised and battered skin. Now that she’d put the words into the world, she felt dazed like a gymnast pulling off the perfect floor routine to everyone’s shock. Including her own.
“Hey, you’re still here,” a voice said from Cynthia’s open doorway. It was the elevator guy.
Naomi squeezed her chair’s armrest, praying her face didn’t look like she’d just bared her bleeding heart in Cynthia’s pristine, cream-carpeted, white-walled office. “Still here.”
“What do you want, Rohit?” Cynthia asked sharply.
Elevator guy’s easy smile fell like someone had cut the suspension ropes at the thirtieth floor. “Just making sure your guest hasn’t frozen to death, Ice Princess.”
Naomi turned wide eyes to Cynthia, who looked like she would happily ditch Rohit’s unconscious body in a locked freezer.
“Don’t you have somewhere to be,” Cynthia snapped.
Rohit rolled his eyes. “Try not to get frostbite,” he called over his shoulder as he walked away.
Clearing her throat, Naomi wound the straps of her purse around her hands. She wanted to say something comforting—women empowering women and all that—but, well, it was Cynthia . Rohit’s nickname for her was kinder than comparisons Naomi had silently made in the past.
Cynthia, however, didn’t need the reassurance. Instead, she pushed her chair back and stood up. “Let’s go for a walk.”
Although she was startled, Naomi followed suit, schooling her features when Cynthia slipped her feet out of a pair of sky-high heels for sensible sneakers instead.
She half expected Cynthia to give her a tour of Kumar Construction, to show off her connections and wealth as she so often had before. But Cynthia led her outside to the sidewalks snaking through one of Kelowna’s more prestigious business districts. Very few people were outside today; by Kelowna standards, it was a blustery afternoon.
“Were you two dating before the rebrand?” Cynthia asked as if a full twelve minutes hadn’t passed since Naomi’s heartfelt declaration.
“No. And I don’t know if you’d label what we did as dating, but it’s over now. He…” Naomi’s voice caught but when she glanced at Cynthia’s uncharacteristically kind and guileless eyes, she shrugged again. “He doesn’t feel the same way about me.”
The admissions were so dear to Naomi that she regretted parting with them. She didn’t want to talk about the pain of rejection and mistrust with anyone, especially not Cynthia.
But Cynthia surprised her, both by her abrupt decision to hang a sharp left at an intersection and by her next words. “I’m sorry, Naomi. I shouldn’t have said those awful things to you.”
Naomi’s left heel skittered and she stumbled, but Cynthia did not slow down. “It was hurtful,” she said, trotting to catch up, “but it wasn’t that far off from how I was feeling about myself. I still can’t believe I crossed that professional boundary for Dev.”
“Was it worth it?”
Naomi hugged her purse to her chest and thought about his laugh, the way he tended to lean into even the most casual caress as if he were imprinting the touch onto his soul, his hand always finding hers in the dark of the night. His quiet way of taking care of her and everyone else around him.
The onslaught of memories was a fresh sting to the center of her chest, but the answer was obvious. “Yes.”
“Well, if it’s any consolation, I don’t actually think the bazaar’s success will have anything to do with Dev or your relationship with him.”
Naomi’s mind whipped back to their confrontation at the grocery store and Cynthia’s accusatory face framed by overpriced packages of pasta. “Could’ve fooled me.”
Cynthia’s face twisted as if her next words burned her tongue. “You’re good at what you do and I respect what you’re trying to do with Gia’s store. It just hit me pretty hard when I thought you might’ve been involved in some shady shit on the side.” Cynthia’s half smile was sheepish. “I hate being wrong. And you never struck me as someone who would resort to shady shit.”
Naomi tried not to look too bowled over. “Thank you.”
They walked in silence for a few minutes before Cynthia spoke again. “I have to admit that I was kind of jealous of you when we were in school together.”
Naomi recovered from her feet tripping over each other with a weird sashay. “Are you serious?”
“Everyone seemed to gravitate toward you. I don’t have that effect on people…Not that I care,” Cynthia hastened to add. “But you always kind of gave me the cold shoulder.”
“I was intimidated by you.”
Cynthia’s half smile did not reach her eyes. “Everyone is.”
After that admission, Cynthia came to an abrupt stop, shoving her hands in her pockets and looking down at Naomi, an unreadable expression on her face. Even without heels, she was a few inches taller than Naomi, and a few days ago, Naomi would have been as intimidated as everyone else apparently was. Not only because they were in an unfamiliar area—the perfect backdrop for Cynthia to murder her and dispose of the body—but also because Naomi had always thought she wanted, and needed, what Cynthia had: connections. A sense of belonging. The kind of success that fell into one’s lap and made paying bills look like getting rid of chump change.
But now she looked Cynthia square in the eye, unashamed.
“Actually, after Garba,” Cynthia explained, “I had an idea I wanted to run by you. As you might know, I get a lot of referrals through my dad’s business deals.”
“I’m aware,” Naomi said wryly.
“Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m up to any challenge, but sometimes clients are more interested in the kind of work you do.”
When Naomi lifted an eyebrow in question, Cynthia waved an impatient hand. “Oh, you know…They want homey . Touchy-feely. Knickknacks and crap like that.”
“Thanks, Cynthia.”
“You know what I mean. They want to run a business that gives people the warm fuzzies.” Cynthia shuddered. “That’s so not me. I also don’t like working on those kinds of jobs. I don’t find them…” Cynthia’s nose wrinkled. “ Fun. ”
“So, what’s your idea?”
“I thought maybe I’d send them your way…” Cynthia trailed off. “I know you’re trying to build a portfolio, and a lot of those clients are acquainted with my dad. I’d feel better knowing they’re in good hands.”
The sound of rushing water thundered in Naomi’s ears, pounding so furiously on her eardrums that her skin tingled in response. She looked down at her own hands like she couldn’t believe they belonged to her.
Cynthia must have interpreted Naomi’s stunned silence as disagreement because she added, “I don’t expect you to do the same for me.”
A small black scuff mark on the toe of Naomi’s taupe heels suddenly caught her eye; the nail polish she had used to cover it up had chipped off at some point during their walk. As the magnitude of what Cynthia was offering her sank in, Naomi realized how much her feet hurt in these cheap, poorly constructed shoes. She’d worn them dozens of times, but her toes were pinched despite the rounded tip, and the back of her heel rubbed raw every. Single. Step.
These were her go-to adulting shoes. And they fucking hurt.
But she’d learned to ignore the pain, as well as the endless nights of ramen and sometimes wearing two layers of socks to bed to cut heating costs. Convinced that things would get better if she just kept going, Naomi had been running a marathon with no real end in sight.
Cynthia was offering her a finish line, one that she stood on the other side of, arms crossed and foot tapping. “I mean, I don’t need any more referrals,” she added, her patience for Naomi’s silence tapering. “I’ve got more than enough to keep me busy.”
“Of course you do.” Naomi squared her shoulders. She was done running this race by herself. “I’d like that, Cynthia. I appreciate you thinking of me and trusting me. And…” With a deep fortifying breath, Naomi reached inside and loosened her grip on that part of her that was too proud, too self-reliant. “I could use the help. Times have been tough since I started my own business.”
“Competition is rough right now.” Cynthia gestured to the cityscape behind her. “And frankly, some of the brand consultants out there are straight-up assholes.”
Naomi swallowed a smile. “Tell me about it. You seem to be doing really well. You know, I’ve always been jealous of the connections you get through your dad.”
With a sheepish shrug, Cynthia tucked her hair behind her ear. “Well, if it makes you feel any better, he charges me to sublet my office space.”
Naomi laughed for the first time in days. After months of wrapping herself in lies, it felt nice to shed her disguise, especially with a woman she’d often likened to a barracuda on the hunt. “You know what? It really does.”
Cynthia nodded at the awning over Naomi’s shoulder: New You Tailors. “It’s a small, family-run place. They want to rethink their business model to bring in new clientele. You interested?”
Naomi surveyed the glass storefront where two mannequins, one in a red bridal sari and another in what Naomi assumed was a man’s wedding suit, looked off into the distance. Even though she wasn’t overly familiar with South Asian fashion, she knew she’d find her footing. She wasn’t afraid anymore.
“Yes, I am,” she said, following Cynthia inside.
An hour later, after a very successful client meeting, Naomi whipped out her cell phone as she and Cynthia parted ways and dialed Nick.
“I have a new client lined up,” she said in greeting. “A tailor and a seamstress couple want a face-lift.”
“That’s great,” Nick said. “I want to upgrade my truck.”
“And that soft launch at the bazaar? I’ve changed my mind. I’m coming.”
Naomi could hear Nick’s smile through the phone.
“Even better,” he said.