First Comes Like

by Alisha Rai

  In internet entertainment years, Jia was a grandma, but she didn’t like other people pointing that out.

  Bitchiness activated. The elevator dinged, arriving at her floor. “I have. You have that collaboration with frozen pizza, right?”

  She walked out of the elevator while Barbie sputtered. “It was that one time!”

  Forcing someone who underestimated her to eat dirt was quite nice.

  Jia, nice isn’t the word I’d use.

  Jia wrinkled her nose at her mother’s chiding tone in her head. That’s what she got for going more than a few days without talking to her family; they invaded her subconscious.

  Pettiness was one of her prime character flaws. She whipped out her phone and made a note as she walked. Pray on how to not be so bitchy. She hesitated, then deleted bitchy. She didn’t think higher powers were reading her notes app, but to be on the safe side, she replaced it with cranky.

  Once inside the apartment, Jia kicked off her shoes and placed her bag on the granite counter in her kitchen. The place was pristine and cold. Lots of sunshine came through the windows, but she flipped on the recessed lighting anyway. Sometimes she had a little crew, but since she’d been a little light on content lately, she hadn’t called in her assistant or cameraperson.

  She pulled the blinds higher, to let in as much natural light as possible, and also to procrastinate. She had a million things she could do. For one, she needed to start brainstorming ways to get her metrics back on track. Her emails were probably overflowing already today. She had that goody bag she’d brought with her; she could unbox that. Perhaps she could rehearse another at-home hair cutting tutorial with her long-haired friend Man E. Quinn.

  Yes, she had a lot to do. A billion million things that had nothing to do with brooding over the fact that the sun had already gone down and up once since she’d first met Dev and he’d stared at her blankly.

  The heroine stands in an empty, soulless apartment, her thoughts more melodramatic than a fifteen-year-old’s.

  Her phone rang and she was disappointed to see it wasn’t her twin, but an unknown Los Angeles number. She answered it, already planning to yell at the scammer pretending to be from the IRS on the other end of the line. “Hello?”

  “Ms. Ahmed.”

  She flopped onto the couch, putting her feet up on the cushions. She’d fluff everything back up before she left. “No, I don’t want to buy any pills, I don’t believe you’re from the IRS, and I’m not giving you my Social Security number.”

  The man paused. “I don’t want to sell you pills, I’m not from the IRS, and I don’t care to know your Social Security number. Is this Jia Ahmed?”

  His musically accented voice pinged a memory in Jia’s brain and she sat up straight. “It is.”

  “My name is Dev Dixit.”

  Jia ran hot, then cold.

  She was going to move on. Which was why she was going to hang up.

  No, you are not.

  She lowered her feet off the cushions. “Yes,” she bit off. “This is Jia. How can I help you, Mr. Dixit?”

  There was a brief pause, probably because he was trying to reconcile her testy tone with her cool words. “We met briefly last night. I was the one who got stuck on your, ahem . . .”

  “Shawl,” she supplied. Even the anonymous viewers who chided her if her skin was visible wouldn’t find that word scandalous, she didn’t think. “I know who you are. How can I help you.”

  “I was calling because . . . well, I got the sense that I had upset you somehow? And I wanted to ensure you were okay.”

  Her lips parted, and she had no capability for speech for a second. Maybe longer than a second.

  Two new options: someone else had truly been messaging her under his name and he was oblivious, or he was the sickest of sickos. “Mr. Dixit,” she finally managed. “Where and how did you get my number, to call me right now?”

  “Ah, that’s a bit embarrassing.”

  If he was going to say from messaging you for months over the span of a year, then she didn’t think embarrassing was the word she’d use. “Tell me.” The forcefulness of her words surprised her a little. She usually got her way through jokes and sneakiness, not blunt demands.

  “Well, I found your name through the party’s guest list and then had my assistant get your number. I apologize, I am well aware that it’s a breach of privacy. I told myself checking up on you outweighed that, but now that I say it out loud, I see how odd this must be.”

  Oh honey. Odd didn’t begin to cover any part of this situation. She rubbed her fingers over her lips, glad she’d used her long-lasting lipstick today. “So you didn’t get my number from your own phone?”

  He paused. “I beg your pardon?”

  “It wasn’t in your contacts already?”

  “How would it be in my contacts already?”

  “Because you’ve been texting me for quite a while.”

  The pause was longer now. “I beg your pardon,” he repeated.

  Jia didn’t need to repeat herself, but she did. “Someone has been messaging me for the last couple months. Sending me poetry, telling me how beautiful I am, how special I am.” It had been the second part that had truly won her over. She heard she was beautiful a lot. Rarely did anyone tell her she was remarkable in any other way. “It came from your account. You’re saying it wasn’t you?” She clenched her hand into a fist to stop the shaking.

  Despite her nerves, this felt right. Listening to Rhiannon and Katrina was good, but her gut’s first instinct was usually what she needed. She didn’t want to leave this alone. She wanted this confrontation. She deserved it, damn it.

  Confirmation. Closure.

  “I assure you, no. It was not me. Since my brother’s death, I’ve been busy wrapping up his estate and focusing on my niece and our move to America. I have had no time to be texting anyone, let alone someone I’ve never met.”

  She swallowed. She wanted to keep believing that he was lying, that he had been a malicious cruel prankster, and that she hadn’t been catfished. For some reason, the latter was so much worse.

  Yet . . . his bewilderment rang too true, even over the phone, and this was one of the two plausible scenarios she’d considered.

  “Wait a minute,” he murmured. “That’s why you looked so sad.”

  Her cheeks flushed, but she was too tongue-tied to confirm it or deny it.

  “You thought I was rejecting you. I was not.”

  She nodded, though he couldn’t see her. Her throat was too clogged up to speak. So who had it been? “Are you sure it wasn’t you?” She was dismayed at how plaintive she sounded, a far cry from the forceful demands she’d made a few moments ago.

  If it wasn’t him, that left a whole world of suspects who could have taken advantage of her. And if she never knew who it was, then how would she ever trust anyone again?

  Dev’s voice gentled. “It was not. Do you have the messages? Can I see them?”

  Her first instinct was to say no, but this wasn’t some sacred relationship to be preserved now, was it? Jia put her phone on speaker, opened the app, and scrolled back through her DMs. “I do. This is the first one you sent, from what appears to be your official account.” Hello. I’m sorry to bother you, but I merely wanted to tell you that dress is gorgeous. You look like you were dipped in gold.

  She took a screenshot and texted it. “There.”

  His long silence made her squirm. “Hello?”

  He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry. I’m in a bit of shock. I’m trying to think who . . . others handle my social media, you see. I didn’t even have any of these apps on my phone until recently.”

  It was exactly what Rhiannon had suggested then. Jia hugged her knees to her chest. Her outrage was leaving her in slow waves, and grief was setting in. It was harder to maintain anger when she couldn’t visualize a clear target for it. “Oh.” She should have known she wasn’t talking to the real Dev. In the span of a few minutes, he’d already mentioned
his niece. Fake Dev had never talked about her.

  You should have thought that was weird then. You knew his brother and grandfather had passed away. Of course he would talk about his family.

  “The date on this . . . it’s over a year ago.”

  “We chatted for a while then, but it fizzled out. We reconnected a couple months ago.”

  “May I see the more recent texts as well?”

  Jia was a little more hesitant to send those over. They felt vaguely personal, on her part, at least. She had been sick, and tired, and vulnerable.

  When she didn’t respond, he filled the silence. “I only want to see if I can recognize anything in the language that would explain who did this.”

  Didn’t she want to know? “I can send you a few screenshots.” She cherry-picked a couple that felt the least vulnerable and sent them over. Unable to think of him reading the beautiful words Fake Dev had sent her, she stared out the window, the sight of the city calming her. She’d shot footage up on the rooftop here more than once.

  She didn’t know how long he quietly read, but she knew it was a while. That made sense. Dev—or whoever—really had sent her mininovels.

  Dev drew in a deep breath, and she shifted. “So?”

  “If you don’t mind, I need to speak with some people.” His voice was hoarse. “I’m being called right now, I’m sorry, I have to go. I’m on set. Do you think we could have dinner tonight, Jia?”

  Something warm exploded in her belly. To counteract the good feeling, she dug her nails into her palm. No. They could not have dinner. They could settle this formally, without ever having to see each other again.

  Closure. Don’t you want it? “We can have drinks,” she found herself saying. Drinks was an acceptable compromise. Dinner was too intimate for what was essentially a . . . well, she didn’t even know what this was.

  “Very well. You can pick the place. I’m happy to travel anywhere.”

  As far as offers went, that was princely behavior in L.A., actually. He’s not your prince. Of course he wasn’t. She barely knew who he was.

  Another fresh wave of grief went through her. “I’ll text you a spot.”

  “Excellent, you can use this number.” Another voice came from behind him, more urgent, and he said something muffled, then came back to her. “I look forward to seeing you, Jia.”

  A burst of warmth shot through her. She was so startled, she slapped her hand over her lower belly and hung up without saying goodbye.

  It was her name that was the culprit. He’d switched from using a Ms. without warning. She repeated her name in her head, in his voice, as she stood and moved to her camera gear in a daze.

  Yup, there was that heat. It was such a simple, utilitarian name, easy for her viewers to remember. Jia. Two syllables. How did he twist those two syllables into something so damn sexy with that accent?

  Doesn’t matter. Get over it. Tonight’s about solving a mystery, not a romance.

  Chapter Six

  DEV HAD never liked suspense or betrayal arcs, but he liked them less when he was living them.

  He was always a careful driver when he had to sit on the wrong side of the car—it would always be the wrong side, foolish to have a steering wheel on the left—but this time he was extra careful as he drove his rental back to his family’s flat from the studio lot. He allowed others ample time to merge and he triple-checked every traffic signal before he hit the accelerator, didn’t even make a face when someone cut him off.

  When I hear your laugh, it’s like a thousand angels. I can’t wait to hear it in person.

  My life has been nothing but a cycle of despair and joy, but no joy quite like the moment I saw your face.

  I cannot wait to be in your arms. I’m dying to hold your hand and living to see you.

  Dev slammed his hand on the steering wheel. Bloody fucking bastard.

  He’d gone into his phone conversation with Jia vaguely optimistic that he’d misread the signs of her upset last night. A tiny part of his brain, the part that held his softest feelings, had even fantasized of her being happy to hear from him.

  He had not anticipated there being baggage between them from the start. Baggage he hadn’t even been a part of!

  Thank God none of his scenes had been difficult today. While he’d smiled and recited his lines, his brain had been millions of miles away.

  He’d left messages for his agent in India. As far as he knew, only his agency had access to his social media accounts, and until this very minute, he would have said he trusted Chandu and his employees with his life.

  Jia had seemed reluctant to send him the additional texts, or he would have requested their whole chat transcript. Had this person plagiarized every text they sent Jia?

  All those flowery words? He’d said all of them in another life, in another language.

  Dev pulled into the garage and removed his phone from the mount. It was when a nice older lady in the lift gave him a strange look that Dev realized his breathing was fast and rough. He cleared his throat and inhaled deeply, trying to strangle some of his emotions back. Into the box.

  Only they weren’t in the box anymore.

  The anger in her gaze made sense now. She should be angry at him. Hell, he was enraged, and he wasn’t the young woman who had been toyed with. Who could have done this?

  “Kaka?” Luna called out from the kitchen when he opened the door.

  Drat. Normally he would have been filled with warmth at her seeking him out the second he entered, but he’d hoped not to see anyone before he strangled—er, confronted—his agent. He took a deep breath, made sure his face was wiped clean of emotion, and then strode to the kitchen. He found his niece sitting at the kitchen counter, a plate of chocolate chip cookies in front of her, and Adil stirring a pot at the stove. Adil gave him a nod. Luna smiled at him, and his lips curved up automatically, though he didn’t much feel like smiling.

  “Hi, beti. Uncle.” He stopped a foot away and rested his hand on the counter so he wouldn’t be tempted to hug her. He could really use a hug now.

  “How was your first day?” His uncle wiped his hands on the towel tucked into his waist.

  “Relatively easy.”

  “That’s what happens when you’re not in every other scene. Enjoy this break. Once you hit the big-time here, you’re going to be busier than you can imagine.”

  Dev gave a half smile. Adil was a cheerleader to his core. “Right.”

  Luna offered Dev the plate. “Want a cookie? Uncle made them.”

  “I didn’t know you baked, Adil Uncle.”

  His uncle’s smile in profile was sad. “Your aunt liked anything chocolate. I learned. Eat, eat. You’re getting so skinny.”

  He wanted nothing more than to stress stuff eight of them in his mouth, so Dev settled for one. He took a bite and let the sweet chocolate raise the serotonin in his brain. “These are good. Did you have one, Luna?”

  “I haven’t had any yet.”

  He finished his cookie in two bites. “What are you waiting for?” He nudged the plate closer, and she picked up one.

  She nibbled it. “Did you find out anything about the schools around here?”

  The schools, right. “I spoke to one of my coworkers, but his children go to a private school.”

  “It’s okay. I requested a copy of my birth certificate, since I didn’t know if you have that.”

  This time his smile was real. “I think there’s a copy somewhere, but it’s probably in storage.” Rohan hadn’t been great about paperwork, but luckily, Luna’s documentation had been in their mutual agent’s possession. “We can go tour the local school tomorrow.”

  Luna’s eyes brightened and she sat up straighter. “Really?”

  “Yes, really.”

  She made an aborted motion and he wondered if she was going to launch herself at him, but instead, she folded her hands in her lap. “Thank you.”

  “Have you called Aji today? She said she’s been ringing you.”
>
  “Not yet. I wanted to make sure it was okay.”

  “Of course. You don’t have to ask.” He tilted his head at the doorway. “Go call.”

  Adil waited for her to leave before turning around. He waved his spoon. “That girl is far too obedient. She sat here with a whole plate of cookies in front of her, waiting for you to come home to ask if she could have one.”

  “Weren’t you complaining about her being disobedient yesterday?”

  His uncle sniffed. “She apologized to me for that, and even I know such moods are normal for teenagers. It’s not natural, this kind of obedience.”

  “Not natural for any child or for Rohan’s child?”

  “Both. Neither of you were like this at her age.”

  His uncle had only seen them a handful of times as children, but Dev trusted his judgment. “Her therapist said she’s doing well, all things considered. It’s entirely possible my brother’s wild genes skipped a generation.”

  “Hmph.” Adil turned the flame on the stove down. “If you think so.”

  He absentmindedly grabbed another cookie and sat in Luna’s vacated seat. He didn’t really know if he was right or not, but he couldn’t stress over whether he was doing a decent job as a guardian tonight. Not when he had so many other things on his mind. “I will talk to her therapist again.”

  “Good.” Adil tasted the curry he was making. “Hungry yet?”

  “I’m actually going out soon.” The scent of garam masala and chili powder teased Dev’s nose. He took a third cookie. He’d have to spend a few extra minutes working out in the morning.

  “Another party?”

  “No, I’m meeting someone.”

  Adil turned the stove off and fetched two sodas from the fridge and handed him one, popping another for himself. “You look a little pale.”

  Dev rubbed his forehead. “Something’s come up.”

  “What?”

  “You won’t believe it.”

  His uncle leaned on his elbows. “Tell me.”

  Dev hadn’t really intended to tell his family any of this, but the words spilled out of him, like someone had taken that box of stuffed emotions and turned it upside down. Dev quickly recapped what he knew of the situation, withholding some details, like how the texts he’d ostensibly sent to Jia were eerily familiar. Adil’s eyes grew wider as he spoke, until they took up half his face. “Uhh,” he finally said. “Who would go to that much trouble to set you up with a girl?”