Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
N isha was back in the office the following day. Arjun heard the sharp clacking of her keyboard from the cramped basement hallway, standing between the towers of boxes. He paused in front of the open door for a moment, just out of view of the desk. Should I go in? he wondered, thinking of his almost-kiss with Nisha, just a few days past. Part of him toyed with the idea of returning to PSI and begging Adam D’Antonio for a workspace there—even if it was just the break room table.
He took a breath. It’s fine, he told himself. What is this, middle school? It was just one moment. She’s probably forgotten about it by now. And who knew? Maybe she really had forgotten; she hadn’t so much as texted Arjun since Sunday. But he remembered just how much tension had permeated their moment on the park bench, how much want had lingered between them—unspoken, but as persistent as gravity.
He steeled himself and swung the door open.
Nisha was wearing pearl earrings and a green cable-knit sweater that brought out her eyes. She shut her laptop when she saw Arjun in the doorway. “Hey,” she said, sounding much less tormented than he was.
“Hey,” Arjun replied, rocking back and forth on his heels and trying his best not to sound uncomfortable. He considered several different options of things to say, but none of them seemed remotely sufficient. He decided to change the subject. “I had another meeting last night,” he said.
Nisha raised an eyebrow. “Oh? How’d it go?”
“We’re going to meet again,” Arjun said. “I think she could be…well, this was the best meeting I’ve had so far.”
She nodded. “I’m very happy for you.”
Arjun rubbed the back of his neck. “Listen, Nisha, about what happened on Sunday…or about what almost happened?—"
She held up a hand to stop him. “Let’s not,” she said, not unkindly. “I think it’d probably be easier for both of us if we didn’t. Just…promise not to make things awkward, huh?”
He nodded. “I’ll try my best. You know me, though: it’s bound to happen sometime.”
Nisha laughed. She leaned back in her chair and gestured to the empty spot across the desk. “So, do you want to sit? You can tell me all about that meeting of yours.”
Arjun shook his head. “I can’t stay,” he said. “I’ve got a meeting upstairs in fifteen minutes. The work kind. I’m actually pretty excited for this one.”
“Who are you meeting?”
“Emily Richter,” he replied. He waited for a response, but Nisha didn’t seem to clock what he’d just said. “Emily Richter ,” he repeated as though that would clarify anything. “You know, the most influential restaurateur in the Bay Area? She has three Michelin-star restaurants in San Francisco alone.”
“That’s very impressive,” Nisha acknowledged—though, in Arjun’s opinion, “impressive” hardly began to cover it.
“Anyway,” he said, “she’s looking to finance a new location. I guess PSI’s loan rates have gotten pretty competitive, so she’s coming up to meet with us. Well, to meet with me.”
Nisha smiled.
“What is it?” Arjun asked.
“Nothing,” she said. “It’s just, this could be an opportunity for you as well.”
He leaned against the doorframe. “What do you mean?”
“Well, she owns restaurants,” said Nisha. “And you want to open a restaurant. You should talk to her about your idea.”
“I can’t do that,” Arjun replied. “It’s a clear conflict of interest.”
She shrugged. “Maybe. But you want to open your own restaurant eventually, don’t you? Who knows: Emily Richter might be just the person to help you make it happen.”
He checked his watch. “I have to go,” he said, and walked back down the hallway and up the stairs.
Emily Richter was already in one of the conference rooms on the second floor. She sat at the end of the table like some large raptorial bird, hunched over and ready to strike at any moment. Her mass of red curls was unruly as ever, and she wore the same simple outfit that Arjun had seen her don on the covers of dozens of magazines: black flare pants and a white blouse dotted with shiny black buttons.
She stood when she saw him enter. Arjun was nearly six feet tall, but Emily Richter was a few inches taller still. “Hello,” he said, checking to make sure his palm wasn’t sweating. “I’m Arjun Chowdhury.”
She shook his hand and smiled. It was a quick shark smile that contained no warmth, and it came with a once-over that, while brief, gave Arjun the impression that Emily had just analyzed him on a molecular level. “Charmed,” she said, exposing a pair of shiny canines.
“Before we begin,” Arjun said, sitting, “I have to tell you that I’m a big fan. I’ve eaten at all of your restaurants, and I have all of your cookbooks.”
She chuckled. “That’s very nice of you to say. And which recipe would you say is your favorite?”
“That’s a hard one,” he replied. “The winter spanakopita was excellent. And I did love your peach clafoutis. But I’d have to say that my favorite recipe was the mollejas de pollo .”
Emily raised an eyebrow. “You actually tried the chicken sweetbreads? I’m impressed. Most people are scared off by organ meats, even when I’ve served them at my restaurants. Tell me: are you a particularly adventurous eater?”
“I don’t think so,” he replied. “Just an aspiring restaurateur like yourself. But enough about me. We’re here to discuss your new restaurant.”
She waved her hand. “There will be plenty of time for business later. Tell me more about this restaurant of yours. Is it opening anytime soon?”
He shook his head. “I’ve been procrastinating for the last few years. But I’ve got a name and a location picked out. And I’ve been working on a menu.”
She steepled her fingers in front of her and leaned her chin on them. Her eyes were like lighthouses, luminescent and irresistible. “Tell me more.”
Arjun could scarcely believe this was happening. Emily Richter— the Emily Richter—was interested in his restaurant idea?
“It’s called Raja’s,” he said. “I named it after my grandfather, who was the person who taught me how to really appreciate cooking. The menu is all Indian food. And, as far as location goes, there’s this storefront on Hayes Street that’s been empty for months now.” He pulled out his phone and opened Google Maps to show her.
“And you think that this would be a good location for an Indian restaurant?” Emily replied, handing his phone back to him.
He nodded. “Foot traffic on Hayes Street is among the highest in the city. There are at least a dozen restaurants within a five-minute walk—but no Indian food. We all know that there’s a huge appetite for Indian cuisine in San Francisco, especially given the demographic makeup of the city. So why wouldn’t there be an Indian restaurant in one of its most trafficked areas?”
Emily smiled. “That makes sense, Arjun,” she said. “I’ll tell you what: I’d love to help you achieve this dream of yours. If you’d like, I can refer you to some great chefs. And, if you send me your recipes, I can help you to refine them and optimize them for a restaurant setting.”
He felt his jaw drop. “Are…are you serious?” he stammered.
She laughed. “Of course,” she said, giving him that same smile that just a moment ago had made him uneasy. “So, what do you say?”
Arjun was at a loss for words. He only nodded, dumbstruck by how inconceivably, magnificently well that had just gone. He felt like an amateur bicyclist who had stumbled into the Tour de France—and won.
The presentation that followed regarding the financing of Emily’s new restaurant was a blur. Arjun didn’t remember anything about the meeting: not what he said or what she said. He only remembered how it ended, with him shaking hands with Emily again and walking her back down to the lobby. Not five minutes after she’d departed in her sleek black Range Rover, Arjun received an email from her assistant, complete with an invitation to meet with Emily at her restaurant, Portofino.
Arjun decided that a celebratory pastry was in order. He crossed the street to the coffee shop, ordered a cappuccino and a muffin, and sat at one of the tables. Every sip of coffee tasted as sweet as nectar.
He saw a familiar figure striding across the street. It was Adam D’Antonio. Adam somehow looked even more massive than before, like he’d just begun a new workout routine or had started suiting up for the Cardinal again. “Arjun!” he said, smiling broadly as he entered the shop. “Fancy seeing you out and about. How are the muffins today?”
“Excellent, as always,” Arjun replied, covering his mouth with one hand. “I would highly recommend the chocolate chip. I’d never tried it before—but it’s excellent.”
Adam shook his head. “I’m on a new diet!” he proclaimed, slapping his stomach. It made a sound like a hollow drum. “Maybe I’ll come back on my cheat day.” He made toward the counter before turning suddenly. “Hey, you had that pitch today! With that chef, Emily-something. How did it go?”
“Emily Richter,” Arjun replied. “She said she’d think about it.”
Adam frowned. “That’s surprising,” he said. “She didn’t seem like the type to drag her feet.” He shrugged. “It is what it is, I guess. You know, I have some news that might brighten your mood.”
“What is it?”
“The plumber came last night,” Adam said, flashing his million-watt smile. “Your office is finally fixed!”
Arjun felt an odd clenching sensation in his stomach, as though he’d just been dropped from an airplane. “Really?”
“Well, it might smell a little musty, but it’s basically good as new. You can move back in this afternoon, if you’d like. I know you must be itching to get out of that dank little basement office, eh?”
“Would it be possible to stay?” blurted Arjun.
His boss furrowed his eyebrows. “Stay? In the basement?”
“Yes,” Arjun replied. “In the basement.”
Adam rubbed his chin. “Well, there’s no reason you can’t,” he said thoughtfully. “And I have to say, your work has been even better ever since you moved in there. Are you sure about this?”
Arjun nodded. “I’m sure.”
“All right,” Adam said. “The basement it is. Now, if you’ll excuse me, that egg white sandwich right there is calling my name.” He went off to order, leaving Arjun alone at his table once more.
Arjun sighed and took another bite of his muffin. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d felt this happy, the last time he’d taken a swing this big and had it pay off. And, he realized, it was all thanks to Nisha.