His grandmother ignored him, which wasn’t unusual. “Luna tells me you are renting? You should buy a nice house.”
“Real estate is rather expensive here.” He didn’t have the money for a hefty down payment.
“You know you could afford whatever you like.”
Oh, it was going to be a call about this.
A shot of frustrated anger ran through him, as it did every time he thought of his too-controlling late grandfather. The man had died mere weeks after Rohan. Dev hadn’t really counted on an inheritance, but his grandfather’s final wishes, showing exactly how he felt about his wayward son’s unwanted descendants, had still hurt. “Seeing as how I only have a few months left to meet the condition, I very much doubt I’m going to be able to make it.”
“The will only said marriage by thirty-three, no specifics. Don’t tell me you can’t find a single suitable woman?”
“You’d be happy if I married any woman, eh?” He gave a humorless laugh.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
It means your husband disowned your eldest son for marrying a woman of a lower class and different religion. Dev couldn’t say that, though.
He didn’t actually think his grandmother had driven his parents away. She just hadn’t stopped her husband from doing it. He lowered his voice, though no one was near enough to hear him. “It means I’m not picking up some woman off the street so I can inherit money.” He had no issue with marriage—privately, he agreed that it was high time he settled down with someone. But that had nothing to do with this. He might be up to his ears in Rohan’s debts, but he wasn’t about to drag some poor strange woman into his family’s mess.
Plus, honestly . . . it pained his pride to let his grandfather win. He could well imagine the old man in hell, cackling because he’d forced Dev to jump into a loveless marriage for money.
“A marriage in a couple months is not absurd. I knew your grandfather for two weeks before we got married. Your parents ran away after a month.”
His grandmother must be extremely desperate, if she was going to mention his parents. They usually tiptoed around that subject. “It’s not the time issue.”
“I have told you, I have a number of friends’ daughters who would make you very happy. You’re being so stubborn. You should—”
You should. He thought of Jia’s wise words on the subject of you should. “No,” he said firmly.
“Then you pick a girl.”
His face grew hot. The only girl who had captured his attention recently had nothing to do with any will.
“I will accept anyone, I promise, into our family. Think of Luna. You could turn right around and give it all to her.”
That was the only tempting part of this charade. His grandfather had left nothing to his only great-grandchild.
Perhaps he was being overly stubborn. An inheritance could solve a lot of his problems and give him and Luna freedom.
No. He made good money. It might take some time, but he’d crawl out of this debt his brother had left him and take care of Luna by himself. “I have to go, I’m at work. I’ll have Luna call you when I get home tonight.”
His grandmother sighed. “Very well. Think about what I’ve said. Goodbye.”
“Goodbye, Aji.” He hung up and nearly rubbed his forehead before he remembered that his makeup would smear.
Then you pick a girl.
He tapped his phone against his palm, and then opened Instagram. He’d taken the app off his phone years ago, since Chandu’s agency handled most of his social media. He’d only downloaded it again a month or so ago when he’d realized Luna had an account. She mostly posted memes and odd-angled selfies, but he supposed it was a good idea to keep tabs on her. He had some time before he had to worry about bikini photos. Not that he knew what he’d do if she started posting those. Her body, her choice? But he was also her guardian and she was underage. Whose choice was it then?
Raising a little human was a real mind twister.
He typed Jia’s name into the search bar now. He clicked on her avatar and was rewarded with a selfie. It was from last night, but perhaps before he’d done whatever he’d done to bring unshed tears to her eyes. The photo couldn’t capture the metallic threads in her scarf or dress, or the high velocity sheen that had been on her cheeks.
He rubbed his thumb over her cheek but told himself it was just to pause it to read the caption. If I meet Mr. Right tonight, I won’t be mad.
His heart did an odd double thump. He placed his hand over his chest.
His phone buzzed. John, with a phone number, and a note. I didn’t find anything criminal on this woman. Here’s her number, tho. Should I keep digging?
Dev replied immediately. No, thank you.
He had the information that she wasn’t, for example, wanted in three countries for stalking actors. Which was, admittedly, a low bar.
He checked his watch. He still had some time.
What would be the point in using that phone number? He scrolled through the photos of Jia, faster and faster, until they became a blur of gold and brown and red and every other color of the rainbow. No unshed tears here.
Something had upset her yesterday before she’d darted away from him, right? He could check in on her. Make sure she was okay.
Yes. It would be entirely altruistic.
Chapter Five
THIS SON of a bitch.
Jia hadn’t realized she’d sworn out loud, until her driver cleared his throat. “I beg your pardon?”
She glanced up, embarrassed. She always drove herself to her studio in Los Angeles, but today she’d accepted Katrina’s offer to have her housekeeper, Gerald, chauffeur her to and from the city. While it was nice to not have to concentrate on driving, talking to herself was a lot harder when she wasn’t alone in her car.
“I’m sorry. It’s nothing.”
Gerald hummed and turned his attention pointedly back to the road.
She looked down at her phone and tried not to swear again, but there it was, in her analytics. Dev Dixit had peeped her photo from last night.
She regulated her breathing as her thoughts raced. Why, this meant . . .
Absolutely nothing.
He could have still lied about knowing her. Someone else could still be in charge of his account. It didn’t matter. Katrina and Rhiannon had told her it didn’t matter. If her twin ever responded to her—Ayesha was on some annoying camping retreat with her fellow residents, and not answering her texts—she would tell her it didn’t matter.
Jia grimly navigated to her contacts and erased Dev’s name, and that damn heart she’d put after it. She typed Catfishing Asshole in and nodded. There. That would remind her, if he ever did contact her again.
She was going to move on with her life, damn it. She was like if Destiny’s Child’s “Survivor” and Kelly Clarkson’s “Stronger” were a person. She was a stronger survivor.
“We’re here, Miss.”
Here at work, which was what adult women who didn’t need no man did. Jia grabbed her bag. “Thanks, Gerald.”
“Not a problem. I shall pick you up at seven. Ring me if anything changes.”
“Will do. Sorry you got dragged into Los Angeles for the day.”