“Hello,” he said, his voice low, and that was all she needed to nearly swoon. He had such a clipped and sexy accent.
“Hi,” she nearly responded, then mentally kicked herself. She’d already said that.
He held out his hand, and she accepted it automatically. His skin was a darker brown than hers, and a scar ran across his thumb. She almost jumped from the spark that leapt between them as flesh met flesh.
“I’m Dev Dixit. And you are . . . ?”
The spark extinguished at the splash of cold reality, and her hand slipped from his. He wasn’t possibly going to . . . pretend he didn’t know her?
Nobody. Didn’t. Know. Her.
Lots of people don’t know you.
She hushed her tiny voice of logic. That wasn’t what he meant. He has a reason for this. It’s a joke. It’s an act, for . . . reasons.
Her heart supplied excuse after excuse, even though her rapidly growing logic shot them all down. He’d offered her a casual handshake, then asked who she was. If it was an act, he was committed.
She had to know. “Are you serious?”
His hair brushed his high cheekbones. It was longish, carefully cut to frame his face. “I . . . yes. I’m sorry. Have we met?”
She breathed deep, her brain racing. “You— We’ve been conversing.”
“I converse with any number of people, I’m afraid.” His smile was painfully polite, showed no teeth. “Apologies. Could I trouble you to give me a reminder?”
What on earth? He’d done this to multiple women? Found them on the internet, sent them messages? Wormed his way into their hearts? Why? Why do that?
“You’re really saying you don’t know who I am?” Her voice was hoarse.
His smile faded, and wariness replaced the charm in his eyes. He placed his glass of wine on the high-top table between them. “Uh. No. I don’t think I do.”
The cold ball of anger and panic that shot into her belly was welcome. It was a sharp distraction from the crack of her heart. After he’d written her long blocks of texts about how much he liked and admired her? He was going to do this? She took a step closer, and then another one, until they were only a few inches apart. She’d ignore his tall body and how much bigger he was to focus on this hurdle. “Where’s your phone?”
His thick eyebrows rocked up. “I beg your pardon?”
“Give me your phone.”
“I think you have me mistaken for someone else, Ms. . . . ?”
Her hands curled into fists. If her mom or sisters had been here, they would have seen the warning signs of her surge of emotions and immediately removed her from the situation, lest her impulsiveness take over her common sense. “I can’t believe this,” she whispered and was horrified at the pinprick of tears at the corners of her eyes.
Not as horrified as he was, though. He swayed forward, brow creased. “Are you okay?”
No, she was not. The kind, occasionally cheesy man who had talked to her during a lonely and vulnerable time in her life was now telling her he had no idea who she was.
“I’m fine.” She had to leave. She pivoted on her heel—why had she wasted heels on this man!—but he stopped her.
“Wait, Miss—” He placed his hand on her shoulder, and she was too upset to appreciate this featherlight touch from one of the most famous faces on a subcontinent. She shrugged it off with a sharp jerk and was hauled to a stop by a ripping sound and a tug on her neck.
“Hang on,” he said sharply. “I’m stuck on you.”
She turned around, her face burning as he raised his arm, his smart watch band caught on the gauzy fabric of her shawl. She instantly took a step back as he took a step closer. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to . . . It’ll rip. Let me . . .” He took another step, and she inhaled.
That was a mistake. He smelled exactly how she’d thought he might, clean and fresh. His head lowered as he focused. He had incredibly long lashes. “Almost got it.”
“Rip it.” Before I start counting your lashes. Or ripping them out.
She was feeling a lot of feelings right now, darn it.
“It’s a beautiful fabric. I’d rather not.”
It was a beautiful piece, one her grandma had brought her from Pakistan, but she didn’t care. Humiliation and rejection burned her face. She couldn’t resist her heartbreak coming out in her next words, though she hated herself for it. “You told me you’d searched the universe for a woman like me,” she said, her voice breaking. “Why are you pretending you don’t know me?”
Dev stiffened, but the pocket of silence around them snapped Jia from her turmoil faster than a siren could. She glanced around and found that the people at the bar were watching them, eyebrows raised. A circle of people observe the heroine’s embarrassment while the band plays on.
The audience included the redheaded reporter—and the phone the woman held in her hands. Oh no. Jia shook her head, the sting of tears frightening her. She hadn’t cried in years, and she definitely didn’t cry in public. It would ruin her makeup and was extremely off-brand. “Are you done yet?”
He raised his wrist, free of her. “Yes.”
“Goodbye.”
“Wait—”
She spun around, her wide skirt flaring around her ankles as she half jogged away. She only paused at the table at the exit. “Where’s the gift bag?”
She was going to have something to show for this night, damn it, even if it wasn’t love.
Jia grabbed the fabric bag the bored employee held out and continued her dash.
The tears started falling by the time she got to the elevator. She jabbed the lobby button and collapsed against the back wall.
Jia, you are being extremely melodramatic right now.
She clutched the goody bag to her chest and let out a small sob. Yeah she was. She was the little piggy who was going to be melodramatic all the way home, too melodramatic to even care that strangers may have observed her embarrassment.
By the time she got to the lobby, she’d at least controlled the more vocal sobs, though the valet still looked at her askance when she handed him her ticket. She pulled out her phone while she waited for her car and scrolled through her voice notes. Why hadn’t she thought to record an affirmation for herself in case this didn’t work out? Silly optimistic Past Jia.
Either the person she’d been talking to all this time wasn’t the man she’d met upstairs, or he was a cold-blooded internet seducer. Which reality was more palatable? Was she a naïve fool or was she a naïve fool?
Or, third option, you’re too difficult to be lovable, and he realized that once he saw you.
Jia shook the insecurity out of her head, but it was deep-rooted, waiting for any hint of weakness.
She navigated to her messaging app and clicked on Dev’s name. She’d put a heart next to it, during a mushy moment. She scrolled through the last few messages she’d sent, then typed into the message box. Who the fuck are you???
Three dots immediately popped up, and she waited with bated breath, but the dots went away, and there was nothing.
“Ma’am?”
She swiped her tears and took her keys from the valet, putting a crumpled mound of cash in his hand for a tip. Judging by his effusive thanks, she assumed it was enough.