Busted in Bollywood (27 page)

“You’re asking the impossible,” he said, his breath fanning my cheek as he hugged me tight, holding on like he never wanted to let go. “You’re the most complex, intriguing, infuriating woman I’ve ever met.”

I eased out of his arms but he wouldn’t release me, his hands anchored on my waist. “We can make this work, Shari, I know we can.”

My heart ached with the inevitability of our breakup. My head insisted I was doing the right thing. What did I have to offer? How long would he be content with long distance? Who’d have to compromise if the relationship turned serious? Considering my job didn’t pay nearly as well as Drew’s, I’d have to capitulate and move to be with him, and I’d be right back where I started, making compromises for the guy I loved, losing my self-respect in the process.

“I’m not leaving ’til you tell me the truth.” His fingers dug into my hips and hauled me closer. “Tell me why you won’t give us a chance.”

Trapped in the desperation of his stare, I had to give him something, anything, so he’d release me and let me go before I blubbered all over his tux. “I don’t have anything to give.”

He let rip an expletive. “What the—”

“When I asked you to understand me, this is what I meant.” I grabbed his lapels, wishing I could shake sense into him. “You’re so together, probably the most successful person I know, and I’m… a work in progress.”

He opened his mouth to protest and I rushed on. “I live in a temporary low-rent apartment, I have a job that pays as much in a year as you make in a day, and my assets fit into twenty shoe boxes. That’s it. That’s me. And until I’m back on my feet and feeling good about myself again, I have nothing to offer you.”

“Fuck.” He rested his forehead against mine and I hoped half of what I was thinking would magically transfer by osmosis. “You really feel like that?”

I sighed, wanting to kiss him so badly it hurt.

Easing away, I nodded. “Our time together has been incredible. But until I have my shit together, I can’t be with you.”

Light from a wall sconce cast shadows across his face, highlighting his sharp cheekbones, accentuating his strong jaw, emphasizing his compassion as he struggled to understand. “You need time.”

The ever-expanding lump in my throat grew and I swallowed twice before I could speak. “I don’t know how long—”

He tipped up my chin, studying my face as if memorizing it. “When you’re ready to revisit this, we’ll talk.”

“I can’t make any promises—”

“I’m not asking for any.” He kissed me, a frantic clash of lips as we surged together, desperate to prolong the contact and banish the prospect of good-bye.

The elevator pinged, discharging waiters pushing food carts, and we tore apart, chests heaving, breaths ragged. He waited until the last waiter had stopped ogling and entered the reception hall before cupping my face and looking me in the eye. “Just so you know, I’m willing to wait, but I can’t wait forever.”

A lone tear seeped out of the corner of my eye and trickled down my cheek. He kissed it away and I placed my hands on his chest to stop this from going further.

Drew giving me time to sort myself out had only complicated matters. Knowing he was patiently waiting on the other side of the world, even if it was only for another few months, was a powerful incentive for me to head back. Maybe explore what we’d started here? Fall deeper? But then what? Go through the heartache of parting all over again? Him staying in India, me based in NYC?

A clean break would’ve been better. No loose ends. No false hope. No wishing for the impossible.

Giving my shattered heart time to heal.

…

Some girls cry at weddings, others do the best man, and most get rip-roaring drunk to drown their sorrows at being one of the few remaining desperadoes left to catch the bouquet.

Me? I went one better.

I broke up with my boyfriend.

Mama Rama and her crones ignored me for the rest of the reception. Drew never left my side. We slow danced to corny Shania Twain ballads and boogied to an ancient Elvis medley. We ate more
julabis
and
barfi
and
kulfi
than humanly possible, then worked it off later with frantic sex for twelve hours straight while we did our best to ignore his impending departure. I might have broken up with him in my head at the wedding, but my heart and body needed a proper good-bye, something our decadent day in bed provided.

He flew out the night after the wedding, leaving me lonelier than I’d ever been in my entire life.

After work the following Monday I spent the evening doing stupid things like wandering into Starbucks and having four cups of
chai
, remembering the way we’d bolted from there back to my apartment. Walking through Central Park, reminiscing about my Bollywood debut, and the way it all happened. I even took a stroll past The Plaza, where Phil the doorman pretended not to know me now that Drew had checked out. Pathetic, I know, but I needed closure and by taking a sprint down memory lane I hoped to put the whole rip-roaring adventure behind me.

Adventure? Who was I trying to kid? Being with Drew had been an exhilarating thrill and I’d never forget the rush of feeling freaking wonderful.

Anjali left for Mumbai the day after Drew, but not before extracting a promise from me to come and visit. I wished. Rita and Rakesh were due to leave on a three-month honeymoon to Europe tonight, but not before we shared a final mojito.

“You’re still moping.”

My finger stilled where I’d been tracing circles in the condensation on my glass. “Guess the manic pace at work is getting me down.”

Rita snorted. “Yeah, like a steep learning curve has you losing five pounds in a few days.”

An incriminating blush crept into my cheeks.

“Have you spoken to him?”

“He’s called.” I glanced at my cell phone. I’d sat on my sofa for an hour this afternoon, replaying Drew’s messages, wishing things could be different.

“And?”

“I’ve been busy—”

“Bullshit. You’re screening and you’re scared.”

I gulped the rest of my mojito rather than answer.

“What are you so frightened of? Being happy? Being with a guy who adores you?”

I’d never seen her so fierce and my protestations of ‘butt out’ died on my lips.

“He lives on the other side of the world—”

“Then go be with him.” She made it sound so easy and for a moment I imagined packing, booking a ticket, and jumping on the next plane out to surprise him.

Before reality set in.

Kapil had been dead accurate. The rich man had brought me joy. But the pain of not having him around the last few days, I could do without.

You decide.
Easy for Kapil to soothsay. He wasn’t the one feeling lost and confused and craving a guy with the potential to break my heart.

“What are you waiting for?” Rita glowered, her drink forgotten, and I knew I’d have to give her something for her to let this go.

“You know this new job means a lot to me. I’m finally starting to stand on my own two feet.”

“But?” Trust my best friend to keep probing.

“But I still feel like I have nothing to offer him.”

Her eyes widened. “Don’t you get it? He doesn’t want anything but you.”

“It’s not that simple—”

“Yeah, it is.” She leaped off the sofa and started pacing, her heels clacking against the floorboards, before she halted in front of me, her frown ominous. “You’re in the best position to follow your heart. Not having a permanent lease is a bonus. You couldn’t up and leave if you had one.” She swept her arm wide. “You’ve paid up on this place so no stress here.”

“New job?
Hello
?”

She tapped her bottom lip, thinking. “You said the magazine’s expanding its online version, right?”

“Yeah.”

She snapped her fingers. “Easy. You give them a big spiel about writing extra copy direct from the source. Tell them your long-lost aunt owns a culinary school in Mumbai and has offered you an apprenticeship. Or maybe she’s writing a cookbook and needs your input and you’ll give the magazine exclusive excerpts. Or maybe—”

Laughing at her enthusiasm, I shook my head. “I can’t lie like that.”

She grabbed my arms and gave me a little shake. “And you can’t pass up an opportunity like this. Just go.”

She made it sound so tempting, so easy.

One of her suggestions had sparked an idea. The editor-in-chief had asked me for more articles for the magazine’s online version but there were only so many visits to Sassoon’s and phone calls to Mom begging recipes before I ran out of ideas.

If I’d had the luck to land this job in the first place through sheer bluffing and padding my qualifications, I could probably come up with a pitch to wow him into letting me submit from Mumbai.

A little elaborating here, a little expanding there, and I could convince him to send me on a special assignment. Though it was more likely I’d have to pay my own way and still adhere to deadlines.

Hating how I was wavering, I shrugged. “No money.”

She pointed at my TAG watch. “Sell that.”

I covered the watch with my other hand, protective. I hadn’t sold it when I’d pawned the rest of Tate’s trinkets because it didn’t count as a gift from him. I’d paid for it. As I reluctantly slid my hand away and uncovered the mother of pearl face, I knew I was lying to myself.

The watch might not have been a gift from Tate, but when I checked the time it proved that period in my life hadn’t been all about him, that I had been able to support myself, that I didn’t always need him. It made what I’d done more bearable and I’d been hanging onto it out of stubborn sentimentality.

Rita sat next to me and squeezed my arm. “You’ve got nothing holding you here. Why don’t you go to India, give it a shot with Drew? What have you got to lose?”

Everything.

chapter sixteen

Mumbai hadn’t lost any of its charm the second time around. (Charm could easily be interchanged with shock-value, chaos, or bedlam).

Thankfully, Jorg had loved my pitch and thought attending an Indian culinary school for a few months would be excellent article fodder. (Okay, so I’d used Rita’s lie. I preferred to call it
stretching the truth
.) On the downside, he refused to fund the trip so I’d worked my ass off the last two months, writing as many articles as I could and saving every cent. Along with the proceeds from selling the TAG, I’d finally made it back here.

My folks were intrigued I intended on spending several months in India for work. I hadn’t told them the real motivation behind my wanderlust. Time enough for that if everything worked out as I hoped.

Starting now.

Drew cared about me. He’d consistently called. He’d waited for me. I owed him more than the hasty brush-off farewell we’d had in New York. So here I was, with a death grip on a worn vinyl seat as a taxi veered through the chaotic streets of Mumbai, coming to a screeching halt in front of the Eye-on-I building.

Thankful I’d arrived in one piece, and tipping the driver way too many rupees because of it, I hoisted my backpack onto one shoulder and strode into the building.

I checked in with security, who eyed my backpack with a frown, until I mentioned the boss man’s name. Instantly, he directed me to wait on an ebony leather sofa while he called upstairs before gesturing me toward the elevator.

If I had any doubt Drew wouldn’t like a surprise visitor, he dispelled it by meeting me as I stepped out of the elevator, lifting me off my feet and hugging the life out of me.

“What are you doing here?” He held me at arm’s length for a moment, his expression a mix of disbelief and awe, before kissing me on the lips in full view of his secretary, who stared with blatant curiosity at our non-Bollywood-like greeting.

“I was in the neighborhood. Thought I’d drop by.”

My casual tone didn’t fool him for a second as he slipped my backpack off my shoulder, hoisted it onto his, and held my hand in a tight ‘this time I’m not letting you get away’ grip.

I could live in hope.

“Come in,” he said, the deep timbre of his voice making my insides clench in remembrance. The way he’d laugh, the way he’d playfully called me Miss Jones, the way he’d moan my name in the throes of passion.

“Guess you’re surprised, huh?” Not my best opening line but standing here brought back a flood of memories that had me yearning to fling myself into his arms and forget explanations.

“Nothing about you surprises me.” He smiled, the same sexy grin that made his eyes crinkle, the same grin that rendered me witless. “I’d like to think you missed me like hell the last few months and that’s why you’re here. But considering you rarely return my calls, I’m doubtful.”

I perched on the end of his desk. “I needed to see you, to explain why I’m kafutzing around.”

He grinned. “Kafutzing?”

“My version of making a mess of everything.”

Drew didn’t speak, wisely giving me time, and I took a deep breath, a waft of Cool Water enveloping me in a familiarity that snatched my breath. If this were a rom-com I’d ignore my reasons for making this trip, drag his head down to mine, and kiss him senseless before delivering some upbeat line to cue the closing credits and HEA. Sadly, I had no idea if I was destined for the fated happily ever after.

“I botched our good-bye in New York—”

“You don’t need to do this,” he said, placing a finger against my lips while I resisted the urge to nibble it. “I got the message, it’s okay.”

I shook my head. “No, it’s not. I used my insecurities to push you away. When in reality, I’m terrified.”

Concerned creases bracketed his mouth, all the encourage-ment I needed to take a deep breath and lay my heart on the line.

“Terrified of giving us a chance only to lose you in the end.” I swallowed the lump welling in my throat. “You mean too much to me, despite the ridiculous circumstances of how we met, the misunderstandings and roadblocks, and the too-good-to-be-true fairytale romance we had in New York.”

I gasped for air at the end of my spiel, deserving of a prize like all those years ago when I’d recited the McDonald’s two-all-beef-patties jingle better than any other kid in my class.

I had my prize, staring straight at me with confusion in his beautiful blue eyes.

“You mean a lot to me, too—”

I held up my hand, needing to finish. “I didn’t return many of your calls these last few months because I knew what would happen if I did.”

Smart guy, he didn’t butt in and risk talking to the hand again.

“Hearing your voice would’ve made me jump on the first plane out here and I didn’t want to be that person anymore.”

“I’m not following.” He rubbed the back of his neck, bewilderment slashing his brows.

“Bear with me for a bit longer.” I slipped off the desk and slid my hand into his, threading our fingers together. “I’m impulsive. I jump into situations, hoping they’ll work out in the end.”

He squeezed my hand in encouragement. “Like agreeing to impersonate your best friend to break her engagement?”

“Exactly like that.” I managed a weak smile. “Considering how that worked out, it wasn’t all bad. But rash decisions I’ve made in the past have been disastrous.”

“You’re talking about the jerk that did a number on you?”

I nodded. “I wasted a year of my life on him, and he didn’t mean—”

He placed a fingertip under my chin and tilted it up. “Mean what?”

“Mean half as much as you do.”

His lips kicked into a proud grin and I exhaled in relief. So far so good.

“I’ve come back because I want to give us a chance. I want to get to know you without the surrealism of sleeping over at The Plaza and making snack runs to Sassoon’s and doing the romantic touristy stuff like walking through Central Park and sharing hot dogs on street corners.”

I glimpsed excitement and hope and something indefinable in his eyes.

“I don’t want to rush into this. I want us to take our time, get to really know each other, develop our friendship, and see where this relationship takes us. You in?”

“I’m all in.” Three little words that may not pack the same punch as ‘I love you’ but based on how I felt at that moment, they came pretty damn close.

“I’m planning on hanging around a few months. You okay with that?”

He froze, and my heart stalled. Jamming a hand through his hair, he muttered a curse. “You turning up, saying what I’ve been dying to hear, distracted me.”

I tried to quell my rising panic and failed. “From?”

He pointed at his desk. “Major acquisition deal in the UK. We’re in a position to buy an Internet provider, and Rakesh is on his honeymoon, so I’m booked to fly out there tomorrow.”

Okay, not so bad. I could hang out with Anjali for a few days. “For how long?”

“Six weeks.”

Shit
.

So much for getting to know each other. What could I say? Don’t go? I’d busted my ass to be here, juggling my work duties—lying, for goodness sake—and the moment I arrive he has to leave. I’d never been a clingy girlfriend and I didn’t intend to start now, not when Drew meant more to me than any other guy I’d ever known.

Uncertain, I dithered over a suitable response when he stalked around his desk and jabbed at his keyboard.

“Give me a second.” He squinted at the screen, tapped some more, his fingers flying while I fidgeted, rubbing the bare spot on my forearm where my TAG used to reside.

His cell rang and he answered it as he typed one-handed, his frigid tone and escalating volume culminating in an extended argument. He paced, alternating between gesticulating with his free hand to dragging it through his hair, barking orders into the phone.

With “you’re in charge” and “you make the deal happen” ringing in my ears, he opened his top drawer, flung the cell into it, and slammed it shut.

Had he just done what I thought he’d done?

His exultant whoop as he vaulted the desk made me jump.

I mentally crossed my fingers. “What’s happening—”

“I’m not going anywhere.” He picked me up and whirled me around until the room spun, our insane laughter echoing in his cavernous office.

When he put me down, I clung to him, determined to never let go. “But the acquisition? If it’s that important—”

“Nothing’s as important as you and me.” His arms wrapped around my waist, snug and secure. “Business has always been my entire world.” He paused, the emotion shadowing his eyes making me hold my breath. “Until I met you.”

Don’t cry… don’t cry…

“I know it’s early and we’re hell-bent on exploring our connection, but you’re the one, Shari Jones.”

“The one?” I squeaked before clearing my throat, not daring to imagine what he meant.

He ducked his head to hum the bridal waltz in my ear and whispered, “I love you.”

Elated, I buried my face in his chest so he couldn’t see my soppy grin and big fat tears.

When we straightened, I laid my palm over his heart, the consistent, steady beat, indicative of the guy I loved.

“Thanks for being patient with me.”

“My pleasure.” He kissed me, a soft, understanding kiss filled with promise and hope for our future.

…

Technically, I’d never lived with a guy. Tate had dropped by the Park Avenue apartment when it suited but we hadn’t spent longer than a weekend together. So cohabitating with Drew for a few months proved to be a good test of our relationship.

We’d wanted to explore beyond the spark we shared, to test the depth of our commitment. Living with someone who snored when he slept on his back, who made odd disapproving noises when he read the newspaper, who didn’t like my mess, proved to be challenging and enlightening and encouraging. Thank goodness the guy wasn’t perfect.

He even let me pay a measly rent now I could afford it—I’d insisted, complete with a threat to fly back to NYC—but we both knew it was token value. I couldn’t have afforded the rent on his amazing apartment on Marine Drive, featuring some of the highest land prices in Mumbai, if I starred in the next Bollywood blockbuster.

While he had his faults and I had mine, we managed to muddle along in some semblance of domestic bliss, and every morning when I woke, warm and cozy with his arm draped over my waist, I couldn’t believe how damn lucky I was.

I’d lie there for ten minutes, almost holding my breath not to wake him, so I could watch him sleep. The spiky shadows cast by his eyelashes, the tempting stubble, the strong jaw. I knew every inch of him intimately: the ticklish spot behind his knee, the sensitive patch in the curve of his hipbones, the way he liked his back scratched.

Though it was more than physical. We strolled along Marine Drive every evening, the Arabian Sea stretching like a sparkling slick, talking about anything and everything. We attended work functions and movie premieres and nightclub openings as a couple. He even tolerated being dragged along to every restaurant and street stall I could find, all in the name of research for my column, never doubting our growing bond for a second.

At least, Drew didn’t. Me? After two months, with my money running out as the column switched from weekly to monthly and the online version of
Viand
cut back on contributors, I knew the time fast approached where I’d have to make a permanent choice.

I knew what I wanted.

I wanted it all. The guy, the job, the transcontinental thrill.

Ideally, I’d expand my work to include freelancing for other travel magazines while dividing my time between NYC and Mumbai. For research purposes, and other more pleasurable pursuits. Namely, my evolving relationship with one very sexy Brit.

When Drew had to visit Goa for a few days on business, I took the opportunity to head back to Arnala. My birthplace had made a lasting impression during my first, all-too-brief visit. Fitting that I’d be contemplating a momentous decision there.

For a glorious five days I existed on
thali
s (a banana leaf plate covered in small mounds of rice, vegetables,
dahl,
raita,
and pickles). I spent my time exploring the town, seeing the sights, absorbing the culture my ancestors took for granted on a daily basis. I took enough photos to fill two memory sticks and wrote continually, filling four journals with recipes and ramblings, all good fodder for work.

I soaked up the serenity of the people and the place, the peace infusing me with clarity.

Yeah, I missed Drew. Would he find the sea view from my dorm-like window enchanting? Would he like to sit under a banyan tree and listen to the lilting singsong accent of the locals swap stories? Would he favor the
sambhar
over the
dahl
?

Everywhere I went, with every new experience I had, it all came back to Drew.

He was my world.

It was as simple as that.

I didn’t have to second-guess this decision.