The Reluctant Matchmaker (4 page)

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Authors: Shobhan Bantwal

BOOK: The Reluctant Matchmaker
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Paul laughed. “Where'd you come up with a notion like that?”
 
“I'm serious, Paul. This doesn't look good. You should start looking for another PR manager soon.”
“Stop talking nonsense. No one's going to fire you. People don't get fired for taking a spill.” Then he looked at his watch. “I doubt if we're going to have that meeting after all.”
Just then Nayak walked in. “We'll have to arrange for Ms. Shenoy to be driven home,” he said to Paul.
“I'll drive her home,” Paul offered. “In fact, I'll have Pinky drive Meena's car to her house, and I'll bring Pinky back. No sense letting Meena's car sit here for the next several days if she's going to be out.”
“I agree.” Nayak looked at me thoughtfully for a second. “Let her stay in my office for a while and rest. We'll take her down to your car later.”
“Good idea.” Paul glanced at me. “You going to be okay?”
“I guess. But I don't want to be in Mr. Nayak's way. Maybe I can hobble downstairs with you?”
“You won't be in my way,” said Nayak, cutting me off—reminding me who was boss. “I'll work in the conference room since the meeting's canceled.” He inclined his head toward the door. “You go on, Paul. Call me in a couple of hours, and we'll have Miss Shenoy transported to the parking lot.”
I was grateful for all that Nayak was doing, but irritation was beginning to set in. He was talking about me like I wasn't there, like I was some kind of cargo to be
transported.
Was he afraid I'd sue him?
It had to be that—fear of a lawsuit. Why else would he have carried me in here himself? Why else would he let me stay in his office and rest? Why else would he pretend to care about my welfare?
Whatever his reasons, I had no choice but to stay put. I was more helpless than a newborn puppy. Tears of self-pity started to gather in my eyes.
“Miss Shenoy, is the pain really bad?” Nayak was at my side in a flash. He glanced at my foot. “Can I do anything for you?”
I shook my head. The man looked desperate. He was terrified of a lawsuit. “You don't have to fuss over me, Mr. Nayak. I don't plan to sue you or anything.”
“That's the last thing on my mind, Miss Shenoy,” he retorted, clearly insulted by my remark. “I'm more concerned about your health, believe it or not.”
His eyes were still on my foot. Thank goodness my toenails were painted in a shade called Blushing Rose, to match the pink sari I'd worn as bridesmaid at my best friend Rita's wedding the previous weekend. Rita's mother had insisted that I also wear a row of fake pink pearls and matching earrings.
I'd looked like a skinny stick of bubble gum, but I'd had no choice, since Rita's parents were paying for my ensemble. Anyway, at the moment, under the circumstances, my toes looked reasonably good due to the recent pedicure, despite the tear in the hose.
“I'm sorry you had to cancel the meeting because of me,” I said to Nayak, mopping my eyes. By now they probably looked like boiled lobsters.
“Don't worry about it. We can reschedule.”
Now that he was standing right next to me, I took a closer look at him. His face was large and matched his overall size. His nose was long and hooked. But there was an intelligent spark in his eyes, and his mouth was wide, with a generous lower lip. The mouth was his best feature. His hair was thick and black and slightly wavy.
He wasn't a bad-looking guy, but there was something hawk-like and intense about him. I shivered at his nearness.
Perhaps discomfited by my inspection, he checked his watch. “Will you be all right here by yourself?”
I nodded. “The pills must be working, because the pain's receding. I'm feeling a little light-headed, too.”
“Can I get you anything? Coffee, soda?”
Why not? How often does a girl get to be carried in the arms of a CEO and then get pampered on top of it? “Coffee would be nice, thank you,” I replied with a grateful smile. “Lots of cream and one sugar.”
 
“Got it.” He strode out of his office.
For the first time I noticed the beautifully tailored pinstriped pants that draped well over his endlessly long legs, starched white shirt that stretched across his wide shoulders, and the glossy black wing-tip shoes. Nice. I was always a sucker for preppy looks. The suit jacket was on a hanger over a coatrack by his desk. It looked bigger than my dad's bulkiest winter coat.
Since I was alone now, I let my gaze wander over the office. It was a very masculine room, with large windows in the two perpendicular walls. The cappuccino vertical blinds were open. Dense ivory carpeting covered the floor.
The cherry desk and credenza were generously wide. The chair was an ergonomically designed contraption made of chrome and brown leather. It could probably be adjusted a dozen different ways to accommodate Nayak.
A row of cherry bookcases covered half a wall. They held books and binders, mostly on software and computer-related subjects. A large oil painting of an Indian rural scene dominated the wall behind the couch I sat on.
From my vantage point I could clearly see two photographs in wooden frames on the credenza. A middle-aged couple in one—most likely Nayak's parents. The other one showcased three children: two boys around ten and eight respectively, and a girl, perhaps three years old. I wondered who the kids were. A family resemblance was certainly there—the boys had the thick eyebrows and the girl had the same mouth as Nayak.
Nayak walked in with a steaming mug of coffee and napkins. I turned my attention to him, feeling a bit guilty about having stared at his family pictures. He must've guessed what I'd been up to, because he inclined his head toward the credenza. “My parents, and my niece and nephews.”
“You have a nice family.” I accepted the coffee and took a cautious sip. It was wonderful—rich and creamy, with a hazelnut flavor. They sure had nice coffee in the executive break room.
He smiled, the unexpectedly sunny motion softening the harsh planes of his face. “Yes, I do.”
After a couple more sips of coffee had me sufficiently warmed up, my confidence grew. “Can I ask you something, Mr. Nayak?”
“Sure. And call me Prajay. We're rather informal around here. I'm sure you know that by now.”
“Uh ... Prajay, are you going to fire me for this?” I pointed to my foot.
His roar of laughter startled me. “Are you serious? It was an accident. I'm to blame for it more than you. I was so preoccupied, I wasn't paying attention to the surroundings.”
“Me too, I guess.”
“You're so small compared to me. You went down quick.”
“Hmm.” No wonder I'd felt like I'd been knocked over by a truck. “Still, it caused quite a stir ... and you had to cancel an important meeting.”
He dismissed it with a wave of his large hand. “Accidents happen, Meena. We just adjust our schedules accordingly.” He looked at his wristwatch. “If you'll be okay by yourself, I think I'll go work in the conference room.”
“Sure. Thanks for everything.”
“Just leave the cup on the table beside you. I'll stop by in a couple of hours and take you downstairs.” As he reached the door, he turned around briefly. “If you need anything, just holler. Anna, my assistant, is right outside.”
“Thanks.”
He picked up some folders and a laptop computer from his desk and strode out once again. I nearly chuckled when I realized I'd been nervous about meeting him. Come to think of it, he was a nice guy—a gentle giant. I'd worried unnecessarily. And he smelled really wonderful.
Besides my weakness for sharp dressers, I was also partial to men who smelled good.
Maybe it was the painkiller that was doing a number on my brain. I was beginning to feel a pleasant wooziness creeping over me. I put the empty mug of coffee on the end table, wiggled my bottom, and slid down a little so my head rested on the pillow that had been tucked behind my back.
Everything around me started to take on a hazy glow. The pain was almost gone. Those pills were fantastic.
I closed my eyes and sighed. Prajay Nayak was a sweet guy. I was beginning to like him. A lot.
Chapter 4
D
r. Murjani's painkillers were so potent that I evidently fell into a deep sleep on Prajay Nayak's couch. How much more embarrassing could it get, especially when it was supposed to be the day to make my best impression?
My nap must have been a minor coma, because when I woke up I found myself at home, in my own bed, dressed in my own pajamas. It took my brain several seconds to absorb the other details. My purse sat on the floor next to the bed. I slowly pulled myself up and sat leaning against the headboard. My head spun before settling down. My ankle was still very sore, but the pain was bearable.
So how did I get here? Was I dreaming?
I had no recollection of being carried in Prajay's arms to the elevator and then to Paul's car. What a bummer. I had been hoping to recapture that special feeling of being held like a fragile creature in a strong pair of arms, somewhat like the scene from
King Kong,
and I had wanted to sniff that amazing cologne once again.
It would have been my one chance to experience what one of my historical romance novel heroines did when the dashing hero swept her up and carried her to his private quarters after she'd had an attack of the vapors. The first time Prajay had done that, I had been in too much pain to savor the experience.
Now I'd never know the joy because I'd slept through the whole thing.
Prajay must have thought I was ungrateful. No matter how big and strong he was, it wasn't an easy task to carry a dead weight all the way to the elevator, down to the lobby, and then to a waiting car.
“You're awake,” said a familiar voice from the doorway. I glanced at my mom as she approached my bed with a lap tray. “I figured you'd be up by now, and probably hungry.”
She was dressed in baggy jeans and a black sweatshirt. Mom looked young when she wore those instead of a sari or a stuffy pantsuit. Taller and bigger than me, but still slim, she had a pointed chin, sparkling eyes, and dark, curly hair that she wore in a single braid. She didn't look like the mother of three grown children.
I was feeling relaxed and lethargic—probably the aftereffects of the drug. This was pleasant, getting spoiled by my mother. Only in instances of dire illness did one get this kind of royal treatment from her. Mom wasn't the fussing, hovering type. Brisk and practical was more her style—despite her being a medical doctor with a large practice.
“Thanks, Mom,” I said with a grateful smile as she placed the tray over my lap and adjusted the folding flaps to fit over my thighs.
“How's your foot feeling?” She bent down to examine it with a professional frown, then nodded. “Looks much better. Thank goodness it was just a simple sprain.”
“Still hurts, but not as bad as this morning.” Sometimes I wished she'd give me a hug or a maternal kiss. But those gestures had stopped after I'd gone past the toddler stage.
“I keep warning you about your taste in shoes,” she chided. “Those ridiculous stilts that you insist on wearing are dangerous, not to mention unhealthy for your feet.”
“It had nothing to do with my stilts, Mom. I was walking out of the elevator while Prajay Nayak was rushing out of his office, and we collided. Both of us were careless. The mouse got knocked over by the elephant.”
“Ah, yes. Prajay is Madhu and Nalini Nayak's son. Very tall guy, right?”
“Very.”
“All their sons are exceptionally tall. I haven't seen them since they moved to Massachusetts many years ago. The older two are married, I believe. Prajay's the youngest boy.”
“Boy? He's thirty-nine, Mom.” Knowing my mother, she was probably calculating the age difference between Prajay and me and his average annual income. “Goodness, have I been sleeping the entire day?” I asked in an attempt to change the subject. A glance at my bedside clock told me it was nearly dinnertime.
Mom nodded. “Those muscle relaxants can knock you out. I've seen some of my patients sleep for twelve hours straight.”
I stretched my arms above my head and yawned. “They're fabulous. I feel like a new person.” I glanced at the tray and grinned. “Even the
batata song
and
dali thoi
smell good.”
The bright yellow
dali thoi
—split pea soup seasoned with mustard seeds, chili peppers, and curry leaves—wasn't one of my big favorites, but at the moment it smelled delicious, served over a small mound of rice.
Song
was a fiery hot potato and onion curry—a staple of my people. I dug into the food eagerly—not my usual style.
Mom gave me a puzzled look after I'd eaten a couple of spoonfuls. “I've never seen you eat like this.”
“I'm famished. Must be because I slept through lunch,” I said with my mouth full. “So tell me, how exactly did I arrive home? Did Paul and Pinky drive me over?” I was anxious to find out. By any chance had Prajay decided to drive me home?
“Pinky called me at my office to tell me what had happened, so I canceled my appointments for the afternoon, came home, and waited for you to arrive.”
“Sorry you had to cancel because of me.” Mom never let her patients down, if she could help it. She must've been truly worried about me to do what she had done.
“That's okay. Things happen sometimes.”
“How did you get me up here?” I chewed another mouthful of rice.
“Paul drove you home and carried you upstairs while Pinky drove your car here. Then she rode back to the office with him.”
So it hadn't been Prajay who'd brought me home and carried me. I felt mildly disappointed. But what more could I expect from a stranger?
Mom was still talking. “It wasn't easy getting that suit off you and putting your pajamas on.” I made some appropriate sound and continued to eat while Mom made herself comfortable at the foot of my bed. “Nice people, those two, Paul and Pinky,” she remarked. She'd heard me talk about them but had never met them.
I took a sip of water to douse the
song
burning my tongue. “They're both very nice. Paul is one of the few non-Indians in the company, but he's adjusted well to the spicy food in the break rooms and the various Indian languages floating around. He's even learned a lot about our customs and religious holidays.”
“Good for him.” Mom seemed impressed.
“Most of the Rathnaya people are nice, except for Gargi Bansal. She's a bi ... piece of work.”
“Why? She doesn't like you?”
Mom was under the odd impression that everybody in the world liked her kids. It always came as a shock when one of us told her someone resented us. “I think she's a little jealous. She's about my age. She's been working there as a programmer for four years and is still a programmer, while I got hired as a manager right away.”
“But that's because you must be smarter than she is, right?”
“Not smarter, Mom.” Another one of Mom's misconceptions—that her kids were brighter than most. “She's got more brains than I do if she's a computer professional. I just happened to have the combination of marketing and public relations experience that Paul and Nish were looking for.”
“I see.” I wasn't sure if Mom was satisfied with my explanation, but she accepted it. “You know, I was just thinking.”
Uh-oh, Mom was
thinking.
“About what?”
“Paul—he didn't look like he's gay. Didn't you say he was homosexual?”
“Yes. And he makes no bones about it.”
“But he doesn't look like that.”
I smiled. “Gay people don't exactly wear a label, Mom. Paul looks very manly, but he's one hundred-percent gay. He's got a boyfriend who's rather feminine and handsome.”
“Feminine and handsome?” Mom snickered.
I placed the empty plate back on the tray. “Jeremy is good-looking, almost pretty, and not all that masculine. He walks with a slight swing in the hips and fusses over people like a woman.”
“Really?” Mom looked at me like she'd never heard of such traits.
“Uh-huh. He prepares wholesome lunches for Paul, and makes sure he takes his prostate-health pills and herbs, and calls regularly to check on Paul.” I sighed. “He drives Pinky and me nuts sometimes, but Jeremy's a sweet guy. I like him.”
“So you like sweet guys?” Mom suddenly seemed very interested.
“Sure. If I could find a nurturing guy like Jeremy, I'd get married tomorrow.”
“You want a
gay
husband?”
I burst into laughter. “No, I meant a nice, caring guy like Jeremy, but a straight one.”
Picking up the tray, Mom started to walk toward the door. “Thank goodness.”
“Thanks for bringing me dinner, Mom.” With a smile I watched her back disappear. Mom was so comical at times and so naïve for a woman who'd been practicing gynecology and obstetrics for three decades.
For lack of something to do while I lay in bed, I picked up the partly read Nora Roberts novel off my nightstand and started to read, but I couldn't concentrate. I kept reliving my experience earlier.
Lord, what a day. What were the folks at the office saying? They'd stood staring at me at first, and then some of them had disappeared after the doctor had shown up.
I hadn't heard from any of them after that, not even Pinky. I hoped she'd call me at home tonight. To make sure I hadn't missed any calls, I reached into my purse and pulled out my cell phone to check my messages. No calls.
I put the phone on the nightstand. No one cared.
But that wasn't fair, was it? It was generous of Pinky and Paul to have done all they'd done. And even kinder of Prajay. I made a mental note to send e-mails to thank them.
How long would I have to lie in bed? I wondered. I'd be climbing the walls by tomorrow morning, or tomorrow evening at the latest. Unfortunately my work couldn't be done very easily from home.
A little while later I heard the grinding sound of the automatic garage door sliding open. Dad had come home from work. I heard him talk to Mom downstairs before he stopped by to check on me.
“What's this I hear about you falling in your office?” he asked with a scowl.
“One of those freak accidents,” I replied, knowing full well that Mom had already given him the uncut version. Those two shared everything. There were no secrets between them as far as I knew.
“So how long are you going to be out of commission,
charda?
” He approached my bed and patted my face.
He still called me
charda
—child—after so many years. I kind of liked it, because he never used the term with my brothers. Being a girl, I was also given lots of hugs. The boys didn't qualify for those, either. They got enthusiastic slaps on the back or high fives. Being a girl gave me princess status in Dad's heart.
What I didn't get from my mother, I got from my father.
“I'm not sure, Dad,” I answered. “I can't go to work for at least a day or two. I'm hoping I can get one of my coworkers to give me a ride so I can go back at least by early next week.”
He bent down and peered at my foot. “You're sure it's not broken?”
“Dr. Murjani says it's only a sprain. Mom checked it out. She agrees with his diagnosis.”
He straightened up. “If Kaveri says it's a sprain, then it should be okay.” Dad had implicit faith in his dear wife's medical opinion.
“Actually what you're looking at is nearly half the size of what it was this morning. It looked like a bloated eggplant.” I wanted to make sure I had Dad's complete sympathy.
“You want me to give you a ride to your office for a few days?” Dad was a sweet guy, especially when he got into his big, protective father mode.
“If I can't get anyone else, maybe I'll take you up on your offer.” I hoped it didn't come to that. My hours were erratic and so were Dad's. It would be hard to coordinate our schedules. And we worked in opposite directions.
After giving my hair an affectionate ruffle, Dad headed out. “Let me know. And don't go gallivanting with your friends. You need to rest.”
“I promise I won't gallivant, Dad,” I replied wryly. I was in no shape to even hobble to the other side of my room, let alone go out on the town. I tried to wiggle my ankle. It hurt like the dickens, so I settled back against the pillows once again. Walking to the bathroom later was going to be painful.
I went back to my book for a few minutes before my cell phone rang. I eagerly snatched it up.
“Hi, Meena,” said a familiar voice.
“Pinky!”
“You sound kind of ... hyper,” she said. “Is it the medication?”

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