Page 75 of Made in Mumbai

“Take this and get in touch with Nilay Patel’s team,” he passed the file to Sahyadri over his desk. She leaned in, closer than required, accepting the file. Gautam kept his gaze averted. He wasn’t clueless to her efforts to charm him. She had been at it since the day he had hired her. But in a subtle way, one that never infringed on her professionalism. So he had let it go, keeping his demeanour impersonal. After all, however attractive she would have dressed, he never brought personal life to his workplace.

“This looks good, Gautam. You have already put together the proposal…!” She gave him star eyes, like hero worship would melt him when nothing else had succeeded.

“I was up late.”

“Oh, what happened?”

“Jet lag,” he lied, when in truth he had spent the first few hours wrapped around Maya as she fell asleep on his sofa. Then, having sent her tenderly to her room, he had sat awake reading up on pregnancy and women on his phone. That had stolen any remnants of his sleep.

“You did not tell me why you went to Turkey. Are we expanding markets?”

“No.”

“Then?”

His phone buzzed, saving him from more of this inquisition. It was his cook.

“Hello?”

“Hello, sir? I just came in and Maya didi hasn’t written the menu here. What should I make for today’s dinner?”

Gautam frowned — “Call her and ask.”

“She is not picking up.”

“Ok. I’ll call you back in 5 minutes.”

He rose to his feet, striding out of his office, Sahyadri behind him — “What happened?”

“You get working on this Nilay Patel account. Give me updates by EOD.”

And like he always did, he brusquely brushed her off and descended the stairs of his terrace. His gaze fell on Maya’s Jamun tree and he had half an urge to pluck some for her. But then he remembered raw food wasn’t good for pregnant women, so he kept walking, turning down the first floor alley and around the sweeping stairs. Faint hints of Mere Mehboob Mere Sanam bled up from downstairs and he bit a smile. It seemed Maya’s morning music was an imposition for everybody.

He entered the Made in Mumbai office area and the co-working space was alive with hustle. Everybody was working but grooving too, Maya herself swaying half-leaning over her own round table, her jacket off, her hair open in wild waves. Riya noticed him first and gestured to his secret roommate.

“What?” Maya asked over the music. She gestured to him.

“Tu toh aise bol raha hai jaise mere peecche woh!” Maya laughed. Riya nodded.

“Tu toh aise bol raha hai jaise mere peecche woh,” Maya enunciated slower, making some of her colleagues sputter. It must be some slapstick dialogue from some weird movie if she was so high over it. Her colleagues were now holding their chuckles. It was becoming increasingly difficult to hold his own too. But Gautam crossed his arms across his chest and held steady, just as Maya turned, her expression scandalised.

“Can I speak to you in your office for a minute?”

She nodded, swallowing, like he was a monster down from his den. He walked, and she followed. The moment her door was shut behind her though, all that fear evaporated.

“Why are you acting scared of me?” He turned on her.

“So that nobody is suspicious that we live together.”

“And if you don’t act scared they’ll think we live together?’

Vigorous bobbing of her pretty head. Gautam cracked out a snort — “I’ll take my chances. Behave normally with me. Now, why didn’t you write today’s menu on the whiteboard?”

“Because you are back. You will write it, no?”

“Why would I write it?”

“So that your cook can make what you want to eat.”

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