The Reluctant Matchmaker (17 page)

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Authors: Shobhan Bantwal

BOOK: The Reluctant Matchmaker
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Chapter 16
S
aturday afternoon, I got a call from Prajay. Ignoring my ecstatic heart leaping like a toad, I managed to keep my conversation on an even keel. “Hi, Prajay.”
“Meena, I'm hoping you've calmed down a little since last Sunday. I wanted to call you earlier in the week but—”
“What stopped you?” I asked tartly.
“I decided to give you a few days to think about what I'd said that night.”
“What you'd
said,
Prajay?”
“You know exactly what I said.”
“Oh, you mean that stuff about how you're old enough to be my father, and so big that one touch is likely to shatter my fragile body?”
His sigh was clearly audible. “I didn't mean it that way, Meena. And sarcasm doesn't suit a charming and refined lady like you.”
“Charming and refined? This after you made it abundantly clear that you found me repulsive?” I tried hard to keep the bitterness out of my voice, but it was impossible. The emotions I had suppressed for nearly a week were churning in my gut now and threatening to erupt.
“I most certainly didn't say that.”
“But you implied it.”
“I suppose there's no point in arguing over it when you've made up your mind to misinterpret my words and actions. Since that's beyond my control, I just want you to know that I value our friendship very much. I think you're a smart young lady and will do well in your career. I want to thank you for all the work you do for Rathnaya. And for me personally.”
The conversation was clearly leading to some sort of conclusion. It had all the signs. “Is this a way of saying good-bye, Prajay?”
“Not good-bye but so long. I'm leaving for Washington tomorrow. The negotiations here are completed, and the acquisition is going through nicely.”
“Good for you.” I said grudgingly.
“We'll be adding all the new company's employees on to our payroll as of next week. Nishant will take care of that. My job here is basically over.”
And I'm over, too.
“I see.” My throat was closing up. I'd never see him again. If he happened to come back for other business-related trips, I might run into him. Maybe. There was nothing more to keep him here.
“I wanted to say a proper good-bye to you before I left,” he said. “I waited a whole week to let you cool off.”
“Good-bye, then.”
“Not like this, Meena. Too much has happened between us for a telephone farewell. May I stop by your house this evening?” He paused. “Or if it's more convenient, can we meet somewhere?”
He was afraid to ask me over to his house. He was scared that I'd throw myself at him again. That's why he wanted to meet in a public place. I wasn't going to let him humiliate and hurt me further. “I have a date this evening.”
He remained silent for a second. “I understand. Take care of yourself and stay in touch. You know my e-mail address and my phone number in the Washington office.”
“Sure.” The Washington office, but not his home. He wouldn't even share his home phone number for fear of being stalked by me. I swallowed the lump that felt as large and sour as a lemon in my throat. “Good luck in your quest for a six-foot bride.”
“ 'Bye, Meena.”
As I hung up the phone, the lump grew to the size of a grapefruit. I collapsed on my bed and cried. I'd been crying a lot lately. For years I hadn't wept in the real sense, and now I was making up for it. Love was supposed to be an uplifting emotion, a time to smile, and yet for me it had turned out to be a surefire method of turning on the waterworks.
The first day I'd met Prajay Nayak I'd cried because of physical pain, and since then I'd been weeping from emotional agony.
I needed to put a stop to this sniveling at once—start behaving like a grown woman and a professional.
That evening I took extra care with my clothes and makeup. Deepak wasn't taking me to a restaurant quite as formal as where Prajay had taken me, but I wanted to look my best. When I went downstairs, dressed in my pearl gray dress, Mom gave me a curious look. “Going to a party?”
I shook my head, the silver chandelier earrings swinging. “I have a date.” At her slight frown I quickly added, “He's a South Indian systems analyst who moved here from India some years ago.”
The frown cleared. A little. “What's his name?”
“Deepak Iyer.”
“Must be from Chennai. The name sounds like he's from the south.” She waved at me while I got my jacket out of the closet and put it on. “Have fun.”
I chuckled as I closed the door behind me and walked toward my car. This business with Maneel and Naseem had probably made it easier for me to see a South Indian man. Mom had looked almost pleased about my date, even though Deepak wasn't Konkani. In Mom's book, the very fact that I had a date was a good thing; that Deepak Iyer was a Hindu man with a good job was as close to the proverbial icing on the cake as it would get—when compared to Maneel's situation, anyway.
We met at Katmandu, a trendy waterfront restaurant along the Delaware River in Trenton. The place was mobbed, and Deepak and I had to wait for nearly twenty minutes before we were seated. With its laidback, Caribbean-island decor and eclectic cuisine, it was a popular eatery for the younger crowd.
Salsa music played in the background while waiters and waitresses dressed in skimpy, colorful outfits served the patrons. Later, they would clear the center of the floor, and there would be plenty of spirited dancing.
I ordered a strawberry daiquiri and Deepak ordered a dark beer to go with our appetizer of chips and warm artichoke dip. After a few sips of my cold and seriously sweet drink, I felt a whole lot better. Prajay Nayak was already sliding from the front toward the center of my brain. I intended to transport him to the very back and then eliminate him entirely.
Even Deepak started to look good in his Indian shirt of indigo silk and with lots of extra gel in his hair. His cologne was a bit potent, but mixed in with the scents of sizzling onions, peppers, and barbecued ribs being served at the neighboring table, it didn't smell bad at all.
While we waited for my blackened tilapia and Deepak's jerk chicken to arrive, we sipped our drinks and talked. Deepak filled me in on some of the new employees who would be joining him and his coworkers soon. He didn't seem happy about the prospect of sharing space with the newcomers.
“Bloody stupid of Nayak and Rathod to go out and buy one more company,
yaar,
” he grumbled. “We were already crowded in that building; now they're making the cubicles even smaller.”
“It's all part of a growing business, Deepak,” I said, scooping up some of the artichoke dip with a chip and popping it in my mouth.
“Corporate greed is what it is.” He took a swig of beer and made a face. “These two guys have more money than all of us put together, and yet they go out and look for more.”
“Nothing wrong with wanting to get rich—as long as they're doing it legally and honestly.”
“Doing it on the workers' backs.”
“Both Nishant and Prajay work long hours, and they're very hands-on in their management style. You can't accuse them of laziness while making their employees work like dogs.”
“I don't know about that, Meena. At least Nishant we see every day, but the other fellow—who knows what he does in Washington to justify that kind of income?”
Despite Prajay's current number one status on my black list, I was annoyed at Deepak's assumption that Prajay was some sort of capitalist menace. “That's not a fair depiction of Prajay Nayak, you know. He works very hard and treats his employees well.”
“That is a matter for debate. He keeps bagging these big contracts in Washington, and yet our salary increase was a mere three percent last year. If that's not corporate greed, then what is?”
Deepak's habit of talking with his mouth full was beginning to irritate me as much as his denigration of Prajay and Nishant. “Do I detect a hint of envy here?”
“I'm only stating a fact.”
I made some quick calculations in my head and narrowed my eyes at Deepak. “Tell me something: If you had the exact same job at another New Jersey company of comparable size and reputation, would you be making more money?”
Deepak chewed on his chip and took a second or two to answer. “I don't know.”
“Come on, Deepak, be honest. You make a better salary than any of your counterparts in other companies in the tri-state area. I did plenty of research on salaries and benefits before I interviewed with Rathnaya, so I know for a fact that they pay very well. Even with the three percent, we all earn a lot more than others in the industry. What other company gives such hefty bonuses to their salespeople? Last year, Prajay and Nishant gave away three new cars to their top producers.”
“Wait.” Deepak held up a finger to make his point. “That is for publicity purposes—photos in the newspapers and all that. Do you think it's because they care about their employees?”
I paused while our waiter placed our steaming plates of food on the table. With a polite thank-you to him, I turned my gaze back to Deepak. “Yes, I believe they care about their employees. We get a fair number of holidays, flextime hours, and vacation and sick days, plus generous medical and dental benefits.”
“All major companies give those.”
“And, because our employees are nearly ninety percent Indian, we even get a day off for Diwali in addition to the traditional American holidays,” I argued, referring to the Hindu festival of lights.
He chuckled. “You sound like a commercial for Rathnaya.”
“I am Rathnaya's PR manager, remember?”
Deepak was a fast eater and nearly a quarter of the way into his meal while I continued talking. But he looked up now. “Those two fellows are still too damn rich for their own good. You should have sued them for the accident you suffered.”
With my fork held midway between the plate and my mouth, I stared at him. “It was an
accident.
Most people don't go suing someone over an accident.”
“Of course they do, if it happens at their place of work—especially if the employer himself caused it.”
“It's just not right.” My sense of outrage simmered. “It's not decent behavior, period.”
“When that big fellow pushes someone your size and you get hurt, you should get compensated for it, don't you think?”
Suddenly I lost my appetite and put my fork down. Most of my meal was still on the plate. “Whatever gave you the idea that he pushed me?”
“Gargi Bansal told me Prajay Nayak knocked you down.”
I should have known Gargi had been running around the office making up outrageous stories. “Why would he deliberately knock me down?”
Deepak threw me a meaningful smile. “I don't know. Maybe he had his eye on you? This was his way of getting to know you better?”
“That's ridiculous.” I was seething, and I let Deepak know it. “You can tell Gargi Bansal that
I
was the one who was careless.
I
was the one who rushed out of the elevator like a fool and fell on my ... Never mind.” I didn't owe him any details.
“Oh, I see now:
You
fell to get
his
attention.”
“That's not what I'm saying. It was an accident, pure and simple. Poor Prajay was beside himself with worry. And he's been very kind to me since the incident.”
“I heard about his offering you a lift in his car. Perfect opportunity to get to know you even better?” Deepak had the gall to wink at me.
“He was being generous. And you can tell your friend Gargi to keep her nose out of other people's business.”
Deepak cleaned up the last morsel on his plate and raised his brows at me. “Looks like you don't like Gargi very much.”
“Very perceptive of you.” I gulped my water and looked down at my plate. What a shame. The tilapia was excellent, but I was in no mood to eat it. “If you're finished eating, I'd like to leave, Deepak.”
He studied my plate. “But you haven't eaten yet.”
“I'm not hungry.”
“No dessert or coffee either?” When I shook my head, he glanced at the dance floor, which was just being set up. “Little bit of dancing at least?”
“My ankle is still not up to it, thank you.”
“All right, then.” He signaled the waiter for our check and turned his attention back to me. “All the more reason why you should sue Nayak. If several weeks after your fall you're still experiencing pain, then you have a legitimate reason for a lawsuit.”

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