The Marriage Game

by Sara Desai

  “We have a coffeemaker upstairs, and I think there are some leftover donuts. We’ll be fine.”

  “Don’t you have a receptionist to handle these things?” Royce followed Sam up the stairwell to the office.

  “She doesn’t start work this early.” For the briefest of seconds, he considered calling Daisy and asking her to come in to serve breakfast to him and Royce for the sheer amusement of listening to her swear into the phone. And if she did come to the office, he would get a front-row seat for the fireworks when she went head-to-head with Royce. He couldn’t imagine two people who would irritate each other more.

  “Fire her. We don’t need the deadweight.”

  “She’s strangely competent at her job so I’ll keep her for the time being.” He headed to the kitchen to make coffee while Royce checked out the office. By the time he returned with the beverages and a plate of stale donuts, Royce was sitting at Layla’s desk.

  “Great desk.” Royce ran a hand over the pipework frame. “Excellent choice. This one is mine, I assume.”

  Sam snorted a laugh. “I’m more than happy for you to have it.”

  “Who’s sitting here now? Your secretary?” He shuffled through Layla’s papers, seemingly unconcerned about notions of privacy or confidentiality.

  “The landlord’s daughter. She needed a place to work for a few weeks, and I said she could stay.” He sat at his desk and sipped the coffee, almost gagging at the taste. For all Daisy’s quirks and eccentricities, she knew how to brew good java.

  “Looks like she’s doing some branding.” Royce held up a colorful logo design for a company called Excellent Recruitment Solutions. “Recruitment agency?”

  “Yes.” Sam studied the drawings. They weren’t as professional as the logos Evan designed, but they weren’t all bad.

  Royce leaned back so far, Layla’s chair creaked in protest. “Make sure you get a kickback if she wants to use you to source clients.”

  Sam winced. “She didn’t ask, and even if she did, it would be inappropriate to hand out her card to people I just fired and then have them walk into the office the next day and see me here.”

  “I don’t worry about that kind of moral or ethical stuff.” Royce gave a dismissive wave. “But that’s why we work well together.” He leaned across the desk and stared at the fishbowl. “What’s with the fish?”

  “They’re supposed to be lucky.”

  “She’s going to need more than luck if this is the best she can do.” He plucked a black Sharpie off the desk and absently scrawled on one of Layla’s designs. “Amateurish. I hope she didn’t pay someone to come up with this.”

  “Royce, put the pen down.”

  Royce pulled another design from the pile and laughed as he wrote on it. “Looks like a roll of toilet paper. No sense of color or style.”

  “Royce . . .” Sam pushed away from his desk.

  “Boring.” Royce wrote on another page and flipped to the next. “Unprofessional. Is this a business or a kindergarten?” Flip. “Awkward. This star looks crippled, like it’s missing some limbs.” Flip. “And what animal is this? Its eyes are huge. It looks like it’s on drugs.”

  “Those are her personal papers.” Sam shot out of his seat, covering the distance between them in a few quick strides. But by the time he had reached Layla’s desk and wrested the pen from Royce’s hand, his business partner had managed to scrawl cutting remarks on most of the designs.

  “These are appalling.” Royce sneered. “Even the name. Excellent Recruitment Solutions. Dull as ditchwater. It’s got no ring to it. No alliteration. Nothing to make it stand out from the dozens of other recruitment firms in the city.”

  “She’s the landlord’s daughter,” Sam snapped. “Do you want us to get kicked out right before Alpha Health Care is supposed to let us know about the pitch?”

  Royce put his feet on the desk and bit into a stale donut. His leather shoes were handmade by a small family business in Naples and shipped to him four times a year by courier. By contrast, Sam bought his Italian leather shoes off the shelf at Nordstrom. Shoes were shoes. He didn’t need them hand embossed. They just needed to function.

  “We have a lease—or sublease, to be precise,” Royce said. “I’m pretty sure giving free branding advice isn’t a stated cause for termination. Lighten up, partner.”

  Sam replaced the pen and gathered all Layla’s branding designs together. “Put your feet down. While she’s in the office, we need to show her the same courtesy and respect we would give any other business colleague.”

  “Seriously? Are you fucking her? She’s a freeloader. We’re the ones paying the rent.”

  “Your comments were a little harsh.”

  “They were a small mercy. I should leave her a bill.”

  Sam bundled the papers together and dropped them in the recycling bin. Better for her to think they had been mistakenly tidied away by the cleaning staff than to read Royce’s cutting remarks.

  “I like it here.” Royce walked over to the window. “It’s bright and spacious. I can walk from my condo, and my favorite deli is right around the corner. The restaurant on the ground floor is the only downside. It doesn’t fit in.”

  “They have a Michelin star.” Sam studied the road, looking for any sign of Layla’s Jeep. “They’ve been written up in food blogs and magazines all over the world.”

  “That’s great if they’re located somewhere quaint and quirky where foodies hang out. But this is an office building on a street of office buildings. Coffee shops and delis will do well here, but not the kind of cuisine that takes hours to eat. You said they were struggling financially. Location is probably a big part of the reason. I’ll let them know on my way out.”

  Royce had no clue. Sometimes Sam wondered how he had become as successful as he was.

  “They’ll have made a significant investment renovating the bottom floor. They aren’t going to move because a stranger walks in and tells them they’ve got a bad location.”

  “We may have to convince them if we get the contract and need more space.”

  Sam frowned. “Between the two of us and the remote staff, we can handle one hospital just fine.”

  Royce took another donut from the kitchen and turned, studying the office. “What about five hospitals?”

  “What are you saying?”

  “I heard a rumor that Alpha Health Care has decided to do a mass restructure of their health care holdings starting with the Bay Area. If we get the contract, it won’t just be for St. Vincent’s—it will be for all five hospitals, with the possibility of handling all Alpha Health Care’s work statewide, maybe even nationally. We would need to hire more staff. One floor won’t be enough, and a half-empty ethnic restaurant doesn’t project the kind of corporate image that will convince Alpha Health Care that we can compete on a national level.”

  “You’re getting way ahead of yourself,” Sam said. “If we need that much space, we can move.”

  “Or we stay in the building that has the unique advantage of being only one block from Alpha’s HQ and equidistant from three Alpha Health Care hospitals.” Royce finished the donut in two bites. “I’m golfing with their CEO at Royal St. George’s after I hit London tomorrow. I’ll feel him out about the rumors. If they are true, our location will become a critical factor in securing the contract.”

  “All I care about is St. Vincent’s. Do what it takes to make it happen.”

  “I always do.” Royce sniffed. Turned. Sniffed again.

  “Something wrong?”

  “Do you have an animal in here?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Smells like dog piss. Or maybe it’s the fish. I’ll dump them on my way out.”

  “Maybe it’s your jacket.” Sam quickly moved to intercept when Royce headed for Layla’s desk. “I think you might have spilled your cologne. You should
probably get it cleaned before your flight.”

  “Christ.” Royce pulled off his jacket. “I’ll have to buy a new jacket. That cute Canadian flight attendant is working the direct to London and we’re planning to notch up the ‘mile high’ scorecard on the way.”

  Sam walked him out the door. “When will you be coming through again?”

  “Not for another month, unless we get the Alpha Health Care contract. If that happens, I’ll be back to work out the details.” He looked back over his shoulder as he walked down the hallway. “And you’ll need to get rid of the girl. I’m not sharing my desk.”

  • 15 •

  “YOU’RE late. Bachelor #6 will be arriving in ten minutes.” Daisy handed Layla a marriage résumé as she rushed in the door.

  Still flustered from waking up alone with nothing more than a text from Sam about an early-morning meeting and a bowl of cold oatmeal in the kitchen, Layla stared at the résumé in confusion. “What is—?”

  “His name is Baboo Kapoor,” Daisy said quickly. “Age thirty-two. His parents responded to the ad. That should ring the warning bells.”

  “I texted you this morning and asked you to cancel the interview.”

  “Max stole my phone last night and I can’t find it.” Daisy gave her a rueful smile. “I think he buried it. I knew I shouldn’t have bought that new phone case covered in tiny bones.”

  “Does Sam know the interview is still on?”

  “I haven’t seen him.”

  Warning bells tinkled at the back of Layla’s mind. “He left me a note this morning saying he was coming in to the office for a meeting.”

  Daisy sucked in a sharp breath. “What do you mean He left you a note this morning?”

  Layla’s face heated. She brushed past Daisy and made her way to her desk. “Nothing.”

  “I know that look. That’s not nothing. That’s I slept with him and I regret it and I’m ashamed to tell my cousin.” Daisy followed her to her desk. “Were you drunk? Stoned? High? Did he force you? I’m going to call Bobby Prakash and the Singh twins. By the time they’re done with him—”

  “He didn’t force me,” she said. “It was totally consensual. Actually, I started it.”

  Daisy gasped. “What the hell were you thinking?”

  “I don’t know.” She shrugged. “We met Harman. He was the most beautiful man I’d ever seen. He wanted a companion, but he was happy for us to lead our separate lives. It was perfect. He was perfect—except that I knew I’d never feel good about myself when I was with him. That’s not his fault, but I realized I never feel that way when I’m with Sam. He’s handsome and successful, and he can be funny and kind, and I never feel like anything other than an equal when I’m with him. Anyway, I agreed to go out on a date with Harman because, aside from my issues, he’s a good candidate. Sam wasn’t happy about it. We had a fight that wasn’t really a fight. I slapped him. Then I kissed him. Then we wound up at his place having the best—”

  Daisy covered her ears. “Don’t tell me. I don’t want to hear the details or I might throw up all over myself, and I stole this skirt from Mehar Auntie’s closet.” She drew in a ragged breath. “This is Sam we’re talking about. Public enemy number one. He’s trying to steal the office. We hate him. Max hates him.” She lowered her hands. “Don’t you, Max?”

  Max barked from under the desk and then jumped out, wagging his tail.

  Layla sighed. “He asked you not to bring Max to work.”

  “This is your office, too. You like Max. I like Max. The fish like Max. Max likes Max. That makes five in favor of Max and one against. So Max stays.”

  “I think he’s right.” Layla walked over to her desk. “We are running a business here. I think we need to make things more professional. That means no dogs, no fish, proper office wear, and a proper business image. I’ve been struggling to come up with an idea for a brand, but Harman actually made it seem simple. Everything he is and everything he wants to achieve can be summed up in the word brown.”

  “Brown?” Daisy stared at her aghast. “That’s going to be your brand?”

  “No. But I’m going to try and come up with something equally simple. I’ve been toying around with a few ideas. I’ll show you what I’ve done so far.”

  “He got to you,” Daisy grumbled. “He’s tainted you with his uptight Sam-ness. Wake up. Smell the chai. You’re just on a high because he scratched your itch. You know it didn’t mean anything to him. Was he there to give you a cuddle in the morning?”

  “No.”

  “Did he make a delicious breakfast for you in bed? Did he pack you a lunch like Harrison Ford in Working Girl? Do you see him here having a meeting?”

  Layla swallowed hard. “No, but I want to give him the benefit of the doubt.”

  “Why?” Daisy demanded. “Are you going to do him again? I thought this was exactly the kind of thing you were trying to avoid by finding yourself a husband—meaningless hookups with emotionally unavailable men that will ultimately end in disaster.”

  “I know. It’s just . . .” She bent down to study the fishbowl. “What’s wrong with the fish? They’re not as energetic as usual.”

  “Maybe they’re full. I gave them a few extra food flakes this morning. The big fish ate like a champ, but the little fish was sulking at the bottom of the bowl. You should really give them proper names.”

  “I can’t commit to names just yet. What if they die? I thought I’d wait a few months and make sure they’re strong enough to survive before I decide who they are.” Still looking for her designs, Layla walked over to the printer, where she’d lined up the recycle bins for tomorrow’s collection. Her logo designs were on the top, but each one had been defaced with harsh words scrawled in black Sharpie.

  Stunned, she covered her mouth and gasped.

  “Something wrong?”

  “I guess Sam didn’t like my designs.” She held up the papers for Daisy to see. “I didn’t even ask for his comments, but he scribbled on them anyway and then he tossed them in the recycle bin like they were trash.”

  Daisy’s nostrils flared, and she cracked her knuckles. “You want me to kick his ass when he gets in?”

  “No. I’ll deal with him.” She swallowed hard. “I didn’t think he was that cold or callous.”

  “Seriously?” Daisy’s hands found her hips. “He wouldn’t get out of your office even after he found out your dad was in the hospital. He’s trying to take what’s yours. You woke up alone in his bed. Did you really think he was a nice guy?”

  “Yeah,” she said softly. “I did.”

  Daisy held up Baboo’s résumé. “Now, this is a nice guy. Tall, handsome, nonsmoker, caring, family-oriented, loves pets, professional psychologist, open-minded with strong moral values . . .” She trailed off. “If I wasn’t currently channeling my inner Goth, I’d fight you for him, but I think my sass and kick-ass style might scare him away.”

  Layla had a feeling she was right. Daisy was wearing a wool hat, a tight black T-shirt, studded black leather belt, and a black chiffon skirt over leggings and thick black boots. With a studded dog collar around her neck and matching bracelets on her wrists, dark red lipstick and smoky black eyes, she was definitely not what Baboo’s ultraconservative parents were looking for.

  She took the CV and skimmed over Baboo’s details. “My parents would definitely approve. Dev would have liked him, too.”

  “Are you kidding? Dev wouldn’t have let you settle for anyone other than the ruler of a small country or a multibillionaire. No one was good enough for his little sister.”

  “He was a tad overprotective, but in a good way.” A smile tugged at Layla’s lips. She couldn’t believe they were actually having a conversation about Dev. It was something she’d avoided doing for the last five years. Although she felt the familiar pang of sadness, for the first time she didn’t feel like she was going
to burst into tears.

  “Dev wouldn’t have liked Sam,” Daisy said.

  “Why not?”

  “Sam took advantage of you. Single woman. On the rebound. Emotionally fragile. Looking for love. He pretends to be helping you. Lures you into bed with his gorgeous face and rock-hard bod. You do the nasty. Fall asleep in his arms. Then boom. You wake up cold and alone. I’m surprised he didn’t steal your purse.”

  “There were two of us in that bed,” Layla retorted. “I chose to be there for sex and nothing more. I’m not looking for love.” She tucked the defaced logos under the résumé. For a short while she’d actually thought things were looking up, but if her ideas for a name and a brand were so awful, what chance did she have of making it work with either the business . . . or the man?

  * * *

  • • •

  “CALL me Bob.”

  Layla smiled at the quiet, mild-mannered man who looked nothing like a Bob and very much like Vij Uncle, an economics professor at Berkeley. He was an inch or two taller than her, slim, and elegantly dressed in a crisp striped shirt, open at the collar to reveal a gold medallion around his neck. His dark hair was short and neatly cut. His bland oval face had no blemishes, and there was only the hint of a wrinkle in his perfectly proportioned forehead. Relaxed and at ease, he sat back, legs crossed, hands resting on the arms of the chair, head tipped slightly to the side as if he were waiting for her to begin. Everything about him screamed share your deepest secrets and she could just see him nodding in sympathy as his patients unburdened their souls.

  “What’s wrong with Baboo?” Sam had been less than pleased to discover that the meeting with Bachelor #6 was going ahead, and his conversation, since arriving at the office, had been peppered with sarcastic remarks.

  “People find it hard to say.” Bob smiled back at Layla, flashing her a set of perfectly white and even teeth.