“Sam Mehta.” Layla answered for him. “He says my dad leased the office to him before he had his heart attack, and he refuses to leave.” Layla gestured to her curious friend. “Sam, this is my cousin Daisy Patel. She’s a software engineer, but currently between gigs.”
Sam had never met a woman more ill-suited to the name of a flower normally associated with happiness and joy. He gave her a curt nod and received a snort in return.
“He’s got a stick up his ass. No wonder he’s having trouble getting out the door.”
Sam gave an affronted sniff. “I beg your pardon?”
“Out.” Daisy pointed to the door. “Away with your handsome face and perfect hair and expensive suit and mouthwatering body. Her father just had a heart attack. Have you no sense of human decency?”
“Absolutely not.” He pulled another file from his box and thumped it on the desk, the force more for effect than necessity.
“Is that Absolutely not, I won’t get out or Absolutely not, I have no human decency?”
Sam didn’t deign to answer her ridiculous question. “I have work to do.”
“Should I call someone to rough him up?” Daisy asked, turning to Layla. “What about the Singh twins? They’re home on leave from the National Guard. Or how about Bobby Prakash? He’s head bouncer at that new bar in Chinatown. He said to call if I ever needed anything.”
Sam tried to tune them out as they launched into a conversation about criminal-turned-bouncer Bobby Prakash, his childhood, brushes with the law, gangster friends, girlfriends, family, and pet boa constrictor. This was exactly what he’d been trying to avoid when he signed the lease. He wasn’t interested in a busy office full of chatter, chaos, and noise. He wanted to work in a calm, peaceful environment where there would be nobody wandering the halls, banging doors, talking beside the water fountain, or flushing toilets when he was trying to work.
“Sam has a lease,” Layla said, drawing Sam’s attention with the use of his name. “Bobby can’t throw him out if it’s legal.”
“The name is Mr. Mehta,” Sam interrupted. “Sam is for friends.”
“Do you have friends?” Daisy inquired. “You don’t look the type.”
“Of course I have friends.” He’d lost touch with many of them after Nisha’s accident, but he still saw John regularly at the gym, along with his sparring partner Evan.
“Are they imaginary or real?” Daisy gave him a condescending smile. “I’m guessing imaginary because no one wants to be friends with a jerk.”
Sam scowled. “This is a place of business. If you wish to socialize, I suggest you go elsewhere.”
“He’s cute when he’s annoyed,” Daisy said. “Maybe you should keep him around for eye-candy purposes.”
Layla gave him a sideways glance through the thicket of her lashes. “Don’t compliment him. His ego is already so big, his top shirt button is about to pop.”
The women chuckled and Sam’s jaw tightened. Women adored him. Men admired him. Employees detested him. But no one ever, ever dismissed him. “He is, in fact, sitting right here.”
“We’re very aware of your presence.” Daisy flashed him a sultry smile. “It’s hard to miss the steam coming out of your ears.”
Layla sighed. “What am I going to do with him?”
“Maybe if you ignore him, he’ll go away. I think he’s just desperate for attention. Max was the same when he was a puppy. Always whining, thumping his little tail, peeing in the corners . . .” She grimaced and looked around the room. “How long has Sam been here? Maybe you’d better do a sniff test.”
Layla’s gaze lifted to Sam and then away, but not before he caught the barest hint of a smile. Despite the poor taste in clothes, relatives, and furniture, she seemed somewhat stable. If he could just get her alone, he’d have no difficulty convincing her to move her business. Daisy, on the other hand, was clearly going to be a problem. He knew her type. Too shrewd. Too worldly. And too damn talkative.
He emptied his box while the women continued to talk about personal matters not meant for a man’s ears. Daisy, it seemed, had undiscriminating taste when it came to hookups and an endless supply of anecdotes of encounters gone wrong. Layla spoke disparagingly about someone named Jonas and an unfortunate event she called “Blue Fury.” He leaned a little closer, although he didn’t know why.
“Do you know what Jonas did when I was on my period?” Layla asked, making no effort to lower her voice for what clearly was going to be a discussion about intimate feminine matters.
Sam stood abruptly, shoving his chair back from the desk so hard it hit the wall.
Daisy smirked. “Something wrong?”
“I have a prior engagement, but rest assured I will be back in the morning to sort this out.” He returned his pencils to the box one by one before grabbing his gym bag.
“If you must come back, bring coffee,” Layla called out.
“Two creams and two sugars for me,” Daisy shouted. “Layla takes hers brown.”
“Brown?” He looked back over his shoulder.
“Like her men.” Daisy laughed so hard she fell off the desk, spilling Layla’s papers and pens all over the floor. The dog barked in alarm and knocked over a wastepaper basket as it ran to Daisy, jumping on her and licking her face.
Sam stared at the scene behind him—his perfect office now chaos in its purest form.
He couldn’t imagine a greater hell.
• 4 •
USUALLY, the simple routine calmed her.
Knead the dough—squeeze, roll, press, and massage—until her hands ached and her fingers stiffened. If the kitchen was too warm or the dough was too soft, she would have to knead for up to twenty minutes to get the right firmness. Stopping to rest wasn’t an option. Roti, a thin round bread similar to a tortilla, was an unforgiving beast. Slack off and it wouldn’t puff up in the skillet. Then she would have to start the routine over again.
Today, however, she wanted to punch the dough. Not just because she’d celebrated a little too hard with Daisy last night, but because her perfect plan for reinvention was being thwarted by her father’s failing heart and a good-looking ass.
The smell of tadka, as the spices hit the smoking oil in Pari Auntie’s pan, distracted her from thoughts of her unwanted office guest. There was no scent so inherently Indian, and it brought back comforting memories of playing games with Dev in the kitchen after a long day at school.
“How’s your dad doing?” Daisy sliced into an onion on the counter beside Layla. Despite being hungover, she had come to help out that morning, along with some aunties, while Layla and her mom were at the hospital.