“When do you not, in this city?” Yes, yes. They should absolutely talk about traffic. Traffic in L.A., haha, it was always so terrible.
And she could stop thinking of whatever weird feelings had sprung up during that odd moment they’d just shared.
“You should grab food before you head home.” He clicked his pen and placed it in his jacket pocket.
Oh no.
Please don’t ask, please don’t ask, please don’t . . .
If he asked her to eat, she’d have to say no. It was awkward enough to have a meal with an ex when he didn’t know that she’d lied about who she was for the entirety of their relationship.
Now he knew, if not everything, far too much about her.
But think about how good he smells.
“There’s a place that does great biryani like four doors down, and they have Wi-Fi. You could wait out the traffic there.”
She released a gush of air, one so strong it made her feel light-headed. Not an ask. Just a polite suggestion from a local, one that any stranger would give another. “Thank you, but I had lunch right before I came here.” She was glad she hadn’t eaten the cake now, dairy or not, what with all the tumbling her stomach was doing.
He held the door open for her, and she walked past him, trying not to brush up against him. It was a futile attempt at distance though. Her elbow grazed his chest, and they both jumped at the slight tingle of static electricity that jumped between them. Or at least, she’d tell herself it was static.
She hadn’t thought about Hema Auntie’s imminent dumping for a minute, but now she wondered if it truly was a blessing in disguise. Perhaps a Mr. Right Now phase was something she could look into while she put her search for Mr. Right on hold. Clearly, her body’s needs hadn’t been attended to, if simply Naveen’s tiny touch was setting her afire.
Naveen’s touch + the memory of how good it had been between you physically.
They passed an office. It was empty, but she couldn’t resist a quick peek inside. There were boxes and files everywhere. Big diplomas and newspaper clippings lined the wall. The print was too far for her to read on the latter, but it wasn’t Naveen’s name on the former. It also wasn’t a place she’d expect him to feel comfortable in, with its big, old-fashioned furniture.
You don’t know him enough to know where he’d feel comfortable. You nipped all the possibilities in the bud, remember?
She fixed a determined smile on her face. All Mira had to do was say goodbye to Naveen with utter politeness, then drive home and wait for Christine’s time zone to line up so she could tell her about this bizarre encounter. Christine would 100 percent freak out over the coincidence of her ex-boyfriend being her aunt’s attorney, and they could squeal together.
There are no coincidences.
She rubbed her forehead. She was quite accustomed to staring at numbers endlessly on a screen for days without so much as an ounce of strain, but the thought of getting back in her car right now had her head pounding.
“Well, Mira, it’s been . . . Are you okay? You look warm.”
“It’s a little hot in here.”
“Luckily, it’s pretty cool outside.”
She had to stifle an inappropriate laugh. She didn’t think it was possible for him to say get out in a more diplomatic yet clear manner.
It was a far cry from the last time she’d said goodbye to him in person. They’d been at his family’s home, and he’d snuck into the guest bedroom to be with her. As dawn had crept into the room, the anxiety tightening her chest had grown and grown until she’d feared she was having a heart attack. She’d pressed a light kiss against his slack, sleeping mouth, then slipped out of his arms and his bed. Hours later, when she sent a text at a gas station midway to Los Angeles, she’d slipped out of his life.
He held his hand out to her now. “Bye, Mira.”
Could others brag of two former love interests bidding them adieu on the same day?
There were things she wanted to say, but it was all impossible to verbalize. So she merely nodded. “Goodbye.” She grasped his hand and tried not to flinch at the slight shock that reverberated down her arm.
What is wrong with him? Christine had demanded, when Mira relayed the end of hers and Naveen’s relationship.
Valid question. He’d been kind, attentive, funny, good in bed, ambitious, and the life of the party whenever they’d gone out. She’d looked ridiculous and demanding when she broke up with him. Hema Auntie had told her as much, too.
She’d given them concrete answers: he was too extroverted, he enjoyed partying more than her, he was a workaholic. Privately, she’d told herself she’d done it because she feared he sought excitement like her father had, and she craved a boring life.
But the real reason was that the tightness in her chest had eased the further she’d driven away from him, and resolved completely the second she’d sent that text.
And a hint of that tightness was back now, along with the buzzing chemistry that ran between them.
She almost turned around to give him one last glance, but the door closed behind her with a resounding thud.
She shook her head. There was no room for regret here. Naveen was a closed road, blocked since she broke it off, but especially barricaded now that he’d scratched the surface of her lies.
Why did you have to pick him as your attorney, Rhea Auntie?
Mira touched her earrings. She’d never know, she supposed.
Mira took the stairs down two at a time. In the lobby, she reached into her pocket and pulled out the storage key. She was going to be generous and assume Rhea hadn’t known the full truth of what this key led to.
Her criminal father’s safe house.
Well, Mira wasn’t about to collect any more family baggage, literal or otherwise.
She walked over to the trash can next to the broken elevator. She held the key above the garbage, then paused. Her fingers caressed the worn metal of the key. Had her aunt touched this key?
It doesn’t matter.
Mira tried to force herself to let go of the key, but couldn’t quite do it. Instead, she pulled it off the annoyingly cheerful keychain and dropped the HAPPY STORAGE tag into the trash.
She’d throw the key away later, she told herself. Instead of wrestling with her keyring, she tucked the key inside her bra. It was far more secure there than it would be in her skirt’s pockets.
The parking garage was quiet and empty, most of the tenants of this office building already gone. Her sensible low heels clipped on the concrete as she walked up to the second floor, as she fished her car keys out of her bag.
Later, she’d wonder how she’d been so foolish.
You should walk to your car with your keys ready. You shouldn’t lower your head. All standard stuff taught in self-defense classes at the YMCA, and she’d been raised by a man obsessed with security.
The whisper-soft scrape of a shoe behind her was her first clue that she wasn’t alone. Mira started to turn, but someone grabbed her from behind, and a hand slapped over her mouth before she could get more than a squeak out.
No freezing this time. Her instincts took over. She kicked, and her foot hit something soft. The person gave a grunt, and his arms tightened until she feared he might actually crush her. Only then did she still, though her heart was jackhammering, her brain screaming internally, curses that couldn’t get past his hand.