The Marriage Game

by Sara Desai

  “Calm down, Nasir.” Layla’s mother came over to inspect the dosa. “Don’t excite yourself.”

  “Then you’d better get out of the kitchen, because every time I see you, my heart pounds.” He pulled Layla’s mother into a hug and gave her a kiss. She held herself stiff, even as a smile tugged at her lips.

  “This isn’t appropriate, Nasir.”

  “What’s not appropriate is having to spend weeks in a hospital bed sleeping alone. There was no one to steal the covers. I was always too hot.”

  “Nasir!” She pulled away, but not before Layla heard her muffled laughter. “The staff will see.”

  “Good. Then they will all think Nasir is back to his strong and virile self and we will have to stop slacking off behind Jana’s back.” He looked over at Danny and scowled. “Like this one. I see you always looking at Layla. She has a man, and the family will be meeting him tonight, so turn your attention elsewhere.”

  “You don’t mind that I’m dating someone who wasn’t on your list?” Layla poured another scoop of batter.

  “I want you to be happy,” her father said. “If he makes you happy, then I like him; if he makes you sad, then I will—”

  “You will do nothing,” Layla’s mother said. “You are a sick man. You should be in bed, not in the kitchen making dosas and causing trouble.”

  Smoke rose from the pan and Layla looked down in dismay. “I burned another one!”

  “It’s okay, beta.” Her father took the pan and gave her a hug. “The only way to get something right is to get many things wrong. Patels don’t give up when they burn their dosas. Now, let’s start again . . .”

  * * *

  • • •

  AS far as Sam was concerned, a “small” Patel dinner was no different from an Indian wedding.

  From his office window, he had counted more than thirty people arriving at the restaurant in everything from brightly colored saris to flowered shirts and feather boas, and one middle-aged man in tight leather pants. He smoothed down his shirt and adjusted his cuffs. What would they think of him?

  His stomach rumbled. He hadn’t eaten since breakfast, and the aromas drifting up from the kitchen below reminded him of his mother’s masala box, filled with all the spices she used to make their meals—zesty cumin, sweet cinnamon, fragrant bay leaves, savory mustard seeds, rich peppercorn, pungent garam masala, and spicy chilies—they were all tied up in a sense of home.

  He pulled on his jacket and straightened his tie. Daisy had already gone downstairs. Time for him to meet Layla’s family. He’d never been so nervous in his life.

  “Hey, partner! Let’s get the party started!” Royce burst into the office, slamming open the glass door with a case of champagne in his arms. Five women in barely-there dresses, big hair, and high heels filed in behind him, one of them carrying a long, silver pole. Evan took up the rear with a tall brunette under one arm and a case of beer under the other.

  “What’s going on?”

  “This is how you win the contract.” Evan dropped the box on Daisy’s reception desk. “Royce and I put our heads together this morning and came up with a plan for an evening the Alpha Health Care board won’t forget. These ladies are direct from the Platinum Club, the premier strip club in the city. We even brought Tiffany, their top pole dancer, to keep your clients entertained.”

  “Evan had the PR and marketing contacts to make it all happen on short notice.” Royce shoved Layla’s papers aside and placed the box of champagne on her desk. “So I invited him to join us. I told the board it’s a very private, very exclusive party. Board members, a few top execs, and the CEO only. Lucky for us they’re all men. They’re on their way in a limo right now with a couple of very special angels and the best angel dust money can buy.”

  “You’re bringing strippers and drugs to the office?” Sam stared at Royce aghast. “There are children downstairs. It’s a family restaurant. And what about John and his partners? They’re running a law firm.”

  “Evan sent them an invitation. He said it’s the best way to keep the neighbors from complaining about a party. And don’t worry about the restaurant. They’ve been taken care of. I sent them a little surprise to keep them busy.” Royce pulled out a bottle of champagne and popped the cork. Fizzy liquid exploded across the room, spattering on Layla’s desk and into the fishbowl, sending the goldfish into a panicked frenzy.

  “Jesus Christ, Royce. Stop. People work here.”

  “Our people. Unless you didn’t get rid of the landlord’s daughter . . .”

  One of the women set up two speakers beside the printer, and Rihanna’s “Don’t Stop the Music” blasted through the room, making the walls shake and the fishbowl shiver.

  “Royce, baby. You’re wearing too many clothes.” A woman with bright pink hair and a silver sequin minidress tugged on Royce’s tie, pulling him back to Sam’s desk. With a wink of her extra long lashes, she cleared the surface with a sweep of her hand, scattering pens and pencils onto the floor.

  “Uh-oh. Ginger’s been a naughty girl.” She leaned over Sam’s desk and wiggled her bottom.

  Royce chuckled and pushed up his sleeves. “Peter said you were a live one.”

  “Who ordered the booze?” Two deliverymen stood in the doorway with six boxes loaded onto a trolley.

  “Toss that basket outside and put them over there,” Royce called out. “Someone give these guys a tip. Or a couple of drinks. Or girls . . .”

  “That’s Max’s basket.” Too late, Sam lunged. The delivery driver grabbed Max’s basket and tossed it in the hall, sending Max’s squeaky toys flying.

  “Here, dude.” Evan handed him a glass of champagne. “You need to chill.”

  “I can’t chill,” Sam spat out. “I’m supposed to be meeting Layla’s family for dinner downstairs in five minutes.”

  “You can’t leave,” Royce said, abandoning his visual appreciation of Ginger’s ass. “We’re hosting this party. Everyone on the short list will be pulling out the stops to convince AH to choose them. They’re all scrambling to book a table at some fancy-ass restaurant, but no one is going to do this. Evan is a fucking genius. If this doesn’t get us that contract, I don’t know what will. We’re going to give them one hell of a good time.”

  “This isn’t my idea of a good time.” Meeting Layla’s crazy family, eating masala dosas, and going public with his feelings for the woman who had accepted him despite his failings was his idea of a good time. Holding her in his arms while the warm afternoon sunshine slid lazy fingers through the cracks in his curtains was his idea of a good time. Looking up from his desk to see her chewing on the end of her pencil, deep in thought, while a pile of donuts lay untouched beside her, was his idea of a good time.

  “Well, it’s going to have to be,” Royce said tightly. “Or don’t you want the contract?”

  “Of course I want it. More than anything.”

  “Then loosen the damn tie. Grab a glass. Kiss a couple of girls and put on your dancing shoes. Our prospective clients are coming to visit the building where all the magic is going to happen.”

  “Don’t you mean the office?”

  “Glassware delivery,” a delivery driver called out. “I need a signature.”

  “I mean the building.” Royce signed for the glasses. “It’s ours. The whole damn thing. I bought it, or to be clear, our company bought it. Hard money deal. One week to close. You said to do what it took to secure the contract, so I did.”

  Sam let out an unsteady breath. “You bought the building?”

  “It’s all about location, location, location.” Royce grinned. “One of the reasons we got on the short list was because of our proximity to the hospitals and the AH head office. I had a call last week from Peter Richards, the AH CEO. He was concerned we weren’t big enough to handle a five-hospital restructure, so I told a little lie and assured him we owned t
he building and had the room to expand to accommodate their needs. Then I had to make it a reality. It wasn’t easy to get the funding on short notice, but I managed to do it. The deal closed today.”

  This couldn’t be happening. Not now. “How did you make a major capital purchase without my signature?”

  Royce pulled out a row of glasses and filled them with champagne. “Aside from the fact I had your consent—do whatever it takes—I retained a controlling interest in the partnership when you joined the company. You can’t go wrong investing in real estate. It’s a win-win for us.”

  Bile rose in Sam’s throat. “What about the tenants?”

  Royce popped another cork, spilling champagne over Daisy’s desk. “You told me the restaurant owners were having financial difficulties, which was how I came up with the idea of buying the building in the first place. After I talked to your friend John this morning, I called up my lawyer and he said their tenancy wouldn’t be a problem. During the due diligence, they discovered the Patels were in breach of their lease for failing to pay rent. It’s perfect! We’ll be serving them with a three-day notice tonight. If they don’t pay up, then we start the eviction proceedings. By the time AH makes the final decision, we’ll be in possession of everything except the top floor.”

  Sam’s knees buckled and he grabbed the counter for support. “And what if we don’t get the contract? We’ll have a building we don’t need, no financial reserves, and the Patels will have lost their business.”

  “Honestly, it would be a small mercy for them,” Royce said with a smirk. “I’ve never seen the restaurant more than half-full. Good food. Bad location. Easy fix. They’ll be thanking me in six months. And after this party, the contract will be in the bag and we won’t have to worry about finances again.” Royce handed him a glass. “I don’t understand why you’re not happy. This is what you wanted. Now turn that frown upside down. Our guests are here and they’re expecting us to show them the time of their lives.”

  Sam looked up just as Peter Richards and six middle-aged men in dark suits walked in the door, accompanied by three women wearing tiny shorts and cropped T-shirts bearing the Platinum logo.

  “Oh, honey. Don’t look so sad. You’ll feel better when you loosen up. Let me help you off with that tie.” A woman with heavy makeup and waist-length brown hair unknotted Sam’s tie and slid it off his neck, dropping it in the wastebasket beside Daisy’s desk. “There, now. Doesn’t that feel better?”

  “I don’t feel anything at all.” With a last glance out the window, Sam sent a quick text to Layla, letting her know he had a work emergency, and went to greet his clients.

  He was doing this for Nisha. For justice. For the unknown woman who didn’t know she was about to marry a monster.

  So why did it feel so wrong?

  • 21 •

  LAYLA flipped her dosa onto the plate. “I did it! This one is perfect. That makes two!”

  “Well done.” Her father leaned over and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I knew you could do it.”

  Layla plated the dosa, adding pots of chutney and sambar to the tray just seconds before her phone buzzed in her pocket. She dropped her head, closing her eyes after she read Sam’s message.

  “What’s wrong, beta?”

  “Sam says he has a work emergency and he’s not sure when he can make it down. He said to go ahead without him.”

  Her father pushed himself up. “Then we will go up and give him the dosas while they’re still warm to have as a snack. A hardworking man is a good man. I’m sure he is as disappointed he can’t come as you are.”

  “I’ll go, Dad.” She picked up the plate. “I don’t want you to get tired.”

  “I’m not tired. The doctor said not to lift heavy things. He didn’t say to sit around all day like a lump of dough. I want to see what you’ve done with the office and meet Sam before the family gets to him.”

  Layla closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “I decided last night that I’m going to move out of the office. Sam has a business partner, and you did offer it to him first.” She hesitated, reluctant to hurt her father’s pride. “Also, when I was going through the bills on your desk, I realized you need the rent money. I can’t afford that office, and if I really want to run my own business, I need to find my own space at a rent I can afford.”

  Her father’s brow creased in a frown. “You don’t need to worry about your mom and me. We’ve been through difficult times before. You’re our daughter. If you want that office—”

  “Dad, you are operating at a loss.” Her voice rose in pitch. “Dev’s friends have been more than accommodating, but you owe them almost a year’s worth of rent. What are you going to do if they can’t carry that debt?”

  “This is not your business.” Her father’s angry shout drew her mother over to the stove. He was a proud man and he took his responsibility as head of the household very seriously. It meant he didn’t ask for help; he gave it. When there was a problem, he fixed it. And when something went wrong, he kept it to himself and suffered in silence.

  “Nasir.” Layla’s mother placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Calm down. The doctor said no stress.”

  “I am not stressed,” he said furiously. “Why did you let Layla go through my office? Our financial situation is not her concern. She has her own troubles, her own life to sort out. She doesn’t need to spend her time worrying about us.”

  “She’s a grown woman. She was just trying to help. But maybe it’s time she knew what’s going on.”

  “Go.” Her father waved Layla away. “Take the dosas to Sam while they’re still hot. Your mother and I have things to discuss.”

  Layla’s mother lifted an eyebrow. “Is he not coming for dinner?”

  “He’s got a work emergency,” Layla explained. “He’ll be down as soon as it’s done.”

  “Hmmm.” Her mother’s lips tightened and she turned back to the stove.

  “Don’t be like that, Mom. He’s running a business with only him and his partner. And how many Indian people show up to something on time? He’ll be fashionably late.”

  “I run my own business with only your father and not once have we ever been late for an engagement—fashionably or not fashionably.” Her harsh, clipped tone conveyed the extent of her disapproval, and Layla quickly headed for the door.

  “I’ll see if I can hurry him up.”

  “Hey, babe. Let me get that for you.” Danny ran ahead when she tried to balance the tray with one hand to open the back door. “You’re killing it in that dress, by the way.” He gestured to the emerald green sheath dress she’d worn for dinner. “You’re looking sweeter than the gulab jamun I just made.”

  She gave an exasperated sigh. “Are you seriously running game on me in front of my parents?”

  “I didn’t want the opportunity to go to waste.” He grinned. “I thought maybe you’d feel like you owed me.”

  “For opening the door?”

  “People have slept with me for less.”

  Layla made her way down the alley to the office entrance and up the stairs to the second-floor door. Loud music filled the corridor, and she recognized the heavy beats of Taio Cruz’s “Break Your Heart.”

  “Were you invited to the party, too?” John stepped out of the elevator with a bottle of wine in his hand.

  “I didn’t know there was a party.” Her heart lurched when she saw Max’s basket in the middle of the hallway, his blankets and squeeze toys strewn across the carpet.

  “Sam?” She pushed open the frosted-glass door to the office and froze at the scene in front of her.

  Bottles and cans littered Daisy’s desk, along with a half-eaten tray of deli meat, a dish of what looked like caviar, and a tiered platter of hors d’oeuvres. A woman in a red micro dress straddled a man in a blue suit on her purple chaise, and a woman in a sparkly bikini was twirling around
a pole that had been set up between the two desks. The office was full to bursting, but except for two lawyers from John’s firm, she didn’t recognize anyone.

  “What’s going on?” She stared at the chaos, aghast.

  “Evan said it was a party. I didn’t expect”—John’s gaze flicked from the woman dancing on Layla’s desk to the man stuffing money in her G-string—“this.”

  “Where’s Sam?” She thought she’d whispered, but the woman on her chaise looked over and smiled.

  “He’s in the boardroom with Tiffany.” She winked. “I don’t think they want to be disturbed.”

  “Oh my God.” Her hands trembled and the sambar sloshed onto the tray.

  “Who ordered Indian?” A man in a tight blue-and-pink-striped shirt with a polka-dot tie offered Layla a $20 bill. “Keep the change. I don’t have anything smaller.”

  “She works here, Royce.” John knocked his hand away.

  “Ah, the girl with the bad designs!” Royce reached for the dosas and Layla took a step back. “You need to focus on what you do well, and it’s not branding. Better luck next time.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Royce looked genuinely puzzled. “I’m wishing you luck in your new venture, wherever it may be. Although I’d recommend you don’t set up shop above your parents’ restaurant again if they decide to continue their business elsewhere. It projects the wrong image.”

  Had she fallen down a rabbit hole? Stepped into a different dimension? Maybe an alternate universe? Had Danny put something in her chai? “My parents aren’t leaving.”

  “Sure they are.” Denied the dosas, Royce carefully spooned caviar onto a small cracker. “They’re being served with the three-day notice this evening. If they can’t pay the outstanding rent in three days, we’ll start eviction proceedings.”

  All her breath left her in a rush and she staggered back. If not for John’s strong hand on her shoulder, she might have fallen.