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“It’s hardly a problem,” Agastya said. “It’s about time you did settle down with one girl, don’t you think?”
“Fake, Anna, fake.”
The three of them were enjoying a quiet drink in Agastya’s study, away from the madness of their daily lives. It had to be the only reason why Harsh had thought to confide in the two stick-in-the-muds. He’d been lulled into stupidity by all the whiskey loaded brotherly vibes floating around.
“No harm in making it real also,” Agastya shrugged.
“Listen Old Man,” Harsh retorted now. “Just because you lost your virginity on your wedding night, doesn’t mean-“
The study door banged open and Harsh’s mother entered. “Agastya, where is your phone? Veda was trying to reach you.”
Harsh honestly thought the very air in the room stilled with the force of Agastya’s will. “My phone!” he barked, and someone rushed in from the other room with three different instruments.
“Why didn’t you answer?” he snapped at the terrified aide who made only a small squeak in response. Agastya picked one phone out of the three and tapped on the display.
This could all be avoided if his brother answered his own phone, like a normal human being.
“What’s happened?” Aarush murmured. “Should we turn on the news?”
But Agastya was already on the phone to Veda and the grim look on his face told Harsh that they didn’t need the news on television right now. Whatever it was, his brother was ready to go to war over it. And then Agastya turned and looked right at Harsh and the look in his eyes had Harsh’s blood turning to ice.
Whatever this was, it had something to do with him. He had a bad feeling about this. Collateral damage in this war had his name written all over it. He drained the rest of his whiskey in one long gulp. Tonight didn’t look like a night to skimp on alcohol.
Agastya disconnected and closed his eyes, a heavy exhale escaping him. “Shit,” he murmured. And then, “Harsh!”
“Yes?” Harsh asked cautiously, the impending storm clouds making him itch to run from the room.
“Why the fuck didn’t your publicist warn you about this?”
“Warn me about what?” Harsh asked, deep foreboding settling inside him. He tended to ignore most calls from his publicist and relied completely on his manager to filter and pass news on to him.
“The fact that your so-called fucking fans, the Harshians, are attacking Raashi both online and offline. They also seem to have gotten a hold of her private number.”
What? WHAT??
Harsh stared at his brother who just stared back, deep grooves of anger lining his stern face.
“Mahesh Garu.” Harsh pulled his phone out and called his Manager. He put it on speaker so everyone in the room could hear. “What is this I’m hearing about a hate campaign against Raashi Gadde?”
“Just some online trolling, Sir.” The man’s ingratiating voice filtered through the phone. “And it’s all in favour of you, so you don’t have anything to worry about.”
“Tell that dickhead that there are some death threats floating around too. Allegedly, to avenge your honour.”
His honour? His honour??
“This is ridiculous,” he muttered. “Death threats Mahesh Garu are never in anyone’s favour.”
“Arrey no Sir,” his manager answered in Telugu. “This only shows the love of your fans. It’s all good for you. And it keeps your name in the news, so very good.”
“Raashi Gadde is my sister-in-law’s younger sister. She is my family,” Harsh said evenly. “Anything that isn’t good for my family, isn’t good for me.”
A sharp intake of breath sounded on the phone and then, “Arrey no Sir,” the idiot said again. “You don’t get upset. We will issue a statement saying we don’t support all this, okay? Why are you getting worked up? It’s all okay. I will take care of it.”
A statement? He wanted to issue a fucking statement?
“Mahesh Garu,” Harsh said pleasantly. “You’re fired.”
He disconnected on the other man’s sputtering and pulled up his social media. He rarely went online because he’d learned early in his career that the online world was vicious. They either built you up or tore you down and the only way he could keep his balance was to stay firmly planted in the offline world.
