Page 5 of Born in Ruin

“War?” A disbelieving laugh escaped her. “Baba, what dramatics! What war?”

“Do you remember Varun Gokhale’s death?”

“Of course.” Mayukhi felt a momentary sadness for an old schoolmate whose life had been cut short, so unexpectedly. Road accidents were really the worst, she thought. If only people followed the rules and –

“His wife shacked up with Adajania and his friends and is now trying to screw the Gokhales over for money.”

Mayukhi’s rambling thoughts screeched to a halt. “What?” She gaped at her father, her mouth falling open. “Dhrithi is screwing Ishaan Adajania?”

A weird flutter of something she couldn’t identify moved through her at the thought.

“Please Mayukhi.” Her father shot her a look of distaste. “Watch your tongue.”

“Baba, hold on!” Mayukhi scrubbed her hands over her face. “I know Dhrithi. She’s a nice girl. She would never do anything like this and she sure as hell wouldn’t associate with the likes of Ishaan Adajania.”

“Nice girl!” Her father snorted. “Bharat Gokhale has told me everything. Money grubbing slut she is.”

“Baba.” Mayukhi was genuinely shocked. “You watchyourtongue!”

The doorbell rang, interrupting the standoff between father and daughter. A helper appeared at the entrance of the drawing room.

“Sahib, aapse koi milne aaya hai.”

Before her father could respond, she heard footsteps clicking through on their Italian marble and then Ishaan Adajania himself appeared in the doorway. His beautiful navy-blue pinstripe was sheer perfection, the deep red of his tie setting the dark grey of his shirt off to perfection. Brioni, she thought. He was wearing a Brioni.

There wasn’t much Mayukhi could claim absolute knowledge of but fashion…fashion was her bitch. She’d gotten her degree in fashion at the Rhode Island School of Design and launchedher own label ten years ago. Her label M-zire had conquered the market and still held its own as a luxury custom brand and she could honestly say none of her models had ever worn a suit as well as Ishaan Adajania did.

Silence fell over the trio as they stared at each other and then Ishaan smiled, a smug, mocking smile that made Mayukhi’s palm itch with the urge to slap it off his face.

“Shall we sit?” Ishaan asked. He didn’t wait for either of them to answer but chose a spot on the couch and sat down, one leg elegantly placed on the knee of the other.

The shoes were Armani, she thought dispassionately. Acutely conscious of her sports bra peeking out of her loose t-shirt, leggings and sweaty hair, Mayukhi sat down across from him, her gaze holding his. She thought she saw amusement in the dark inky depths of his eyes, but she wasn’t sure. She couldn’t look away, much like people struggled to look away from a cobra when it had you in its sights.

“What do you want Adajania?” her father asked brusquely.

“Recompense,” Ishaan said, his smile broadening, a cruel twist of what were otherwise very beautiful lips. “Your daughter has cost me money, time, and most importantly, she’s aimed muck at what is otherwise a spotless reputation.”

“Please!” Mayukhi snorted. “It was one measly article. I am sure you had it taken down before it could do much damage.”

Ishaan looked at her. She could almost see the calculations taking place in that manically intelligent brain of his. “I did, actually.” He shrugged. “So, if you knew that, what did you hope to achieve by it?”

“I wanted you to know that we won’t take what you’re doing lying down.” Mayukhi tipped her chin up and glared at him. “You can’t steal our intellectual property and –“

“Two years, three months, and sixteen days,” Ishaan said softly.

Mayukhi blinked. “Excuse me?” she said frostily.

“That’s how long my team has been working on that project. We have the data and the research to back it up. When did your office come up with this brilliant idea, Chatterjee?”

Mayukhi’s father stayed silent, his face falling as the facts didn’t align in his favour.

“If anything,” Ishaan continued with lethal softness. “I could make the case that your team stole the idea from mine.”

“Then why didn’t you?” Mayukhi blustered.

“Because anyone can have an idea,” Ishaan said mildly, stretching one hand over the back of the couch, his body language relaxed and comfortable. “It’s what you do with it that matters, Kraken.”

“Stop calling me that,” she snapped.

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