Partners in Crime, page 3
“It’s a token of love and congratulations, Baba. You wouldn’t know about that, I suppose.”
Naveen rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t need a house, Mom. I was joking. I’m perfectly happy living in Ajoba’s in-law apartment for now.” The studio apartment had once been a garage, but it had been converted into an additional dwelling unit, complete with a tiny kitchenette. Which he barely used, thanks to the aforementioned minifridge that Ajoba was rummaging through.
“My grandson doesn’t require all the fancy things that you do.” Ajoba pulled out a Thums Up soda bottle that the grocer next door had dropped off as part of his thanks for helping with a parking ticket.
His mom, thankfully, ignored the dig. “I just bought your brother a plot of land near our house. It would only be fair.”
Her words were deliberately casual, but they landed with the force of a bomb. The only sound in the room was the clock ticking on the wall.
“I don’t want anything that Kiran has,” Naveen finally said quietly.
“It’s been a long time,” Ajoba observed.
Naveen rubbed the side of his nose. Here was probably the one thing that his parent and grandparent were united over: reconciling him and Kiran. “Not long enough.”
“He misses you,” Shweta added.
“He said that?”
“Of course he did.”
He shot his mother a wry look. “Now who’s the one who’s lying?”
His mother’s nostrils flared. “I can read between the lines.”
Ajoba took a sip of his soda. “He betrayed you. I understand your anger. But he’s your brother and always will be.”
“I’m tired of having two family group chats, one with you and one with him.” His mother raked her fingers through her hair, messing up her blowout. “I need you to speak with him, Naveen. He’s reached out to you so many times.”
There were two group chats? What good morning forwards was he missing in the other one? “Is that what he told you? That he’s reached out to me repeatedly?”
“I know he has. He came to see you in rehab, and you turned him away.”
“That was it. That’s not many times.”
“He always asks about you.”
“He calls me to check in on you as well,” Ajoba said. “He says he doesn’t want to bother you by harassing you over the phone.”
“But you can call him. He really wants you to call him.” Shweta looked down. “It would break your father’s heart to know his sons haven’t spoken in two years.”
Ouch. Low blow, because he knew she was right.
He’d thought about calling Kiran over the years, but something always stopped him. He simply could not imagine what the conversation would sound like, or what they would say.
And then, there was the anger. The terrible anger that made him feel wild and out of control.
He didn’t like to feel those deep wells of emotions. They could lead down dark, dangerous paths, and the last thing he ever wanted to do was fall off the wagon he’d painstakingly climbed atop. “I can’t believe either of you. Aren’t you two on my side?”
“Of course, my boy,” his grandfather said. “I am always on your side. But he is my grandson, too, and he hates how he hurt you.”
Naveen rubbed the side of his nose. “He should have thought about that before he did what he did.”
A curly-headed woman popped into the room, gamine face curious. “Before who did what?”
“Nothing,” Naveen said, grateful for the interruption. He deliberately lightened his tone. Keep it light, keep it happy. “Are you here to join this family meeting to harangue me into getting married too, Aparna?”
“Hello, Aparna,” his mother said over the phone. He hated how subdued she sounded, but he was too wound up to comfort her right now.
“Hello, Auntie,” his cousin said cheerfully. “Nope, not a harangue in sight. I wanted to tell you Ms. Chaudhary is here, and I’ve put her in the conference room.”
Naveen glanced at his watch. “She’s early.” And he hadn’t had a chance to fully look over her file.
“Who is here to see you?” Ajoba demanded.
“The heir to Rhea Chaudhary’s estate. Took me a while to track her down. She changed her name, it seems,” Aparna filled in. She was his mom’s cousin’s kid, but he called her cousin as well. She was a few years older than Naveen and also lived next door to their grandfather, though in her own house. She had boy-mom energy, and was, indeed, a single mom to a sweet five-year-old. She was also their resident private investigator, notary, and entire administrative staff.
“Oh.” Ajoba narrowed his eyes, and Naveen could tell he was searching the files in his brain and coming up empty. “I . . . I don’t recall.”
His grandfather hated not remembering anything, and it happened more often now. “It’s a small case. You took Rhea on a year or so ago. Looks like you never even met her face-to-face.” Naveen had already come on board by then, but his grandfather had still been in the office. It was only when Ravi had started to forget important details that he’d taken a giant step back. His grandpa was proud, but he was also self-aware and didn’t want to mess with malpractice. “Anyway, the niece was in the area. She preferred coming in. It’ll make things easier.”
Shweta shifted. “Very well. I have to get to a meeting. You’ll call me tonight to tell me how this date went?”
“If it’s not too late.”
“Goodbye, Naveen, Aparna.” His mom paused. “Baba.”
Ajoba inclined his head. “Shweta.”
Aparna leaned over the back of his wheelchair. “Would you like me to take you home, Ajoba?”
“I should meet this client. My name’s on the door, still.” His hand shook when he raised the bottle to his lips to drain it.
He could see the obvious fatigue in his grandpa’s eyes. Getting dressed and coming into the office, with his nurse’s assistance or not, was becoming more and more arduous for the man. “No, go on home.” Naveen slapped the file shut. “This is an easy one, and I’d like some time to get ready for my date after.” Luckily, he had plans tomorrow—yes, another escape room with Alan and some new guys—so he’d already intended to stay late at the office today to catch up on work.
Grabbing some dinner at one of the many restaurants down the street and eating his naan and chicken tikka at his desk while he drafted prenups might not be the date his family thought he was out on, but at least it was a peaceful one.
“Fine,” Ajoba grumbled. “Stay out late tonight. I remember the first time I met your grandmother, we were up until three A.M., though we had school the next day.”
Naveen swallowed, tasting his lie more now. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”
“You’re a good boy, Naveen. I want everything for you.” His grandfather opened his mouth, like he wanted to say something else, but then gestured to Aparna to take him home.
Naveen looked down to hide his mixed emotions as his cousin and grandfather left. He had only experienced that sort of helpless fascination with a woman once or twice in his life. Part of him, a big part of him, longed for it now. Another part of him, the part that was clearly winning out, would rather get takeout and draft a prenup.
Don’t think about that or your brother. You still have work to do.
He took a minute to finger comb his hair in the mirror on the wall, then walked quickly to their small conference room, trying to speed-read the Chaudhary client’s file. Died out of the country; one heir, a niece; only a small envelope of assets to pass on. He fixed an appropriately somber expression on his face, then entered the room. “Ms. Chaudhary, I’m so sorry to keep you waiting, and for your loss—”
He broke off when the woman standing in front of the window turned to face him. She was beautiful, with big dark eyes and a couple of escaped curls that surrounded her sweet round face. Her body was curves on curves, packaged tidily away. She wore a knee-length black skirt that hugged her hips and a pink silk shirt with a frivolous pussy bow tied at the throat. Delicate pearl buttons ran all the way down the front.
Naveen had undone those buttons once, one pearl at a time.
He’d traced her honey-brown skin with his hands, his lips, his tongue. He’d stroked her until she writhed with need under him, her body soft and supple under his. He’d kissed tears of passion away from her cheeks, and nibbled her earlobe to make her smile. It might have been three years ago, and she might have changed, physically—she was curvier, her cheeks rounder, her makeup more discreet, her hair pulled back into a knot instead of ruthlessly straightened and short—but there were some people you didn’t forget.
Especially when they made you believe in a happy ending, then shut it down in a single instant.
Her throat worked, her gaze caught on his. “You?” she breathed.
He snapped his file closed. “Amira. Long time no talk.” He paused. “Or should I say, text.”
Chapter Three
What. The fuck. Was happening.
Was this karma? Or a drawn-out cosmic joke? Had someone in the universe decided today was Mess With Mira Day?
There was no other explanation for why she was coming face-to-face with the very first Hema Auntie–approved match she’d rejected, right on the heels of Hema Auntie’s last match rejecting her.
Not just your first match, the first match you brutally dumped. Text-gate.
She’d done a good job of banishing her father’s voice from her head, but he whispered now. The problem is, Mira, you freeze and you hesitate. Your brain always needs to be faster than your body.
He wasn’t wrong. Only a minute had passed since Naveen had entered the room, but it was far too long of a minute. She checked those glass containers where she’d bottled up her emotions, made sure they were secure, and lifted her chin. Running into an ex right now might be bad timing, but she could fake composure and pretend like she belonged. She was good at that. “Naveen. What are you doing here?”
He kicked the door closed behind him, never taking his gaze off her. She catalogued the changes in him as quickly as possible. His body had filled out in the three years since they’d dated, but his face had grown slimmer. His shoulders were broad, his head barely clearing the door. His hair was longer. The soft curls fell over his forehead with boyish charm, a contrast to the rough planes of his face. Threads of silver glinted at his temples.
His hands flexed on his files. He wore a gold ring with a small square black gemstone. It was his father’s ring, and his father’s Rolex on his wrist. She’d helped him put that Rolex on more than once, after a night together.
They may have only been together for six months, but they’d had a lot of nights together.
She shivered. Not now. Don’t you dare think of those nights now.
“I work here.” He took a step toward her, and she took one back. The room already felt too small.
“You work at Miller-Lane.” As a hotshot corporate attorney. He’d been busier and more ambitious than her, and that was saying something. Back then, she’d been determined to make senior status, and he’d been determined to make partner.
“I used to. Now I work here.”
“Your name’s not on the door.”
He raised one thick eyebrow. At some point over the past few years, he’d taken care of his faint unibrow. She hadn’t minded it. It had given his face a brief reprieve from perfection.
“Ravi Ambedkar is my grandfather. This is his office. I’m handling his cases while he’s out.”
She vaguely recalled him speaking of his grandfather fondly. She hadn’t met the man when they’d dated, but that was mostly because she’d usually traveled to see him up in San Francisco. The rest of his family had been up north, in an exclusive gated community. His mother’s sprawling house had had two staircases, crystal chandeliers, and a piano nobody played. Talk about too rich.
Mira had sent her now infamous text driving away from that mansion. Good times.
The wheels that had stilled in her brain at the sight of him started to move, clumsy and squeaking. “Wait . . . are you my aunt’s . . . attorney?”
“I am, now, I suppose.” Naveen checked the file in his hands. “Your aunt became my grandfather’s client over a year ago, when he was still active in the practice. He’s basically retired now.”
Again. What. The fuck. Was happening.
Mira glanced around the small room. It wasn’t dirty or dingy, but she’d done enough forensic accounting work that she’d spent time in expensive law firms. This was a solo practice, geared toward the community it served. The waiting area had contained one worn couch and a tired armchair. The elevator was broken, with a sign on it in English, Hindi, and Urdu, directing her to the stairs. This conference room had one window, and it was up high on the wall, no chance of a view possible.
Rhea would have never gone to a big law firm.
True. Rhea had never been about outward appearances. She’d parlayed what had been a small inheritance from Mira’s grandparents into a well-funded nonprofit and lived comfortably off the relatively small salary she’d drawn from it. Meanwhile, Mira’s dad, her younger brother, had turned that inheritance into a day at the blackjack tables.
But still, why this solo practitioner? What were the odds that of all the attorneys in the world—or even in California—her aunt would choose one Mira knew? “Why would she pick your grandfather?”
“He’s been doing estates in this area for fifty years. If she wanted to support a local business, he’d be the first one she’d turn to.”
“She wasn’t even from here. Why would she care about supporting local businesses?”
He cast her a sideways glance. “Because the city doesn’t want to recognize or promote this place as Little India and we’ve gotten a lot of press for our street dying out? If she cared at all about the culture, she probably wanted to help.”
Plausible. Rhea Auntie had run a nonprofit and she’d always been fairly into supporting locals in their own community. This could be another one of those cosmic jokes. But still . . .
There was something her dad had liked to say, about how there were no coincidences.
Mira had told Rhea about Naveen. Her birthday had been the week after the breakup, and she’d been moping harder than she should have been as someone who, covered in head-to-toe stress hives, had sprinted away from the man. Rhea had called, as she always did on her birthday, and Mira had spilled her guts in a very un-Mira-like fashion.
Had she mentioned his name? Maybe his first name. Had she given any other identifying information? Enough for Rhea to track him down and give him her business years later?
For what purpose, to reunite you with your ex from beyond the grave? Absurd. She never even met Naveen when you dated him.
And unlike the rest of your family, she wasn’t exactly a master manipulator.
So, what? It was all a coincidence? Fate was real? No way. “And you don’t think that’s weird?” she persisted.
He paused. “What I do find weird is that we dated for half a year, I introduced you to my family, we discussed marriage, and in all that time, I knew you as Amira Patel. Not Mira Chaudhary.”
Ahhhh. In her shock, she’d forgotten the name he’d uttered when he walked into the room.
The silence stretched between them and he took another step. This time she didn’t back away. “That’s so weird, Mira. Isn’t it?”
One syllable. She’d deliberately picked an alias that was one syllable off from the name she’d been called for the first eighteen years of her life. A lot of people had naturally shortened Amira to Mira, including Christine, before she’d learned about Mira’s past.
So why did it send a shiver down her spine to hear Naveen utter her birth name?
“Patel is my mother’s maiden name.” True. “I go by that.”
“And you go by a different first name, as well?”
Mira bit the inside of her cheek. “Yes.”
His frown caused deep furrows between his eyebrows. “Huh.”
“It’s not that big of a deal.”
“Isn’t it? I’d say it is. I don’t have an alias. No one I know does.”
Behind her back, she clenched her hand into a fist. “My birth name was too long. Amira sounds more professional to my ears, and it was what my mom wanted to name me. Since she died when I was a baby, I figured I’d go all the way to honor her.” She kept her voice and eyes steady.
He studied her for a long moment, then dropped his gaze to the file in his hand. “I see.”
She cleared her throat and tried to forget her nagging feeling of something being wrong. She needed all her wits about her. Naveen’s eyes were incisive, even more so than she remembered. “Given our past . . .”
“When you say our past, are you referring to the fact that we’ve seen each other naked a bunch of times, or is this about the time you ran away from my bed while I was sleeping and texted me that it was over?”
She drew a short inhale through her nose. The repressed annoyance in his words was a tough pill to swallow, but she took it. “Both. Either.”
Naveen gave a short, decisive nod. “Fair.”
“Is there, perhaps, another attorney here who could handle these details?”
“Unfortunately, no.”
That unfortunately carried a little too much regret on his part.
He shook his head, and slowly, the shock and annoyance in his face was masked by coolness. “I am sorry about your loss, though. I remember you saying you had only the one aunt. And apologies it took us some time to find you. We have a great investigator, but a name change can slow things down.”
Working as long as she had with her father, she’d had access to the best identity forgers in the industry. They’d advised her to go with a completely different new name, but her objective at eighteen hadn’t necessarily been hiding, it had been physical and emotional distance.
Hiding had apparently been a by-product, though. “Thank you for your condolences,” she said stiffly. “And about the past—”
Naveen’s chest expanded and he held up his hand, cutting her off. “Let’s not get into it, okay? You’re here for a reason, and I am a professional, and we will get through this and go our separate ways. Deal?”
