The Marriage Game

by Sara Desai

  “I can’t believe you could even talk to him after what he did.”

  Her father smiled. “When you get to be my age, it’s easier to forgive. His motives were good. His methods not so much.”

  “He lied to me, Dad.” Her hands twisted in her lap. “He betrayed me. He destroyed the office. He hurt you, and he hurt me. He had a choice and he made the wrong one.” Her blood rushed hot and furious through her veins. “He’s no better than Jonas.”

  “He asked me to give you this.” He held out the envelope he’d been holding since he arrived. “Sam offered to lease the office to you on the same terms he offered me.”

  Layla skimmed the document. “I don’t want it. He’s trying to buy me off, just like he tried to buy off his clients with the big party. I’m not interested in having him for a landlord. He’s arrogant and stubborn and a control freak. He couldn’t start work until his pencils were lined up in a neat row, and he never left work without clearing off his desk. The only time I’ve seen him with a hair out of place was the night of the party. We didn’t agree on anything. And he supports the A’s. That says it all.”

  “You are proud, like your mother. She once refused to let a famous critic into the restaurant because he had written that her dal lacked sophistication.”

  Layla laughed. “Sounds like Mom.”

  Her father pushed to stand. “Do you know why your mother and I have stayed together for so long?”

  “You were friends first?”

  “No,” he said. “Because we disagreed so often. She liked her dal like a soup, and I like it thick. She wanted to add turmeric to a stew and I wanted to add cumin. She wanted to pack samosas in your lunch and I wanted you to have American food. I never know what the day will hold. Walking into the kitchen every morning is like going into a battlefield. She challenges me. She makes me a better person. I’m a passionate man, and your mother makes my heart race. Maybe that’s why I needed a new one. So I could keep arguing with her for the next twenty years.”

  Layla swallowed past the lump in her throat. “I had hoped there would be someone like that for me on your list. But I didn’t meet anyone I could see myself being as happy with as you are with Mom.”

  “Maybe because you saw yourself being happy with someone else,” he suggested.

  “Even if I did, it’s over now.”

  “Then why don’t you meet the rest of the men I picked for you?” he suggested. “Finish what you started. You told me when you first came home from New York that you wanted to rebuild your life with a fulfilling career and a stable relationship. You have your business. Maybe the man you are looking for is still out there, too. What do you have to lose?”

  • 25 •

  SAM took a seat beside Royce in the boardroom at Alpha Health Care’s head office. No wonder Royce had pulled out all the stops at the party. Everything was designed to impress, from the soft leather furnishings to the expensive artwork, and from the spectacular brass-detailed cherrywood boardroom table to the Chihuly glass sculptures on the credenzas along the wall.

  “Would you like a drink?” The hostess handed him a leather-bound menu that listed thirty flavors of tea and a wide-ranging selection of coffee and other beverages. “Today’s special is chai.”

  “Nothing for me.” He was as unworthy of his traditional food as he was of the relationship he had so utterly destroyed.

  “Double espresso and a brioche,” Royce said. “Light on the butter.” He leaned back in his Eames leather chair and grinned. “I could get used to this, so don’t mess it up. If I hadn’t convinced Peter your girlfriend was crazy, we would have lost the contract after what happened at the party.”

  “I think the fact we got it had less to do with your skills of persuasion and more to do with the fact he was already high on angel dust and champagne and couldn’t even remember his own name.”

  Peter Richards joined them a few moments later with the HR managers from the five hospitals that were about to be downsized. Royce and Sam stood to greet them.

  “Claire, Julie, Paul, Andrew, and . . .”

  “Karen.” Sam shook Karen’s hand. Of course she’d landed on her feet. Karens always did. “We know each other.”

  “Sam.” A smile spread across her face. “I didn’t know you got the AH contract! Congratulations. I’m so glad I bumped into you at the fountain the other night. When you mentioned AH might be looking for extra HR personnel, I sent in my résumé and here I am! I owe you big-time.” She squeezed his hand. Hard. Letting him know exactly how she wanted to pay her debt.

  While snacks were served, Sam distributed the paperwork he’d prepared. After Nasir had called to let Sam know that Layla had turned down his offer, Sam had moved back into the office, but it wasn’t the same. He missed their snarky banter and her teasing smile. He missed the smell of the chai Layla prepared every morning, the boxes of donuts he ate only when she wasn’t looking, and the blind dates that had taught him more about her than the men they’d met. He even missed the purple chaise.

  “We’ve been through all the financials,” Sam said. “We recommend cutting approximately six hundred jobs as part of the reorganization. That’s about five percent of the Bay Area’s thirteen thousand five hundred–person staff, spread over five hospitals and one hundred and eighty clinics. Each hospital will be responsible for identifying individual employees for layoff. We’ll work with the HR manager of each hospital to make sure there are no legal or PR issues with respect to the termination of individual employees, and assist in the meetings.”

  Over one hundred of those jobs were going to be cut from St. Vincent’s—many of them likely people who had supported Sam’s career and helped him during his residency. But Alpha Health Care was running a one-billion-dollar loss, and if they didn’t restructure, all the hospitals and clinics would have to shut down, and not only staff, but also patients, would suffer.

  “The board of directors has decided the layoffs won’t affect any medical professionals,” Peter said. “Surgeons, doctors, nurses, and nurse practitioners will all be exempt, so don’t include them in your assessments. We don’t want to lose our best talent.”

  A sudden coldness hit at Sam’s core. His main goal in securing the contract had been to access Ranjeet’s employment file. He’d sacrificed other opportunities for this chance. He’d lost Layla. And now he wouldn’t be able to give Nisha the justice she deserved? Could life really be that cruel?

  “I wouldn’t recommend any exemptions,” Royce said quickly. “This is a perfect opportunity to dig up skeletons, identify underperformers or employees with disciplinary issues, as well as those who might be a liability risk.”

  Sam threw him a grateful look. Royce hadn’t judged him when they’d finally talked after the party, although he didn’t understand Sam’s need for justice. Life was simple for Royce. It was all about the money. And since there was no financial advantage to seeking the truth, he thought it was a waste of time.

  “If you feel strongly about it, I can take it back to the board. I’ll have an answer for you in a few days.”

  “Do that,” Royce said. “We have a few more restructuring contracts to finish up so the timing works for us. And tell your hospitality people to try Chez Michel for your brioche. This one is exceedingly dry.”

  * * *

  • • •

  “ARE you sure this is the place?”

  Layla studied the worn FLAMING TANDOOR sign above the doorway of the rundown building on Geary Street while Daisy tapped her computer on the other end of the phone.

  “Yes, that’s it,” Daisy said. “I don’t know why you agreed to meet him in the Tenderloin.”

  “Sometimes the best food can be found in the roughest neighborhoods.” She drew in a ragged breath. This was her first bachelor interview without Sam, but if she was going to run her own business and move on with her life, she needed to know she could
handle anything herself, including finishing her father’s list, just to assure herself that her soul mate wasn’t still out there.

  “Okay.” Daisy sighed. “Bachelor #7 is Salman Khan. Age thirty-three. He owns the Flaming Tandoor restaurant. It has four reviews. All bad. Comments include: ‘Is it possible to give negative stars?’ ‘Dear police: Guess where the All India Boys street gang is hiding?’ ‘Five days. Both ends. Broke the toilet.’ And ‘Bitch. I’m gonna find you.’”

  “That doesn’t sound so good.”

  “No.” Daisy smacked her lips. “I’m going to go out on a limb here and say I don’t think this is your Westley.”

  “Well, he’s seen me through the window, so I can’t back out now.” She waved to the man who was approaching the door. “Quick. What else do I need to know about him?”

  “Ummm. Chemistry degree from USC. If that doesn’t ring alarm bells—”

  “I’ve seen Breaking Bad.”

  “Parents deceased. Three brothers. One living in San Rafael, one in Folsom, and one in Crescent City.” She sucked in a sharp breath. “You do realize some of the state’s worst prisons are coincidentally located in those three cities?”

  “He’s almost at the door.”

  “He likes baseball, Bollywood movies, Broadway shows, fast cars, and spending quality time with friends. He does tai chi in his spare time and takes pottery classes. Tell him I need a new coffee mug. Someone broke mine.”

  Layla reached for the door. “I’m going in. If I don’t text in half an hour, send the police.”

  “Welcome. Welcome. You must be Layla. I’m Salman Khan. Not the actor.” Salman shook Layla’s hand and gave her a wide smile, dazzling her with two shiny gold incisors.

  “That’s not the actor I would have confused you with.” Layla followed him through the tiny restaurant to a worn wooden table near the kitchen. Faded Bollywood posters, threadbare carpet, and the heavy scent of stale spices gave the restaurant a tired feel.

  “Who do you think I look like?” He gestured for her to take a seat.

  “Shoaib Khan in Once Upon a Time in Mumbai.” She jerked her head in the direction of the three men in dark suits sitting at a nearby table. “You even have the bodyguards.”

  Salman laughed. “Don’t mind them. They are like brothers to me.”

  Except these ones aren’t incarcerated. She could almost hear Sam mumbling beside her and she felt curiously comforted by his imaginary presence.

  She studied the man across the table as he poured two glasses of water. He was almost as tall as Sam, with a square face, close-set eyes, and slick black hair. His neatly combed mustache extended down to the bottom of his thick lips, and a tiny patch of beard filled the dip in his chin. Beneath a black suit jacket, his white shirt was open at the collar to reveal a thick gold chain.

  “The food won’t be as good as you’re used to,” Salman said with an apologetic smile. “We run a simple restaurant here. Just the basics.”

  “I’m sure it will be lovely.”

  Five days. Both ends. Broke the toilet, Imaginary Sam whispered.

  “Freida!” Salman screamed over his shoulder. “Bring the food. Make sure the roti are hot.”

  Layla startled. “Is she hard of hearing?”

  “Not at all.”

  “Those are interesting tattoos.” She pointed to Salman’s fingers, each of which bore a black letter in intricate calligraphy that spelled ALL INDIA BZ when he put his hands together. “Were you in a . . . gang?”

  Dear police: Guess where the All India Boys street gang is hiding?

  She imagined glaring at Sam. He’d probably be out of his seat by now or have an arm around her shoulders. Certainly, he’d be trying to end the date.

  Salman’s smile faded. “Ah. Folly of youth. But I’ve moved on to bigger and better things.”

  Layla glanced over at the three men who had nothing in front of them but glasses of water. “I thought you had to black out your ink when you left a gang. Or maybe that’s just motorcycle clubs. I was a big Sons of Anarchy fan.”

  “I wouldn’t know,” Salman said tightly. “I only watch movies. Mostly Bollywood remakes of Hollywood films. Have you seen Chachi 420?”

  “The Mrs. Doubtfire remake?” Layla brightened. “I’ve seen it, although I like the original more because it wasn’t as raunchy. No lecherous cooks or hot bath scenes.”

  “Those were the best parts,” Salman protested. “What about the dancing CGI bears in Ta Ra Rum Pum, the Talladega Nights remake?”

  “It ends with a murder!” Layla said in mock horror. “It was crazy.”

  Speaking of murder . . . Imaginary Sam was back, or was it her niggling conscience?

  “Not as crazy as Bichhoo, the remake of Léon.” He smiled, almost blinding her with flashes of gold. “That last scene had a kill count of eighteen, and the dude was flying when that explosion hit. Like Superman.”

  “Except with a lot more gore,” Layla added.

  Speaking of kill counts . . . Imaginary Sam interrupted again. He clearly wanted her to leave but it wasn’t often she got to talk to someone who knew Bollywood films as well as she did.

  “That reminds me . . .” Salman pushed his chair away. “I need to check the kitchen to see what happened to our food. It was supposed to be ready for your arrival.” He walked briskly to the kitchen, followed by two of the men in suits. The third turned his chair so he was facing her direction.

  “Bitch! I’m going to find you!” Salman shouted so loudly the water in Layla’s glass rippled in fear. “Where the fuck is the fucking food?”

  Pots crashed. Glass broke. A woman screamed. A thud. A loud crack. And then silence.

  And we’re out of here. Imaginary Sam didn’t need to tug her arm because Layla was already out of her seat.

  “Gosh. Look at the time. Please give my regrets to Salman. I forgot I have to—”

  “You don’t disrespect Mr. Khan by leaving without saying good-bye.” Moving with a speed that belied his heavy frame, the guard blocked her exit, hands folded over his massive chest. “He likes you. He wants you to stay.”

  Her heart pounded in her chest. “What if he didn’t like me?”

  “He would ask you to leave.”

  Layla swallowed hard. “The way Freida left?”

  “Freida’s fine. She’s big on drama.” He gestured her to the table, and she reluctantly took a seat. It’s not like they were in a private home. The restaurant was open for business, and the front window overlooked the busy street. If she could see out, people could see in.

  Still, she wasn’t interested in an ex–gang member who screamed at his staff. Her only chance of extricating herself from the situation without causing offense was to make herself as unappealing as possible. And the best way to do that was to embrace the passion she’d tried to hide away. She’d dyed her hair to cover up the blue streaks before her first interview, but that part of her was still there—raw, emotional, and real.

  “Blue Fury,” here I come.

  “Apologies.” Salman joined her at the table, his voice slick and smooth like he just hadn’t broken a rib screaming at Frieda before probably murdering her and dumping her body in the back alley. “Just a little trouble in the kitchen.”

  “Where’s my lunch?” Layla thumped the table and raised her voice to a shout. “I’m hungry.” She swept a hand over the tablecloth, knocking the stained cutlery and paper napkins to the floor.

  Salman and his bodyguards stared at her in stunned silence. And then Salman smiled. “I like a woman with passion.” He gestured to the nearest bodyguard. “You. Go to the kitchen. Bring poppadums and samosas. Tell Freida she’ll have to cook with one hand, and make sure she doesn’t get blood in the food.”

  Unable to contain her horror, Layla sucked in a sharp breath, her eyes going wide. “Blood?”

  �
�Joking. I’m just joking.” Salman patted her hand. “The meal will be out shortly. Can I get you something to drink?”

  “I’ll have a pint of whatever you’ve got on tap.” Layla put one leg up on the chair beside her, draping her arm over the back of Imaginary Sam’s seat. “And you.” She pointed at the nearest bodyguard. “Turn on the TV. The Padres are playing the Diamondbacks. I want to see the score. They’re both leading the Giants right now on wins.”

  “Do as the lady asks,” Salman said to the guard. “Put on the game and get her a drink. It seems Layla and I have something else in common.”

  No. No. No. She could just imagine Sam smirking in the chair beside her. Bracing herself for the lightning that would undoubtedly strike when she betrayed her beloved team, she took a deep breath and sank to the ultimate low. “Actually, I’m an A’s fan.” She punched the air. “Go, A’s.”

  Salman stood so quickly his chair toppled over. “I’m sorry. You’ll have to go. I can’t be with an A’s supporter. When I did my time in San Quentin, it was A’s fans who . . .” He tugged on his shirt collar, as if he couldn’t get enough air. “Let’s just say they took rivalry to a whole new level.”

  “So . . .” Layla struggled to hide her delight. “You don’t want me?”

  “No.” He shook his head, turning away as if she were a bad smell. “Please leave.”

  Layla made a quick escape and texted Daisy to let her know she was safe.

  I’m never going to let you live that down. Imaginary Sam smirked.

  “I miss you, Sam,” she whispered. “Blind dates aren’t much fun without you.”

  • 26 •

  “I’M afraid we have to let you go, Diane. On behalf of St. Vincent’s Hospital, thank you for your service.”

  Sam handed the bewildered woman a termination package. St. Vincent’s Hospital was the first Alpha Health Care facility to face redundancies. The company had started the layoffs almost immediately after the press release was issued, and Sam was now in the unfortunate position of having to fire some of his former colleagues and friends.