The Marriage Game

by Sara Desai

  “It’s hard to accept he’ll never pay for what he did.”

  “I believe in karma. One day he will pay.” Sam’s father squeezed his shoulder. “You’ve let Ranjeet define your life for too long—you left medicine because of him, you took a job you don’t enjoy because of him, and now you tell me you’ve lost everything because of him. You have a chance to make a change. Let go of the past and decide what you really want out of your life. Be the man I raised you to be.”

  “What kind of man is that?”

  “A good one.”

  * * *

  • • •

  “OKAY. Hit me.” Holding her phone to her ear, Layla ran down the main hallway at St. Vincent’s Hospital, looking for the yoga studio as Daisy read out the details of the last bachelor on the list. Sweat trickled down her back under her blouse, and her face glistened despite a quick stop in the restroom to pat it down. Although she’d been to the hospital once or twice over the years to visit friends and family, she wasn’t familiar with the new wing and she’d lost time trying to navigate the identical white corridors.

  “Sunny Kapoor. He’s the yoga program manager at St. Vincent’s. He designs and manages yoga and stress-management classes for employees and patients. Previous jobs include flight attendant and marketing consultant. His dad passed away when he was ten. Mom works in a bank. Vegan. Loves the outdoors and spends a few months each year in India learning new yoga skills. Try to let him down gently if he’s not the one. You don’t want any bad karma.”

  Layla laughed. “I’ll do my best, but I might not be able to control myself if he wants me to squeeze my ass into a pair of yoga pants and bust out a downward dog.”

  “That could be his way of checking out the merchandise.” Daisy snickered. “Just don’t do a happy baby pose or he might get the wrong idea.”

  Layla turned a corner and pulled up short when she saw Sam standing in the hallway, so solid and handsome it took her breath away. Too bad about the woman with the short blond bob wrapped around him.

  “Layla?” A man in loose athletic pants and a tight black tank top walked past Sam toward her. He was totally ripped, all lean sinewy strength, his abs rippling beneath his tight top. With a chiseled jaw, arresting features, and warm, expressive brown eyes, he could have put any Bollywood heartthrob to shame.

  Sam’s head jerked up and their eyes locked, the world going unnaturally still. She was acutely aware of the harsh rasp of her breath, the cool breeze from the open door, his heated gaze on her body. An electric tingle raced through her, only to fizzle away when the blond woman leaned up and kissed his cheek.

  “Hi, Sunny!” Layla wrenched her gaze away from Sam and tried to feign a familiarity that would hide the fact she was meeting Sunny for the first time. Sam had clearly moved on and she desperately wanted him to think she had, too.

  “Give me a hug,” she whispered when Sunny got near.

  “No problem.” Sunny wrapped his arms around her and gave her a squeeze while she glared at Sam over Sunny’s shoulder.

  “I’m looking forward to next week,” the woman said, seemingly oblivious to the electric current arcing across the hallway. “It’s going to be so much fun.”

  “You enjoy these things a lot more than I do, Karen.”

  Karen. Layla’s upper lip curled. She remembered her now. This was the woman who had interrupted their almost-kiss at the fountain. Had he been with her all this time? No wonder he hadn’t called after the party. Layla was just another hookup to him after all.

  “I’ve got a little surprise for you.” A smile spread across Karen’s face, revealing unnaturally pointed incisors. “I’ll give it to you tonight.”

  Layla’s lips pressed tight together when Karen wrapped her octopus tentacles around Sam’s arm. Did he realize she was at least ten years older than him? Or was he blinded by her bleached and streaked blond hair?

  “Do you need more hugging?” Sunny whispered.

  Her entire body strained to move toward Sam. If not for Sunny’s arms around her, she would already be across the hallway, despite his new appendage.

  “Yes, and a kiss.”

  “Lips or cheek?” an accommodating Sunny asked.

  “We’d better get back.” Karen clasped Sam’s hand and pulled him gently in the opposite direction.

  Only Sam didn’t move. His gaze fixed on Layla. His body utterly rigid as if he were frozen in place.

  “Cheek,” Layla whispered.

  Sunny dutifully pressed his cool, dry lips to her sweaty skin. “Can I let go?”

  “Yes.”

  “You ready for lunch?” Sunny asked. “There’s a great vegan café just around the corner. I promise you won’t be able to tell their mac ’n’ cheese from the real thing, and their gluten-free donuts are divine.”

  “Gluten-free and donuts aren’t really words that should be spoken in the same sentence.” She put an arm around his waist and looked back over her shoulder as they walked away. Sam’s jaw was clenched, his lips pressed in a tight line, the familiar expression making her ache inside.

  “You’re so affectionate.” Sunny pressed another kiss to her cheek. “The other women I met on desilovematch.com have usually had family with them, or expected me to keep a few feet away.”

  “If you want, you can squeeze my ass,” Layla offered.

  “I’m not sure that would really be appropr—”

  “Squeeze it.”

  “Okay.” He dropped his hand down and squeezed her rear cheek.

  Layla held her breath, waiting for Sam’s response. Was it really over or did he still care?

  “Layla!” Sam’s angry shout echoed down the hallway, sending a thrill of excitement up her spine.

  “I’ll meet you outside in a just a minute.” She gently detached herself from Sunny. “I think I know that guy. I just want to say hello.”

  They met halfway. This close, she could smell the familiar scent of his body wash, see every line and shadow in his handsome face. Her blood heated and her glisten became a glow.

  “You bellowed?” She clenched her teeth as she tried to contain the emotion welling up inside her.

  “Who is he?” His smooth, deep voice made Layla melt inside.

  “Hi, Layla.” She mocked his deep voice. “Nice to see you again after all this time. How are you? How’s the business? How are your parents doing? What are Daisy and Max up to?”

  He shut his eyes for a beat. “Are you with him?”

  She looked over at Karen with her perfectly smooth hair, trim figure, glisten-free skin, and the arms that had been wrapped around her Sam.

  My Sam. Layla’s chest tightened. For a brief time he had been hers. She wanted to tell him how much she’d missed him. How it wasn’t the same working without him or going on blind dates alone. She wanted to tell him how many times she’d seen something that would have made him laugh and felt an ache in her heart that he wasn’t there to share it. She wanted to tell him she loved him, but when she heard Karen’s heels clicking on the tile floor toward them, all that came out was:

  “Yes.”

  It wasn’t a lie. She was with him today.

  “Are you . . .” His voice caught, broke. “. . . marrying him?”

  “Why do you care?”

  “We didn’t finish the game.”

  Her mouth opened and closed again. “You own the building, Sam. The game doesn’t matter. The office is yours.”

  His corded throat tightened when he swallowed. “It was never about the office.”

  “What was it about, then? Was it just about the win?”

  “Sam.” Karen touched him lightly on the arm. “We need to go.”

  Layla had to fight the urge to slap her hand away. Could her nails be any longer? She’d seen tigers at the San Diego Zoo with shorter claws.

  Still, Sam didn’t move. �
�It was about—”

  “Sam, the CEO just arrived,” Karen said loudly. “We can’t keep her waiting. This is the only time she has free before you leave for New York.”

  New York? Layla didn’t want to ask, but she did. “Are you . . . moving away?”

  “I’ve decided to go back into medicine.” His face lit with hopeful anticipation. “I’m trying to get back into the residency program here, and if that doesn’t work out, I’ll go with whoever wants me. New York is a possibility because I have some contacts there. I’ve been away for so long, I’m not sure I’ll have many options.”

  Layla’s mouth went dry. “That’s great. I mean, going back to medicine is great. But . . . moving away? What about Nisha and your parents?”

  “They’re doing fine. We’re all moving on. I couldn’t help Nisha the way I had wanted, but hopefully, as a surgeon, I’ll be able to help people like your dad and advocate for changes to a system that failed to hold Ranjeet accountable for his actions.”

  How irritating. Why couldn’t he be his usual arrogant, obnoxious self? Why, when he had found someone else, did he have to be so nice?

  “What about your downsizing business?”

  “Royce and I are looking for someone to take my place,” he said. “I have to brush up on my skills before I apply for my residency, so we have some time.”

  “Layla?” Sunny opened the door. “Are you coming? I only get forty-five minutes for lunch.”

  “Can we talk?” Sam asked. “Later?”

  Her gaze flicked to Karen, and she shook her head. It had been one thing to tell herself she could survive loving and losing again. It was something else to have Sam standing right in front of her and know he could never be hers.

  “No.” She swallowed past the lump in her throat. “We can’t.”

  If her refusal affected him in any way, he gave no sign. Instead, he just nodded. “We’re remodeling the office. You left some papers behind. They look important, so you might want to collect them before the contractor starts work tomorrow. I’ll be in New York, but Royce will be around if you have any problems.” His cold, impersonal tone hurt more than the speed with which he’d moved on.

  “I’ll do that.” Her hand fisted by her side, nails digging into her palm as she struggled to maintain her composure.

  Sam hesitated, and for the briefest of seconds she thought she caught a glimpse of pain in his eyes. Or was it regret? “If you change your mind about talking . . .”

  This had to end. The torture was unbearable. “I won’t.”

  And with one last, lingering look at the man she loved, she turned and walked away.

  * * *

  • • •

  LAYLA pushed open the door to the office above her parents’ restaurant. With the movers coming tomorrow to take the furniture to the new Sunnyvale Spice Mill, she wanted to see it one more time and pick up the papers Sam said she’d left behind.

  “Can I help you?”

  Layla startled when she saw the unfamiliar woman sitting at the reception desk. She’d gotten so used to seeing Daisy when she walked in the door that the neat, tidy desk and the perfectly ordinary-looking woman behind it just seemed wrong.

  “I came to drop off my keys and pick up some stuff. I used to work here.”

  “You can give them to Royce. He’s at his desk. Go on in.”

  Layla walked past the gray leather couch that now took up the space where her purple chaise had been. Her new shared office space was fully furnished so she’d brought the chaise to her cozy new apartment in the Marina District, only one block from San Francisco Bay near Fort Mason.

  “Look who’s here. It’s Excellent Recruitment Solutions.” Royce leaned back in his chair as she took a quick look around. Other than the Eagerson desk that her father had happily parted with, the rest of the furniture had been replaced with glass and steel—cold, corporate, and ultramodern.

  “Actually, I changed the name to Patel Personnel,” she said stiffly, dropping the keys on his desk.

  “Good name. The other was ironic.”

  She’d never had a proper conversation with Royce before. Clearly she hadn’t missed anything. He certainly didn’t pull his punches. “I’m glad you approve.”

  “So that’s it, then.” He studied her so intently her skin prickled. “You and Sam. It’s over.”

  “I guess so.” She looked around. “He said I left some papers behind.”

  “In the boardroom.” He jerked his thumb in that direction. “It’s a tragedy.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He didn’t get justice or the girl . . . I’m sure you’ve seen a Shakespearean play or two.”

  “Romeo and Juliet.”

  “My favorite.” He followed her to the boardroom. “Boy meets girl. Boy loses girl. Boy regains girl. Boy dies for girl. Girl dies for boy. Audience is spared a saccharine happy ending.”

  Layla turned and frowned. “Are we talking about the same boy? I just saw Sam at St. Vincent’s. With his girlfriend.”

  “What girlfriend?”

  “Karen.”

  “The HR chick?” Royce chuckled. “Sam and I had lunch with her the other day. Those two together would be a tragedy.”

  “But . . . they looked . . . friendly. They were going out after work . . .”

  “With me.” He perched on the edge of the table. “I’m thinking of hiring her to take Sam’s place when he moves to New York.”

  Layla’s heart squeezed in her chest. “He said he’s trying to get into a local program.”

  Royce shrugged. “There’s nothing to keep him here. He reconciled with his parents, and his sister hooked up with John ‘I’m so nice it’s a character flaw’ Lee, who convinced her to live her dream of becoming a lawyer because we need more lawyers in the world.” He shuddered and loosened his tie. “That’s my idea of a nightmare. Rooms of books filled with laws and rules, being lectured by people who couldn’t make it in the business world . . . I can barely breathe thinking about it.”

  Can we talk?

  No.

  Oh God. Had she just made the biggest mistake of her life?

  “Where are the papers?” She clenched her fist around the strap of her handbag. “I need to go. Fast.”

  Royce pointed to the box. “There wasn’t much. You should just go through them here and we can shred what you don’t need.”

  Layla sifted through the documents—mostly old logo designs and lists of companies she had cold-called when she didn’t even have a name. “Sam said he thought the documents were important, but there’s nothing here.”

  Royce gave an exasperated huff. “Keep looking.”

  She checked every document in the box until, finally, at the very bottom, she found a copy of the lease agreement between her father and Bentley Mehta World Corporation.

  “This isn’t mine.” She offered it to Royce, who raised a dismissive hand.

  “You might find the legal opinion stapled to the back interesting, so I’m waiving my attorney-client privilege.”

  Layla skimmed the legal opinion. The one-page document stated in no uncertain terms that Sam had the full legal right of occupancy to the office and that her claims had no merit. John had signed and dated it at the bottom. Instantly, she understood why Royce had let her read it.

  “This is dated the day after Sam and I met.”

  “Fancy that.”

  Her heart skipped a beat. “He always knew I had no right to be here. He could have kicked me out at any time.”

  “If it had been me, you and your purple couch would have been out on the street on day one, but then I’m coldhearted that way.”

  Layla sat heavily on the nearest chair. “Then why did he play the game?”

  Royce shrugged. “Maybe he didn’t want you to marry a douche.”

  “Or someon
e like Ranjeet,” she said, considering. “He was trying to protect me. But if I didn’t find someone, would he have honored the rules and walked away?”

  “He does have that character flaw.” Royce leaned back in his chair, folding his arms behind his head. “That’s why we made a good team. I have no scruples and he has too many.”

  “Would you give him a message from me?” An idea started to form in her mind. “I deleted his contact details from my phone.”

  “Do I look like a receptionist?”

  “You look like a guy who pretends not to care, but whose colorful clothes hide a warm heart.”

  His lips curved. “What does that make me in this tragedy? The comic relief?”

  “It’s not a tragedy.” Layla wrote a quick note on the back of the legal opinion. “It’s a romance. Except in this version, Buttercup saves herself.”

  • 28 •

  THE game is over. You win. Enjoy your prize.

  Sam stared at the words on the document Royce had given him. “What does it mean?”

  “How should I know?” Royce put his feet on his desk as he nibbled his brioche. “I have no magical insight into the inner workings of the female mind.”

  “It sounds like she’s getting married.” Sam slammed the note on Royce’s desk. “Did she read the legal opinion? You were supposed to make sure she read it.”

  “Jesus Christ.” Royce dropped his head back. “I’m a businessman, not a matchmaker. Yes, she read it. I sat in the boardroom and made sure she got to the bottom of the box. She noticed the date right away.”

  “And then what?” This wasn’t how the scenario was supposed to play out. After getting the message that the game had really been all about her, she was supposed to connect with him, and then they would apologize to each other and he would pull every string to secure a residency in San Francisco, and she would move back into the office to run her business, and they would live happily ever after.