The Reluctant Matchmaker (9 page)

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Authors: Shobhan Bantwal

BOOK: The Reluctant Matchmaker
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“No problem.” I tore off the sheet and shoved it into my purse, then returned the notepad and pen to his desk. “You want me to e-mail this to you?”
“No, that's not a good idea. Why don't you put it in the mail to my condo address?” He handed me a piece of paper with his address on it.
He came around his desk to stand only a few feet away from me. His cologne was doing weird things to me. I was tempted to reach out and touch the crisp fabric of his shirt. That's all I could reach anyway. His face was way up there, out of my range. To be able to touch his face, I'd have to climb on top of his desk.
I took a couple of steps back, closer to the door. “I'll put it in the mail.”
Now that the consulting session was over, I was dying to get out of his office. Despite its generous proportions, it was stifling. My heartbeat was still irregular, and my emotions were running amok. This was the worst work assignment I'd ever taken on in my entire life. I hated it, and yet, what choice did I have? If the CEO asked me for a favor, I couldn't very well thumb my nose at him.
As I reached for the doorknob he said, “Meena, I'd like to pay you for this.”
“Don't be silly. It won't take all that long.”
“I don't care how much time or effort it takes. You've already stayed past your quitting time today, and you're going to work on it at home. I expect to pay you the standard consulting fee that I pay my contractors.”
“You don't have to feel obligated, Prajay. I'd do it for any ... friend.”
“Well, I'll pay you a friendly, discounted fee in that case,” he said with a grin. Then he came forward and extended his hand. “Thanks again. And please, not a word about this to anyone. Not your parents or friends ... no one, okay?”
I put my hand in his. “You have my word.” My hand was shaking. Damn, but it felt good to have his enormous paw wrapped around my tiny one. “Good night, Prajay.”
“Good night. Careful driving home. And take care of that ankle.”
“Sure.” I opened the door and stepped out. The foot felt achier than ever. Thankfully the elevator doors opened immediately. I didn't want him to see my face. I didn't want anyone to see my face. It was burning. I'd just agreed to assist the very man I wanted for myself in finding his ideal woman.
As if that weren't unpleasant enough, the elevator stopped at the eighth floor. In walked Gargi Bansal.
She looked fresh as a marigold in her brown slacks and yellow top. Her long dark hair was smooth and shiny, her makeup perfect, and her fingernails manicured. Maybe she was on her way to meet a guy. Her perfume was a bit overpowering but not unpleasant. She slanted a smile at me. “Hi, Meena. Working late today?”
“Yes.” I tried to keep my voice even.
“Are you all right? You look a little flushed.” She eyed my sneakers. “Your foot is okay, I hope?”
“It's healing nicely, thank you.”
“So you were working on the ninth floor today,” she said with a knowing smirk.
“Um-hmm.” I realized my voice wobbled. I was still reacting to what had happened in Prajay's office. And Gargi Bansal was wondering what I had been doing in the penthouse after working hours.
Now that the whole office knew Prajay had carried me in his arms twice, all they needed was Gargi's help to conclude that I was having an affair with the CEO—spending my evenings on the ninth floor and going home with rosy cheeks. Great.
If it had been true, I wouldn't have cared, but it was so far from the truth it was ludicrous. Not only would my reputation be torn to shreds, but I wouldn't even get the prize at the end. I was actually helping the prize acquire his ideal wife. On top of that, I couldn't even defend myself by telling the truth to anyone. I had just sworn not to tell a soul about my secret assignment. Nice, tight corner to be hemmed into.
I turned to Gargi with my own faux smile. “A new advertising campaign. All that overtime and brainstorming for a two-line slogan.”
She shrugged. “Don't know much about liberal arts type of work. I'm a programmer.”
The elevator came to a stop in the lobby, and we both stepped out. Good thing I was still crawling at a tortoise's pace—it gave me an excuse to motion to Gargi not to wait for me. She rushed off. I'd bet anything she was already working on that ugly rumor about Prajay and me.
Lord, what had I got myself into?
Chapter 9
T
hat night I sat at my home computer and wrote up several ads—different wordings to capture the essentials. I'd let Prajay decide which ones he wanted to use. I put the printed sheets in an envelope and readied them for mailing.
The next morning, I made the mistake of leaving the envelope and my purse side-by-side on the kitchen table while I ate my breakfast.
Mom's eagle eyes fell on it. “Meena, what are you mailing to your boss?” she asked with a hopeful expression. I noted her sidelong glance at my father, who was trying to drink his tea and scan the
New York Times
headlines at the same time.
“Some ideas for a future marketing campaign.”
“Then why send them to his home address? Wouldn't marketing ideas be discussed in the office?” Mom was no dummy.
“This is something he's working on secretly.” I got up to put my empty cup and cereal bowl in the sink. “Intellectual property and competitors,” I whispered and put my finger over my lips.
Mom looked thoroughly intrigued—and pleased. “He told this only to you and nobody else?”
“Um ... something like that.”
She tapped Dad on the shoulder. “Did you hear that, Ram? The Nayak boy is telling Meena important trade secrets.”
“Mom! Will you please get the thought out of your head? There's nothing between that man and me. He's my boss. I merely
work
for him. You get that?”
“Sure, dear.” Mom picked up her car keys and headed out to grab her coat from the closet, but I didn't miss the smug look on her face. Fortunately Dad got busy putting on his own jacket and seemed unaffected by Mom's remarks. But then Dad seldom revealed what was going on in that seriously analytical mind of his.
I said good-bye to him as he left for work and got ready to head out myself.
At the office, things were quiet. Until about three o'clock. When I went to the break room to buy a soda from the vending machine, I ran into Deepak Iyer, a young systems analyst and self-proclaimed expert on everything from literature to foreign policy.
Unfortunately I wasn't nimble enough to make a quick escape. He cornered me at the door. “Hey, Meena, don't run away.”
“I need to get back to work,” I explained with a polite smile.
“Long time no see. How're you doing?”
“Fine, thanks.” I opened the tab on my soda can and took a sip.
He glanced at my sneakers. “Heard all about your mishap,
yaar,
” he said, using the Hindi word for friend. “What a horrible thing to happen in front of a bunch of people.”
“You can say that again.” I was trying to brush it off as a minor incident, but it was hard when someone insisted on reminding me of my humiliation.
“I'm sorry,
yaar.
” He studied me for an instant. “Looks like you're feeling okay now?”
“Feeling better and better,” I said and started to head out, but he stopped me with a hand held up.
“Meena, wait. I was ... wondering if you'd like to ... maybe go out to dinner or for drinks this Friday?”
“My Fridays are busy, Deepak. I have such a large family; I can't believe how fast my weekends go.” I smiled sweetly to take the sting out of the rejection. Deepak and I had been through this routine before. He asked nicely, and I turned down his invitation with a smile.
Deepak was a stocky guy with a South Indian accent. He used some kind of shiny gel in his hair and walked with a confident swagger. A lot of girls in our office thought he was quite the prize and shamelessly tried to attract his attention, but for some reason he'd set his sights on me.
I had a strong suspicion it was Deepak's temporary work permit visa status that made him chase after me instead of one of the other women who were in the same situation as he. And there were lots of women in the office, much more attractive than me. Being a hi-tech company, Rathnaya was filled with computer professionals recently imported from India.
Quite a few guys like Deepak asked me out. I suspected those guys wanted to woo and marry an American citizen, to guarantee their own permanent status in the country. It bothered me, this constantly having to lie and say I was too busy to go out with them.
They were all nice enough, highly educated, decent, affable, but I hadn't found a single one who was my type. I wasn't all that fussy about a guy's looks, but most of the men from India were a bit too serious for my tastes. Their sense of humor was different from that of the boys who'd been raised in the States.
Besides, they were usually looking for the sweet, modest, compliant, all-Indian woman. None of those adjectives even came close to describing me.
Meanwhile Deepak was giving me that
aw, come on, can't you make time for a hot guy like me
look. “A simple dinner shouldn't take up the entire evening, Meena. Just two coworkers getting a bite to eat isn't a big deal, right?”
I took another sip of soda and mulled it over. One had to admire his tenacity and capacity to handle rejection. I'd turned him down at least half a dozen times. He wasn't bad looking, either. In some ways he was even attractive. “Okay, I can make time for dinner.”
He grinned, white teeth gleaming against his dark skin. “That's great,
yaar
. Never thought you'd agree.”
“I have to give you credit for perseverance, Deepak. Maybe my accident has left me with less willpower ... or something.”
“Or something.” He sounded so self-satisfied that it made me uneasy. Too late to bail out of it now. I was beginning to lose my appetite for my soda.
“So, you want me to pick you up at your house?” he asked, the grin still lingering.
“That's not necessary.” It wasn't gallantry that prompted the offer but curiosity about where I lived. He was scoping out my suitability as a future wife. “I'll meet you at the restaurant. You choose the place.”
His grin faded. “Okay then. How about meeting at India Jewel around six o'clock?”
“Sure.” I poured the rest of my soda down the sink and tossed the can in the recyclables container. I'd smoothed his ego a bit by letting him decide. Besides, I wasn't really interested in going out with Deepak Iyer. But I was still bristling from my meeting with Prajay. The hell with him. Let the man go find his Amazon woman on the Internet or in the rain forests of Brazil for all I cared. I was an attractive woman and had plenty of men interested in me.
“All right,
yaar,
we have a date.”
“Not exactly. We're just two coworkers having dinner together, remember? I'll see you on Friday then.” I gave him a casual wave. Deepak seemed pleased, but his eyes narrowed on me. He seemed suspicious of my sudden and unexpected capitulation. I'd turned down his invitations often enough for him to wonder if something strange was going on.
I went back to work. If Deepak was expecting any kind of physical excitement on Friday night he was mistaken. I didn't intend to do anything with him other than eat a friendly dinner and return home.
I'd gone out on dates in my college days. I'd had my share of kissing and fondling, but I had allowed only one of them to get into my bed. And that had been a
big
mistake. During my senior year in college, two of my girlfriends and I had gone to a New Year's Eve party and become drunk on cheap champagne. The party had continued into the early hours of the morning.
Too intoxicated to think straight, I'd let a guy named Eric talk me into accepting a ride in his car to my apartment. Eric was a hunk, and a nice guy, but one thing had led to another and we'd tumbled into bed, both of us too drunk to know right from wrong. The next morning, I'd woken up to find Eric gone. And my virginity, too.
I was twenty-one. And devastated.
I'd hated myself then. In a daze, I'd barely managed to get through the next couple of weeks. I hadn't gone home to visit my parents for several months after that. I couldn't face them. How had I managed to get into such a horrible mess?
It wasn't so much the sleeping with someone that had troubled me. It was the careless, emotionless way I'd done it. If I'd had deep feelings for the guy, I would've thought it sweet and acceptable, romantic.
I wasn't entirely sure if Eric had used any protection either. Just to be sure I hadn't contracted some terrible disease or become pregnant, I'd reluctantly gone to the campus clinic to get myself checked. Everything had turned out all right. I'd sent Lord Ganesh a tearful thank-you prayer for saving me from a terrible fate.
After that I hadn't allowed myself to get into that kind of situation ever again. I never wanted to go to bed with anyone who I wasn't totally committed to. And I'd never gotten drunk again, either. If nothing else, that affair had proved to be a good lesson in sobriety.
I'd kept away from the dating scene after that incident, until the Indian guys, heartily approved by my parents, had come along. And darn it, not a single one had proved suitable.
So here I was, after a long hiatus, attracted to the Jolly Brown Giant, who in turn was looking for a she-giant. Therefore I was going out on a date with a guy named Deepak Iyer.
At least Deepak was a smart, educated guy with a good job. I could have done worse.
I never heard anything from Prajay about receiving my envelope. But on Friday afternoon I got an e-mail:
Meena, thanks so much for the wonderful job. I posted a few ads right away and got loads of responses. I'm overwhelmed and don't have the time to sort thru them. I need more help from you. Could you please stop by after work? If not today, early next week? Thanks. PN.
I sent Prajay a reply that I could spare a few minutes before I left for the day. I had to keep my dinner date with Deepak, but I didn't tell Prajay that.
Once again, I had to tell Paul that I was meeting a friend after work. He gave an approving smile. “Friday night date. Good.”
I smiled back and waved him away, then went directly upstairs, armed with my notebook and pen. Anna was just leaving when I stepped off the elevator. She looked at me curiously. “Meena, what a surprise!”
“Hi, Anna. Is Prajay in his office? I need to go over some new ads with him,” I said, talking a bit too fast and sounding breathless in the bargain.
“He's on the phone,” replied Anna, shrugging into her jacket. “You can wait here if you'd like.” Her brow creased. “Paul is not attending the meeting?”
“Paul had ... plans for this evening.”
“Oh.” Anna pulled her purse out of her drawer and looked at me. “It's odd that Prajay didn't mention any meeting about ads to me.”
I put on my most baffled expression. “He didn't? Hmm ... must have slipped his mind.”
“Must have.” Her gaze shifted to my feet. “How's the ankle?”
“Much better, thanks. Can't wait to get rid of the sneakers,” I replied, relieved to switch subjects. I could only lie so much with a straight face.
The sound of Prajay's voice winding up the phone conversation reached us. “Looks like he's off the phone. Why don't you go in,” said Anna, and she left me standing there.
I watched her press the elevator button as I started toward Prajay's office. From her expression I could tell she was eager to know what I was doing here after-hours. And I knew that she knew I was here for reasons other than business.
But what the heck could I do? I had put myself in a tight spot. I could only hope this was the last time I'd have to meet Prajay surreptitiously. I honestly didn't know what other kind of help he wanted from me.
This time he was standing at the window, hands in his pockets, his back to me, and seemingly deep in thought. He turned around when I knocked. “Come in, Meena. Could you close the door please?” He waited till the door was shut. “I can't thank you enough for your assistance.”
“You're welcome.” I sat in one of the guest chairs. “What can I do for you?”
He handed me a stack of printouts of e-mail messages. “Dozens, and I haven't had a moment to glance at them. I need some serious help.”
“These are your private messages, Prajay. I can't do anything with them. You'll have to find some way to deal with it.” If he was looking to me to find him a bride, he was barking up the wrong tree. I had my limits.
He gave me a helpless look. “I realize that, Meena, but I really don't have the time.”
“What about Anna?”
“Are you kidding? She's very efficient, but this isn't her forte. She'll think I'm insane to run an ad for a bride. She had an arranged marriage.” He shot me another vulnerable puppy-dog look. “You're my campaign manager, aren't you? I'll pay you for it. I pay my consultants seventy-five dollars an hour.” When I rolled my eyes, he gave me a beatific smile that tugged at my softer side. “Eighty? Please?”

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