Did his crisp white shirt stretch across his broad shoulders and muscular chest as his Rolex-adorned wrist cut into his steak? Absolutely.
But that’s not why Risha was staring.
She was staring because she really wanted his dessert. She knew she should’ve gone for the chocolate option instead of the mango cheesecake. She could always ask for an additional dessert—this was business class, after all. But her server was, would you believe it, Bitchika. So even the first dessert had been placed on Risha’s table with considerable reluctance.
Risha could always wait to ask Connor if he came by. But what if Connor didn’t service business class? Maybe that’s why he was so scared of Bitchika. Aside from the fact that she was quite scary, she probably had seniority over him, because she looked after the rich people and Connor was stuck with the poor people like Bunty and Bunty’s mother, and Risha. She took a deep breath and pressed the call button.
Bitchika appeared, flashing a saccharine smile. ‘How may I help you?’
‘Um,’ Risha said, gesturing to the table next to hers. ‘I want that.’
Rolex Guy choked on his water.
Bitchika’s eyes widened, the smile wiped clean from her face. ‘Excuse me?’
Risha shrugged innocently. ‘I tried some but I didn’t like it, so I want that instead.’
Bitchika frowned. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘I ordered the mango cheesecake but I want the chocolate thing instead. What’s it called?’
A slow, insincere smile spread across Bitchika’s face. ‘Dark chocolate torte layered with candied praline and creme brûlée.’
‘Yes, exactly. I’ll have that.’
‘I’m so sorry, love. We’re all out.’
Risha’s face fell. ‘You don’t have any left?’
‘I just gave the last one to Mr Khanna.’
‘Who is Mr Khanna?’ Risha demanded, mentally prepared to march down to this Mr Khanna’s seat and convince him to exchange his dessert with hers.
And that’s when Risha saw the first genuine expression cross Bitchika’s face: shock. She opened her mouth to answer but no words came out. She turned to Rolex Guy with a bewildered look.
Risha followed her gaze. Rolex Guy looked oddly pleased as he said, ‘That would be me. Arjun Khanna.’
‘Hi,’ she said to his dessert.
He turned to the flight attendant with a charming smile. ‘Kritika, it’s the strangest thing but I actually wanted the mango cheesecake instead of this. So I’m just going to trade with Ms… ?’
Risha looked from Arjun to Bitchika and back to Arjun. Oh, he meant her. ‘Risha. Hi, I’m Risha. And I really appreciate your sacrifice, Mr Khanna.’
He laughed. ‘Arjun.’ He picked up his plate and handed it to Risha. ‘Thanks again, Kritika. You’ve been a big help.’
Bitchika shot Risha a haughty look before walking away.
Risha sighed. ‘She really does not like me.’
‘I’m sure she doesn’t,’ Arjun muttered.
Risha opened her mouth to ask what he meant by that, but got distracted by the chocolate delicacy in front of her. She put a large spoonful in her mouth and closed her eyes, revelling in the complete and utter bliss that was her dessert. This was totally worth Bitchika’s wrath. When she opened her eyes she found Arjun watching her with undisguised amusement.
‘You really like chocolate,’ he mused.
Risha smiled sheepishly. ‘Doesn’t everyone? Except you, I mean. Oh, here’s your cheesecake.’
‘Thanks,’ Arjun said, reaching for the dessert he neither liked nor wanted. He took a small bite and followed it up with a large gulp of water, as though swallowing a pill. ‘It’s great,’ he lied. And the lie was totally worth it. Risha had little specks of chocolate on her lips and she looked strangely... sated.
Arjun looked away abruptly. Was he seriously getting aroused by watching a woman eat dessert?
Get a grip on yourself, Khanna.
‘Why does your tattoo say “desi” in Urdu?’ Risha asked him between mouthfuls of chocolate cake.
Arjun blinked.
She narrowed her gaze, pointed to his arm and said slowly, ‘You do know it says that, right?’
‘I know. But how do you know?’
‘I can read Urdu.’
He seemed impressed. ‘How come?’
‘I learnt it from my grandfather; he was an Urdu poet.’
‘Was?’
‘He died three years ago.’
‘I’m sorry.’
She shook her head. ‘It’s okay. He was a hundred years old. Literally.’
‘Wow.’
‘I know! If I ever get a tattoo, it will say “Punjabi” in Punjabi,’ she said excitedly.
‘Oh, because people will ask what it says and you’ll answer “Punjabi”, and then they’ll ask what the word means and you’ll say “Punjabi”?’ he ventured.
‘Exactly, infinite loop.’
‘So let me guess,’ he said, scrunching up his face in mock concentration, ‘you’re… Gujarati?’
Risha laughed and the sound drew Arjun’s attention to her chocolate-glazed mouth.
He suddenly had an overwhelming desire to taste chocolate. But not off her plate.
He looked away and tried to focus on his dessert. He took another reluctant bite before asking, ‘So why haven’t you got the tattoo already?’
‘I have zero tolerance for pain,’ she wrinkled her nose. ‘Why does yours say “desi”, anyway?’
He looked a little embarrassed. ‘My best friend is Pakistani. We were young and foolish and incredibly drunk one night, so we went out and got matching tattoos.’
‘That’s kinda sweet. Just kidding, it’s totally lame.’
He laughed. ‘Yes, it is. But after five drinks, it seemed like a good idea.’
‘After five drinks, pretty much anything seems like a good idea.’
Weird, he’d just been thinking that. ‘I usually just lie about what it says because most people can’t read Urdu.’
‘Why “desi”?’
‘Because we got sick of being asked if we’re Indian or Pakistani, so we just called ourselves “desi”.’
‘Super lame,’ she said, licking the back of her spoon. ‘I hope you guys are still friends at least, unlike Deepika and Ranbir?’
‘Yes, we are. He’s in Pakistani politics, so we don’t get to meet too often, but we’re pretty close.’
‘Oh my God, is your friend Bilawal Bhutto?’
Arjun chuckled. ‘Thankfully, no.’
‘Where did you manage to find a Pakistani best friend, anyway?’ she asked.
‘We went to the same college in New York,’ he explained. ‘How about you? Where did you go to college?’
‘Punjab. I’m from Amritsar.’
‘Do you live in Amritsar?’
She shook her head. ‘Delhi. My parents still live in Amritsar, though. What about you?’
‘Delhi. Well, Gurgaon actually,’ he said, wiping his mouth with a napkin.
‘My condolences.’
He laughed. ‘I work in Gurgaon, so I save time commuting.’
‘Yes, keep telling yourself that if it makes you feel better about living in Gurgaon,’ she teased. ‘Where do you work?’
He paused, measuring his words. ‘I work for a real estate company.’
‘Oh. So was LA a work trip?’
‘No. A college friend’s bachelor party in Vegas.’
‘Bilawal?’
‘His name is Ali. And no, Ali is already married. This was another friend, Karan,’ he said. ‘What took you to LA? Holiday?’
‘I wish! I was there for a shoot—’
Risha’s response was interrupted by Bitchika’s sudden appearance. ‘I just wanted to let you know that your seat is no longer smelling like faeces and you can go back to where you came from,’ she said, emphasizing the last four words.
This woman was unbelievable. Risha really wanted to learn the skill of making
scathing comments while flashing a perfect smile. But at that moment she wanted to kill Bitchika. For making it sound like Risha had pooped herself, for interrupting a perfectly pleasant conversation with a perfectly nice guy, and for making her feel like she didn’t ‘belong’ in business class.
Risha gritted her teeth. ‘I’m comfortable here, thanks. As you know, my TV is broken so I can’t possibly continue sitting in that seat. Also, the kid sitting next to me—’
‘Yes, he was quite traumatized by the experience. Imagine sitting next to a seat that smells like excreta,’ Bitchika said with a cloying smile, still implying that Risha had soiled herself, not Bunty. And she sure knew a lot of words for poop. If Risha didn’t hate her guts, she would’ve forwarded Bitchika’s resume to Kabir. The attrition at Delhi Today was at an all-time high and Kabir was perpetually on a lookout for people with decent vocabularies. Bitchika seemed like the type of person who would know fancy French words, and that would make her employable in Kabir’s eyes.
Risha stole a glance at Arjun. His black eyes were narrowed to angry slits and she wasn’t sure if he was glaring at her or at Bitchika. He probably thought she was a poor nobody with no control over her bowel movements.
‘Your TV is working just fine,’ Bitchika said firmly.
Risha stood up with a resigned sigh. ‘Fine, I’ll move. But stop making it sound like I pooped in my seat, when you know Bunty is the one who did it.’
Still smiling, Bitchika lowered her voice to a hiss. ‘Your little rendezvous is over. Now go back to 32C.’
Wow, she knows how to pronounce ‘rendezvous’, Risha thought with reluctant admiration. And her lips hadn’t even moved as she spoke that disdainful sentence. Evil though she was, Risha could definitely learn a lot from this woman.
Risha stood up and started gathering her things. Her business class dream was too good to be true.
Hour 11
Arjun was in a dilemma.
This girl was smoking hot, surprisingly candid, and funny as hell. And Arjun had really been enjoying their conversation until she mentioned that she’d visited LA for a ‘shoot’.
Was she a model? Because he had a mild aversion to models. He had dated one a while ago and that had not ended well. When Risha stood up in response to Kritika’s obvious childish ploy, he had looked up at her in surprise. Because she didn’t seem like the type to back down from a fight, but also because she was much taller than he had expected.
Her skinny jeans accentuated her long legs and her white top rode up a little as she reached into the overhead bin, giving him a peek of her tiny waist and shapely curves. Arjun liked tall girls because he liked that he could make eye contact with them easily. But tall or short, he did not like models. In fact, the only people he disliked more than models were journalists.
With that body and those looks, Risha had to be a model. Except she wasn’t wearing any make-up, unless you counted the sticky chocolate that tinted her lips.
Think, Khanna.
What other people went to shoots? Brand managers, advertising executives, production managers, directors, photographers, actors, stylists, set designers, make-up artists.
Arjun frowned. He really didn’t want to spend the next nine hours indulging Kritika’s attention-seeking theatrics. On the other hand, if Risha was a model, this was a lucky escape. But if she wasn’t a model...
Arjun made a decision.
‘Risha, sit down. Kritika and I will be back in a minute.’
Risha frowned at his tone, but did as he asked.
Arjun switched his gaze to the flight attendant. ‘Do you mind accompanying me?’
Kritika knew it wasn’t a question and she followed him silently. At the galley, Arjun folded his arms and straightened to his full height. ‘Is it a norm in this airline to downgrade a passenger who has been upgraded?’
‘No, Mr Khanna, but—’
‘I want to buy the seat next to mine,’ Arjun said in a tone he usually reserved for acquiring a property.
Kritika’s jaw dropped. ‘Mr Khanna, that won’t be necessary.’
Arjun gave her an icy glare. ‘I didn’t think so.’
She gulped and gave him a nervous nod.
‘One more thing,’ he said frostily. ‘I want you to stop bothering the woman seated next to me. In fact, I want someone else to service our lounge.’
Kritika’s eyes widened and she nodded emphatically. From the moment Arjun had stood up in his seat, he knew he would get his way. But just because he couldn’t resist putting this nasty woman in her place, he casually added, ‘If there’s a problem, I can speak to the airline’s CEO—he’s a friend.’
With a terrified shake of her head, Kritika rasped, ‘Yes, sir. Of course. I mean, no! There’s no problem, Mr Khanna.’
Arjun returned to his seat without another word.
Risha looked at him expectantly. ‘Should I move?’
‘No.’
‘How come?’ she asked.
‘I asked her nicely if you could stay.’
She gave him a sceptical look. ‘You asked her nicely?’
‘Something like that,’ he said evasively. Then he paused and looked her in the eye. ‘Earlier you said that you were returning from a shoot?’
Moment of truth.
‘Yes, I was shooting a wedding in LA. I’m a photographer.’
And suddenly, it all came back to him.
Dear Bhai,
Here’s the link to the photographer’s website. Her name is Risha Kohli and she’ll be taking candid photos at the wedding. She’s only shot a few weddings but I love her work and she comes highly recommended by Vikram and his wife.
Below that, there was a link to her website, but Arjun hadn’t clicked on it. Chinky had been sending him so many wedding-related updates, that he barely managed to skim through them. Now he wished he had read that particular email.
‘You’re Risha Kohli.’
‘Yup. Wait, how do you know my last name?’
‘You’re shooting Nitisha Khanna’s wedding next week.’
Risha was shocked. ‘How do you know that?’
‘She’s my sister.’
Her face broke into a wide grin. ‘No way!’
‘I’m surprised you didn’t guess we’re related. Khanna is such an uncommon name,’ he joked.
‘Any relation to Rahul Khanna?’
‘He’s my cousin.’
Her eyes widened. ‘Really?’
‘Not really,’ he grinned.
‘Thank God. Because I would have a hard time breathing around him, let alone taking photos,’ she laughed.
‘So you’re not a model?’
She gave him a puzzled look. ‘Uh, no. What gave you that impression?’
Your long legs, your curvy waist, and your gorgeous smile.
‘You said you were returning from a shoot, so I assumed...’
Her eyes danced with amusement. ‘That’s the first time I’ve ever been mistaken for a model!’
Arjun found that hard to believe. ‘Fishing for compliments?’ he asked, wondering if he had inadvertently got himself stuck next to a narcissist.
Risha shook her head. ‘No, seriously, to qualify as a model I would need to lose at least twenty kilos and thirty IQ points.’
Arjun burst out laughing. He had made the right decision.
Hour 12
Risha stole a furtive glance at Arjun. For the last half hour, they had been browsing through Nidhi and Vikram’s wedding photos in an attempt to find a picture of Arjun. His dark eyes were narrowed in concentration and he scratched his stubble absently as he scrolled through hundreds of photos.
Risha couldn’t believe this guy. He was surprisingly normal for someone who was successful, handsome, and had a smile literally worth a million bucks. Her interaction with ‘famous’ people had been limited to socialites during her Page 3 days and most of them were first-rate assholes. But despite his enormous wealth and Ivy League background, Arjun seemed like someone she could easil
y be friends with.
Or more.
The thought had come from nowhere and she drew in a sharp breath.
Arjun looked up. ‘What?’
‘Are you sure you were at the wedding?’ she asked him for the third time.
‘For only thirty minutes, but, yes,’ Arjun assured her, running a hand through his unruly black hair.
Unable to find a photo of Arjun in the ‘shortlist’ folder, Risha had fished out the original dump of two thousand photos. Up till now they had spotted three Bollywood actors, half a dozen politicians and the entire Indian cricket team. But no Arjun.
‘Oh, here’s a good one of Chinky.’
‘Chinky?’ Risha asked.
‘Nitisha. It’s her nickname but she hates it.’
‘Nicknames are meant to be hated,’ Risha said.
‘Do you have a nickname?’ he wondered.
‘No,’ she said, a little too quickly.
‘If I guess will you tell me?’ he asked.
‘No.’
‘Bubbly?’ he guessed.
‘No.’
‘Sonu?’ he ventured, a glint of amusement in his eyes.
‘No.’
‘Guddu?’ he asked, unable to hide his smile.
‘No. And can we get back to the task at hand?’ she asked, taking her laptop back from him. ‘What time did you arrive at the venue?’
‘I don’t know. Around eight o’clock, I guess. But it doesn’t matter because I’m convinced you didn’t take a picture of me,’ he said.
‘That’s impossible,’ she muttered, sorting the photos by timestamp.
‘I doubt you’ll get paid if you don’t take pictures of me at Chinky’s wedding,’ he grinned.
Risha ignored him and kept scrolling.
Arjun watched her in silence and his thoughts went back to the question he had asked her earlier. ‘No offence, but why did the LA couple call a photographer all the way from India?’
She had smiled. ‘It’s a fair question. My cousin and the bride are co-workers. He showed the couple some of my photos and they liked my work. Plus, it was cheaper to fly me from India than to hire a local photographer.’
Arjun had appreciated her honesty. But after looking through Risha’s work, he could understand why the LA couple, or even Chinky, had chosen her. Risha’s photos were very impressive—artistic without being pompous, beautiful without being overbearing, and filled with bright, warm colours. Her photography, Arjun mused, was a bit like her personality.
The Wedding Photographer Page 3