Chapter 4
Ajay rejoined the board meeting while Hem set up in Bill’s old office. He had to get copies of NDAs and confidentiality documents together. He also needed to touch base with the rest of the Bharat legal team to get up to speed.
Thirty minutes later, he’d returned to the conference room just in time to see his brothers leading everyone to the exit. He scanned faces, looking for one person in particular, and when he found her, she was alone and packing her tablet away in a sleek bag while facing the windows and the view.
He’d been too busy grieving the loss of his ex, his family and too caught up with work to date for the last year.
More importantly, he hadn’t felt attracted to anyone long enough to pull him away from starting his firm.
That was why Mina was interesting. He knew her.
Not well, not personally, but they’d met.
He leaned against the conference room doorframe and tucked his hands in his suit pockets. “You know, after all these years, I still don’t have your number. I’m going to need it if we’re working together.”
Mina looked over her shoulder. “You never asked,” she said with a raised brow. And’ I’ll be in the office first thing next week to get started. I can sign those NDAs and R&Rs remotely. I’ll need introductions to your?— ”
“Finance, R&D, and executive leadership for questioning, I know.”
She looped the strap of her bag over her shoulder. “Yes, of course you would.”
“We could have lunch to talk through strategy. Unless you have someone that you need to get back to?”
Mina let out a short laugh that was so bright, Hem could’ve sworn he saw her sparkle. “Is that your not- so- subtle way of asking whether or not I’m available? I thought you had more game than that, Hemdeep Singh.”
Hem pressed a hand to his chest. “I don’t play games Mina Kohli.”
“Don’t forget, I’ve seen you in action.”
Hem shook his head. “You know Punjabi weddings and festival parties don’t count. We’re all on our best behavior because the whole community shows up to gossip.”
She turned to look at him, and he felt the impact of her stare like a punch to the gut. Those eyes could probably convince him to do anything.
When did that happen? How had he not seen them before?
Then her perfect mouth curved. “Still sounds like you’re playing games with me. But no, I’m not going back to someone. I am going back to something. A mountain of paperwork I have to finish up before we dive into financials.”
Hem thought about his own paperwork and sighed. “I bet you were always studying in law school while the rest of us were at the bar.”
“You said it, not me.” She moved to walk past him, and he turned to follow. “And I don’t think you and I have the same taste in food, so working lunches probably aren’t the best idea anyway.”
“Why do you say that?”
She turned to look over her shoulder, a mischievous glint in her eye. “Anyone who wears a hundred- thousand- dollar suit probably thinks they’re too good for my taste.”
Hem looked down at his clothes, and sighed. “I feel like it’s cliché to say that you shouldn’t judge a book by its cover.”
“Then don’t,” she called out cheerfully as she walked down the hallway.
“What if I told you I knew where you could get the best Indian food in the tristate area?”
Mina stopped in her tracks, then slowly turned to face him. “Hem, you know I’m from New Jersey, too, right? I know where to find best Indian food.”
“Moghul in Edison?”
“Obviously,” she replied.
Hem chucked. “Imagine the work we can get done over bhature chole.”
“Their pani puri is also?— ”
“Amazing,” Hem said with a sigh. “See? Our tastes aren’t that different after all.”
Mina turned and continued walking toward the door that led to the reception area.
“Fine, you do know good Indian food. But it’s going to take more than that to get me interested in something other than your financial reports, Hemdeep Singh.
I’ve got too much going on in my life to be distracted.
Let’s do what we’ve always done and keep it professional, shall we? ”
She pushed through the glass doors and pressed a button to call the elevator. With one last flutter of her fingers in his direction, she disappeared from view.
Hem clutched a hand over his chest and let out a sigh. Damn, what was that?
“Sir?”
Hem looked over at the receptionist whom he’d scared shitless when he first came in. She held out his coat and laptop bag. His suitcase was at her feet. Her cheeks were stained red with embarrassment.
“Oh. Thanks. I appreciate this. Sorry for barging in earlier.”
“Uh, it’s not a problem, sir.”
He took his things, left the receptionist beaming, and after a few more words with his brothers, went to do the most important thing on his list for the day.
Visit his mother.
Despite the anxiety around his return, Hem was looking forward to going home.
After the big fallout, he’d moved permanently into his penthouse in midtown.
He’d purchased it after law school, so he’d have a place to stay after long nights at the office.
That’s why it was designed in such a spartan, modern style that it had a hotel feel to it.
Bharat Mahal, the estate, was different.
It was where he grew up, where he had some of his best memories, and where some of his most painful ones now resided.
The main house had eleven suites, but Hem’s parents wanted to make sure that they provided their children with extended family quarters, so each son had a two- bedroom, two- and- a- half- bath bungalow with two- car garage and finished basement.
He still remembered how excited he was to move into his bungalow at eighteen. It felt grown up. Mature. He’d even envisioned living with his wife there one day.
“You’re an idiot,” he muttered.
“Pardon me, sir?” his driver called out through the partition. The sounds of New York City traffic acted as background noise as the car inched its way to the George Washington Bridge.
“Nothing. Just talking to myself.”
Hem opened up his computer and plugged in his earpiece so he could call his client that he’d represented for the Philippines contract. He walked through the deal and then completed some release documents for Bharat.
He finished just as the car pulled through curling wrought- iron gates flanked by elephants.
Bharat Mahal.
He pocketed his phone as he embraced the onslaught of memories from his childhood . . . and the last time he’d seen the home.
Crying.
Shouting.
Anger.
There wasn’t any laughter anymore, any joy as there once had been. The grounds were meticulously maintained, but quiet and lifeless.
Hem’s phone buzzed and he read the incoming text message from his mother.
MOM: Aloo Parante khane hain te ghar aja
Of course, his mother knew that he was back. And of course, the first thing she’d ask him was to come to the house if he wanted paranthas.
He wasn’t too proud to admit that was exactly what he craved after weeks of hotel food. He typed a quick reply to let her know that he’d come after his shower.
“Which direction, sir?” the driver said. The gates had closed behind them and the car idled on the main road that led straight to his parents’ house.
“Take the first left, the third bungalow on the left closest to the main house.”
“Yes, sir.” Hem watched as they passed Zail’s place first. It was painted a soft gray- blue with bursts of purple and yellow flowers on the front porch.
Zail managed the innovation center in California, so he didn’t keep a place in the city.
He used the bungalow as his East Coast residence when he flew out twice a week.
Less than a hundred yards down the lane was a carbon copy home in pale yellow.
Ajay’s house. He was home just as infrequently. If Hem was a workaholic, Ajay was worse. That’s why he’d purchased a larger penthouse in the city than Hem had after graduating business school.
When Hem’s bungalow came into view, he felt a pang of sweetness and regret. The mint green colonial with white shutters, maroon pots, and the wind chime Lisa had purchased for him were exactly as he’d left it a year and a half ago.
He got out of the car and circled, seeing the lush gardens spread across the front lawns, the main house in the distance, and the thick forest that enclosed the estate on three sides.
“Thanks, David,” Hem said as the driver took the suitcase out of the trunk.
“My pleasure.” He left without another word while Hem climbed the front porch and input the security code for the front door.
Sandalwood. Rose incense. Pine.
He felt the ache deep in his chest as he entered the foyer.
After toeing off his shoes, Hem crossed the polished hardwood and ran his fingertips over the plush leather couch that faced a flat- screen TV mounted over a fireplace.
He climbed the stairs to the second floor, which had two suites on either side of the hall.
Turning right, he walked into the main suite.
All he wanted to do was avoid the inevitable, but he couldn’t. His mother was waiting for him.
His father was waiting.
Hem made quick work of showering and getting dressed. Instead of walking, he drove the golf cart that he’d always left in one of the garage bays. It took him a few minutes to drive down toward the main house.
Bikram Chacha, the estate manager, was standing in the entrance, waiting for him to park at the base of the cathedral stairs.
“Master Hemdeep,” he said with a toothy smile. “Long time, long time.”
“Bikram Chacha, your English keeps getting better and better.”
“I practicing,” he said with pride. “Your mom inside. Your dad, upstairs. I see you soon.”
“Thanks, Chacha.”