Trouble Has a New Name (2 page)

A delicious spicy male scent floated towards her. Her eyes flew open as a velvety-smooth voice with notes that hinted at rich dark chocolate spoke huskily close to her earlobe. ‘I don’t think your apology would have cut any ice if the flight had been cancelled.’

It took her a few moments to reorient herself in the present. Her head ticked like a bomb and she was certain it would explode if she as much as moved a single muscle. Nevertheless, she managed a weak smile. After all, she had had years of practice at presenting her all-is-right-with-the-world face. ‘Well, it wasn’t and we’re on our way on time. So cut me some slack, will you?’

His face remained impassive as he offered her a bottle of mineral water. ‘Here, drink up. You need to hydrate. We have a long flight ahead. And a nap will do wonders for the massive hangover you’re nursing.’

She bristled. Did those intense grey eyes not miss a thing? She accepted the bottle gratefully and took a large gulp of water. A few drops dribbled down her chin and his eyes swivelled to her lips. Her body thrummed with awareness as she brushed her hand across her mouth. ‘Thanks. But what makes you think I have a
massive hangover
?’

He turned his smouldering grey eyes to stare into hers and her heart stuttered. He settled his muscle-bound six-foot-plus frame more comfortably into the seat and shrugged casually. ‘Deductive logic.’

‘Sounds fascinating. Care to explain that?’

‘One. For a model, who’s trained to meet deadlines, late night parties shouldn’t be a problem. So, if you
overslept, it could be only because you were too wasted to get up.’

Wasted?
She sucked in her breath sharply as a hot wave of anger gushed through her bloodstream. True, she had had the exact same thought this morning but hearing a stranger voice it shattered her already fragile pride. ‘Really, how presumptuous of you, Mr Whatever-Your-Name-Is!’

Ignoring her angry reaction, he continued coolly. ‘Two. Your choice of footwear is a dead giveaway. Unless…’

Heat flooded her cheeks as embarrassment and annoyance warred to gain control over her emotions. ‘Unless what?’

His eyes had a distinct twinkle in them as if he was enjoying rattling her. ‘I’m no expert on women’s attire,’ he elaborated. ‘But one thing is clear—those flip-flops, cute as they are, don’t quite work with the rest of your outfit. So, unless you’re making some kind of quirky fashion statement…it’s pretty obvious that your
condition
led you to make an unfortunate choice.’

Delicately phrased, but his emphasis on
condition
couldn’t be missed and the humour in his deep rich voice was unmistakable. She didn’t know what upset her more—his tone or his remarks!

‘Wrong choice of footwear is hardly irrefutable evidence of my so-called
condition
,’ she said haughtily. ‘I hope you’re not a detective or something because that kind of deductive logic can only get you fired.’

She hoped he didn’t extend his ‘deductive logic’ to the reasons for her hangover. She didn’t want him to know how fragile she was emotionally—a text message break-up was not exactly cause for celebration. She
would gladly suffer Mr Deductive Logic’s scorn rather than his pity for being an emotional wreck!

It was one thing to have her name tagged with Sid’s on his Facebook status. But quite another to have her photograph splashed in a gossip rag with the demeaning caption: ‘Sid Verma’s latest squeeze.’ As if Sid’s constant hints about ‘taking their relationship to the next level’ hadn’t already messed with her mind, now she would need to explain to all her friends and family that she wasn’t quite the bed-hopping social butterfly the gossip magazine had made her out to be.

With Milee’s wedding coming up, she had been prepared for the worst. Tongues would be wagging back in her home town about her decadent lifestyle. Comparisons between Milee and her would be inevitable. Her friend was not only the bright young chartered accountant who had scored brilliantly in her studies at the London School of Economics but she’d also snagged
the most suitable
man in Chris Taylor. And now that she was well on the road to marital bliss with her blue-eyed, blond-haired classmate, who was the rising star at a top venture capital group in the UK, the spotlight would no doubt be shining brightly on her maid of honour! The question on everyone’s lips would be: When is Rayna going to settle down?

Sid’s proposal of committing to a relationship had begun to look more and more attractive as the wedding got closer. She had even hinted as much to Milee at her bachelorette bash. Of course, she had no intention of disclosing that she was about to enter into a live-in relationship—oh, God, that would surely put her firmly in the floozy category!—but if she made it known she had an eligible man in her life it would definitely deflect
some of the criticism of her highly inappropriate lifestyle. With Sid shooting in Bangalore for a week, she’d been waiting for him to return to Mumbai to give him the news of her decision. But instead she had got a nasty shock in the form of a pithy text message.

‘It’s over’ Sid had texted. Two words—and she had morphed from a woman on the verge of committing to a long-term relationship for the first time in her life to a Dumpee struck down by a case of HTRB syndrome. Along with the tears came the recriminations every victim who’d suffered a high-tech relationship breakdown did. After badgering her about her reluctance to commit, why had he suddenly changed his mind? Was it just a game for him? Why hadn’t she seen it coming? And the most worrying of all: How would she face her friends and family when she met them at Milee’s wedding? Last night it had played on and on in her mind like a song on an endless loop till she had hit the tequila in sheer desperation just to get a few hours of blissful oblivion.

‘Are you all right?’ Her aggravating co-passenger with the oh-so-sexy voice butted into her musings.

‘Yes, of course,’ she snapped back.

‘No smart comeback?’ A sardonic smile tugged at the corner of his lips and her thoughts, which were already scrambled, churned as if they had been buzzed in her rickety old blender.
Now what had she missed?
Oh, yes. She’d made some snarky remark about him being fired from his job.

It suddenly occurred to her she didn’t have a clue as to who he actually was. She’d assumed he was one of Milee and Chris’s invitees, but perhaps he worked for the chartered flight company and had been told to look
after the guests? ‘If it’s any consolation, I shall write a personal letter of apology to your boss and beg him not to fire you.’

Instead of taking offence at her barb, he let out a deep throaty laugh.

She was momentarily dazzled by the crease that appeared in his light-stubble-grazed cheek. On any other man, a dimple would have been effeminate, but no, sir, not on him! It just gave his already razor-sharp jawline a masculine edge that cut right through to the core of her heart.

‘You do have a quirky sense of humour.’ The laughter still echoed in his voice. ‘What makes you think I need your help to save my job?’

‘Deductive logic,’ came her quick reply as she struggled to control her totally insane reaction to his silky-smooth charm.

Honestly speaking, her ‘logic’ was all screwed up. His demeanour, body language and the proprietorial air he had about him were definitely not ‘servile’ in any sense. Instead, they screamed alpha male arrogance, fuelled by supreme self-confidence.

Her tummy lurched ominously—this time as a physical reaction to the plane hitting an air pocket. Her knuckles turned white as she gripped the armrests with all her strength. Even as the captain alerted the passengers of a turbulent patch, her stomach did yet another desperate dive and something hot and horrid gushed up to her throat.

RBIL #3:—
a brand-new entry
—Turbulence, emotional turmoil and tequila make for a lethal combination.

She leaped out of her seat, hand clamped hard against
her mouth and headed for the washroom. But one of her flip-flops caught the back of the seat and she flailed her arms to grab something—anything. Just then the stewardess emerged, balancing a tray containing a pitcher of orange juice and savoury snacks. Rayna clutched at the hostess’s arm as she desperately tried to save herself from hitting the floor of the plane face first and throwing up at the same time. But the pitcher had no such luck. It headed southwards and Rayna cringed as its contents splashed all over Mr Deductive Logic. She heard him mutter a savage curse and then felt his strong arm steady her. Breaking free, she made it to her destination and threw up into the toilet bowl in the nick of time.

Hey Bhagwan!
She was living her worst nightmare ever!

‘A
RE YOU
OK in there?’

The man’s deep voice filtered through the door of the aeroplane’s tiny washroom and Rayna wished she could eject herself from the plane and disappear into the ether. That was as likely to happen as a pig sprouting wings. So she might as well get ready to face the flak.

‘I’m fine. Just give me a second.’ She sluiced her face with water and quickly towelled it dry.

‘Could you hurry up, please? Being plastered with orange juice is not exactly my idea of fun.’

She shook her head as a fresh wave of embarrassment washed over her. She would never live this down. She opened the latch and found his muscular frame filling up the tiny corridor. She sucked in her breath sharply; the close proximity was making her all breathless. His face was hard as rock and his eyes had turned slate-grey, cool and impenetrable. There was not a hint of judgement in them and for some strange reason that made her even more nervous. He, on the other hand, seemed none the worse for the orange juice dousing he had received, apart from the fact that his shirt stuck to him like shrink-wrapping, accentuating his toned
muscles. Even in this icky-sticky avatar, he looked gorgeously delectable.

She tucked a few stray hairs behind her ear and reined in her wayward thoughts. ‘I’m really sorry about what happened,’ she said, waving her hand, trying to find the right words for the monumentally mortifying episode that had occurred minutes ago and failing. She shuffled her feet self-consciously. ‘You were right, you know… Well, I didn’t realise…’
Shoot, this was going so badly!

‘No worries.’ The chill in his tone made her shiver. ‘Now, if you don’t mind, I need to get out of this sticky shirt.’

She nodded and tried to squeeze past him but, despite her best efforts to avoid body contact, the tips of her breasts brushed against his chest. Her nipples tightened in involuntary response and she hurried away.
Jeez!
Was this what alcohol did to you? She had a sneaky feeling that the turbulence within her had nothing to do with bad weather conditions or a hangover. This was something else—and she had no intention of getting into analysis mode right now. The only cure was to keep a safe distance from a certain six-foot-plus male Homo sapiens with intense grey eyes.

Thankfully, the rest of the journey was completed without any further mishaps. Rayna was relieved to find Orange Juice Dude deep in conversation with another guest, leaving the seat next to her empty. He was totally ignoring her and she was a wee bit disappointed.
Rayna, you’re mental!

She looked out of the window and saw the emerald-green Indian Ocean sparkling in the April sun below. Palm-fronded islands with silver beaches were sprinkled
like little jewels all over. She had checked out the resort, Nirvana on the Beach, on the Internet and if it was anything like the pictures on the website it would be a slice of paradise. Had it not been for the wedding, it would have been the perfect place to recover from the shocker Sid had delivered. But with Milee’s guests arriving from all over the country, she could bid goodbye to the alone time she so craved. She dreaded the thought of running into some of her old friends and acquaintances back from her childhood days. Oh, she was so not looking forward to it. Especially now that her personal life had hit rock bottom. Maybe, just maybe, she could slink away for a while and find a little peace and quiet. Her sagging spirits perked up a bit as the aircraft dipped down to kiss the tarmac.

Neel waited for the chattering guests to file out of the aeroplane before he walked over to Rayna. She was still in her seat, lost in thought. He had tried his best to ignore her. Never had he met such an aggravating woman in his life. He was livid with himself for letting her get under his skin. It had been years since any woman had been able to do that. He’d discovered early on that he was a poor judge of women—and had paid a heavy price for it. But, thankfully for him, he had had his hands full, setting up his business and taking care of his family obligations.

The two women he genuinely cared for were his mother and his younger sister, Meera. Thinking about Meera made his heart squeeze with pain. She had always been emotionally fragile since her childhood and her world had revolved around Papa, who’d doted on her. When Papa passed away following a massive
heart attack her world had come crashing down. With Papa gone, Meera’s free spirit died too. The bubbly child had turned into a morose, withdrawn teenager who was given to frequent outbursts of violent and self-destructive behaviour. Now, she was stuck in a past that didn’t seem to ever fade away, despite the best doctors that he could now afford to treat her for her condition: dysthymia. Her hero, Papa, had failed her. And later, he—her beloved elder brother whom she called
bhaiya
—would fail her too. But the past couldn’t be changed. It couldn’t be wiped clean. It could only teach you lessons.

And the most important one was: steer clear of emotional involvement with women. Especially ones who thought they were God’s gift to mankind and could charm their way out of trouble. Women like Rayna were dazzling in their brilliance but the closer you got to them, the higher the risk of being burnt. He still bore the scars of just one such close encounter.

As the aircraft emptied, he approached Rayna. He’d promised Chris he would personally escort his A-list guests to the resort. After he’d fulfilled his obligations, he would be only too glad to get back to Mumbai in a couple of hours. ‘I don’t wish to disturb your meditation but the helicopter leaves in a short while.’

‘Helicopter?’ Rayna’s insides clenched as fear wrapped its cold fingers around her chest.

‘Yes. Unless you wish to swim all the way to the resort?’

Her breath felt shallow as her fear of closed, cramped spaces began to rear its ugly head. A helicopter sounded much like an airborne elevator.

She took a deep breath as she tried to dispel the
wave of nausea that was beginning to build. ‘Is there any other way of getting to the resort?’

His exasperation was obvious. ‘Seriously, are you always so difficult or do you enjoy annoying me?’

Her temper flared for a brief second. ‘Believe me, that’s not my intention at all. Would you please answer my question?’

His eyes narrowed into angry slits. ‘A ship leaves from Port Blair to the islands but you’re unlikely to get a seat on it as it’s booked in advance. The only other option is to take the catamaran.’

She clenched her fingers into a fist so as not to betray the slight tremor in them. ‘Uh…catamaran? Are they like small boats?’

His sharp intake of oxygen left her in no doubt he was fast losing his temper. ‘I’m not an expert on seagoing transport and I’m afraid I won’t be able to give you the exact dimensions of a catamaran…but they are largish vessels.’

‘And how many people can they seat?’

‘Roughly, sixty or seventy. Will that be all or do you have some more questions?’

She exhaled the breath she had been holding in relief. ‘I’m done! I’ll take the catamaran and I shall see you at the island in—?’

‘Two and a half hours. Make sure you don’t miss it. Or you’ll be stranded at Port Blair till tomorrow morning,’ he flung back at her as he stormed off.

The ride in the catamaran, grandly named Ocean Queen, was quite pleasant and it gave Rayna her first glimpse of the hotel. Shrouded by coconut palms, she could see the tops of the red-brick roof tiles from a distance.
Sunlight glistened off the white sands separating the hotel grounds from the gently lapping waves. The sea breeze soothed away her dark fears and she felt her spirits soar again. At the jetty, a vehicle was waiting for her and the short drive to the resort was accomplished in a few minutes.

Twenty villas were tucked away behind tall palm trees and lush greenery. Each villa was designed to provide its occupants access to a private little slice of the stunning beach. Nirvana on the Beach—the name couldn’t be more appropriate, marvelled Rayna as she approached the main building. She was given the traditional Indian welcome—vermilion
tika
on the forehead, garlands of fragrant frangipani, a sprinkling of rosewater and a chilled mango drink—before she checked in to her designated villa.

The receptionist informed her that her bags had already been sent up to the villa. With a pang she realised she had not thanked the guy with those mesmerising eyes for having her suitcases airlifted to the resort. He would probably be on his way back to Mumbai now after shepherding the guests to the wedding venue. She glanced at the note that the smiling attendant gave her as she entered the villa. It read:
Call me as soon you get in. BTW why has your phone been switched off since last night? XOXO. Milee.

If she knew Milee, the pint-sized dynamo, she would be bounding into Rayna’s villa the moment she heard the guests had checked in.
Patience
was a word that didn’t exist in her friend’s vocabulary. She felt a tad guilty about avoiding her BFF, but she needed to gather her thoughts, figure out just how much she should share with Milee. Or else she would be bulldozed into narrating
the sordid story of her HTRB moment. One thing was for sure…she might privately wallow in self-pity but she was not about to throw a pity party for the whole world to witness.

The two-storey villa was just the right combination of lavish, cosy and comfortable. The living room was spacious and impeccably furnished. The huge French windows opened out to a tiny garden, brimming over with bougainvillea in a riot of colours, frangipani shrubs thick with sweet-smelling flowers and decorative palms. A little white marble birdbath with water tinkling from a landscaped wall comprising rocks and lush foliage completed the serene picture. The couple of bedrooms on the second storey opened out to large balconies offering breathtaking views of the ocean. There was an outdoor Jacuzzi pool at the back, shaded by tall palm trees, and a white picket gate led down a short pathway to the beach.

Unable to resist the temptation, she ran down to the beach, to dip her feet in the softly lapping waves. She had always loved the sea. There was something calming about the rhythmic sound of water lapping the shore. It soothed away the fears that surfaced every now and then, even though she had shoved them into the deepest recesses of her mind for years now. And she wondered why they had resurfaced today. But she wouldn’t let them breach the dam she had so painstakingly erected over the years. Not now. Not ever.

She had trained herself to think positive whenever those dark memories threatened to take her down and virtually choke the life out of her. It had taken years of practice to not let them overwhelm her. Slow, tortuous,
soul-searing practice. But she had done it. She had learnt to bring up happy thoughts at will.

She scanned her brain for one such moment and found it when she spotted a pink and orange seashell. It reminded her of the large treasure trove of multicoloured stones and shells she had amassed as a kid. Her collection had grown rapidly, as she spent her vacations at the beach with Dad and Mom. Their constant companion on those holidays had been their beautiful Irish Setter, Oona, who loved to chase the surf and kept them in hysterics with her crazy antics.

Sometimes Robi Da, her elder brother, would also join them. On their return home, she would meticulously clean out the shells and string them into little jewellery pieces. Sometimes a neckpiece, at times a bracelet, and she had even once made a set of dangling earrings for Mom. She recalled how Dad pretended to be jealous and was pacified only after she had made him a tiepin. She smiled at the memory as she clutched the seashell tightly in her fist and found her way back to the villa.

Neel was more than satisfied with the wedding arrangements. Everything was on schedule, under control. His decision to hire the street-smart Shiva Mani as the manager of his start-up property had been more than validated. He had first met Shiva when he was a greenhorn in the restaurant business. Shiva had taken on the role of his mentor and patiently taught him the tricks of the trade. Neel had always resolved to hire Shiva once he had set up his own hotel project. And that was exactly what he had done, much against the wishes of the head of HR in his company who believed Shiva would be a
misfit in a boutique resort set-up, given his background as manager of a chain of low-priced eateries. Besides, he’d warned Neel that, at fifty-three years of age, Shiva was an ‘old dog who wouldn’t learn new tricks.’ But Neel had never doubted Shiva’s capabilities—he was a hands-on guy, who could make do with the available resources and would not panic at the first hint of a crisis. And he had been right—Shiva had more than lived up to his expectations.

‘How’s it going? Everything under control?’

‘There was a bit of a flutter when the Princess of Junagadh suddenly decided she wanted bird’s nest soup last night and we didn’t have it on the menu.’ Shiva paused dramatically for effect before adding, ‘But Chef Shilpa rescued the situation by offering her shark fin soup instead. Now, the Princess has declared she needs to have the soup at least once every day for the rest of her stay.’

Neel guffawed. ‘I can always trust you to find a solution. But you and your team had better be on your toes.’

‘Not a problem.’ Shiva beamed. ‘At the last count there were three tycoons, a couple of Bollywood stars and a princess and her entourage and now, of course, there are the VIPs who came with you this afternoon. I have set up a dedicated team to look after their needs.’

‘Don’t forget the bride’s and groom’s relatives and close friends are just as important,’ Neel added with a smile. ‘Now I can go back to Mumbai without any worries. But keep me in the loop. Don’t hesitate to call me any time. Day or night.’

‘You’re not going to stay for the wedding?’ asked Shiva, a bit surprised, as Neel pushed back his chair and got up to leave the conference room.

‘There’s a lot happening in Mumbai. Need to draw up plans for the new property in the Maldives.’

‘Congratulations. I didn’t realise the deal had been announced.’

‘Not yet. You and Chris are the first to know.’