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‘SorryI’mlate,’ she grumbled.Hissmile faltered.Wasshe hungover?Hehad taken precautions to make sure he was well-rested for today, even sleeping alone at his own flat instead of hanging out withJessas he normally would on aSaturdaynight.
‘Areyou okay?’ he asked, his eyebrows pulled down in concern.
‘I’mfine,’ she snapped at him.
Okaaaaay.Obviouslysomebody had woken up on the wrong side of the bed.
‘Wouldyou like a coffee?’Perhapssome caffeine would help brighten her up.
‘Ican make it myself.’
Shedisappeared into the editing suite and emerged moments later without her bag or sunglasses.Shehad done her make-up, her eyes outlined in black and her lashes spiked with mascara.Betweenthat and the shimmer on her lids, the effect made her eyes pop, the green pupils standing out.Hecould see that she’d applied concealer, too, but it didn’t fully cover up the dark circles beneath.
‘What?’ she barked at him.
‘Nothing.Nothing.Iwas just thinking that your eyes looked nice.’
‘Idon’t need your approval.’
Whoa.Whathad happened toFrancesca?Shecould be sarcastic and blunt, but this person was plain stroppy.Wouldshe be able to get it together before the clients arrived?Hewas starting to worry about the upcoming meeting when the lift pinged again.Hishead whipped towards the door. ‘They’rehere.’Toolate for second thoughts.
Heprayed, stuck a smile on his face, and went to greet them.
Itdid not start well.Andthen it got worse.
Francescawatched as the infamousParamjeetOberoiand his fiancé,Ishani, glided into the office.Everythingabout him screamed ‘spoiled wanker’.Hewas chewing gum with a vengeance, mouth open, one ofFrancesca’sparticular pet peeves.Snap, snap, snap.Hewore a loose black jacket and skinny black jeans with a tight white t-shirt.Athin gold chain looped around his neck.Hismeticulously sculpted hair rose two inches into the air before tipping to the right, like a wave permanently on the cusp of breaking.Hiseyes were hidden behind a pair ofTomFordsunglasses.
Francescadisliked him on sight.
Shehad done some research on him.Likeher, he was the youngest of four over-achieving siblings.Hiseldest brother was the heir apparent, also a big-time director and the son being groomed to take over the family business.Hissister was a hugeBollywoodactress who had recently crossed over intoHollywoodfilms.Thethird sibling, also a brother, designed all the clothes for the studio’s productions and had a couture line of his own.AndParamjeet…he hadn’t quite found his purpose in life yet.Allthe online pictures of him were taken at parties with a different girl on each arm, or at automotive shows modelling with supercars.
ParamjeetandFrancescamay have both been the youngest members of their families, but whereasFrancescaworked hard for everything she had,Paramjeetwas aBollywoodnepo-baby who had opportunities handed to him on a plate.
Shehad looked into the bride, too.Ishaniworked in entertainment law, likeKrish’ssister.Frankly,Francescafailed to see why somebody successful and motivated likeIshaniwould want to marry someone spoiled and dull likeParamjeet, unless it was the money.
Heropinion of him didn’t improve when he studied his chunky watch just enough time to make sure everyone identified it as aRolexand demanded, ‘Isthis going to take long?We’vegot somewhere important to be.’
Krishsmiled likeParamjeetwasn’t a dickhead and said, ‘Nomore than an hour.’Heheld out his hand. ‘I’mKrish—’
Paramjeetsailed past and leftKrish’shand hanging in the air, which madeFrancesca’sblood boil.Thewanker plopped himself down on the sofa like an emperor, arm possessively thrown across the back.Krishcaught her eye and let his amusement show just for a second, to let her know he wasn’t bothered before smoothing his features over again.Francescahad to giveKrishcredit for his self-control and positive outlook.Personally, she wanted to smack the guy.
Ishanistepped into the breach, takingKrish’shand in hers. ‘I’mIshani.Sorry—Ishould have said when we spoke that we only have half an hour.There’sa helicopter waiting to take us up toSilverstone.’
Thebride was stunningly beautiful, with the kind of shiny, gravity-defying hair that would make aKardashianweep with envy: midnight black and styled into a sleek over-the-shoulder cascade.Hernails were polished to perfection: deep, glossy red.Overher all-cream outfit, an expensive jacket perched on her shoulders like it wasn’t sweltering outside.Francescatwitched.Peoplewho wore all white when it wasn’t a wedding set her teeth on edge.
‘Noproblem,’Krishsaid, ‘we can be quick.’Hegestured forIshanito take a seat.Shesettled herself onto the sofa, placing a large handbag between her andParam-jerk with a braided gold handle that could probably pay off the debt of a small country.
Krishsat in his chair. ‘Canwe get you something to drink?’
‘Coffee.Black,’ saidParam-jerk whileIshaniasked for bottled water.
‘I’llget it!’Francescaneeded some space before she said something she’d regret.
Behindthe partition where they couldn’t see her, she took a moment to collect herself, shaking her hands out and rolling her head in a circle.SheheardKrishmake small talk aboutSilverstone,FormulaOne,McLaren,LewisHamilton.Nothinglike fast cars for bringing men together.Thegroom actually laughed and his tone became less aggressive.Shehad to admireKrish’sability to get people on side.
Approachingthe kitchenette,Francescafrowned at the newNespressomachine in consternation.Howthe fuck did this work?
Onthe other side of the partition,Krishstarted the sales spiel.He’dtalked her through it the other day, as taught to him byConnorKnight.
