It was one amongst the many things that had fueled the rivalry between two young children which had eventually bloomed into a short-lived love affair the year they’d turned seventeen.
His fists clenched over the pen he’d been twirling, barely catching it before it fell. He didn’t want to be thinking of the past, but seeing Vera so unexpectedly had been a shock to his system. Worse, the forty-eight hours between then and this morning had felt nearly as long as the years they’d spent apart, making him wonder if he’d been in some form of time capsule. Nothing else would explain the anxiety and desperation that had threatened to overwhelm him when he’d driven into work that morning.
It wasn’t because he was eager to see her. It was because there was something almost morbidly fascinating about facing one’s demons. Or perhaps, the sarcastic little voice in his head said uninvited, he was just a masochist longing for a date with pain. Because Vera Talwar was destruction and devastation wrapped in a sinfully sexy body. She shifted, pointing to an infographic on the screen. He should have been paying attention to her numbers but the red of her lips was distracting. She leaned down to type something into the computer and without meaning to, his eyes focused on the darkened hollowbetween her breasts, her neckline giving him a momentary view of soft flesh encased in black lace. Or was it satin? Fuck, it looked soft.
Involuntarily, his gut clenched, the familiar stirrings of desire sparking within him. He must have made some sound of discomfort because she straightened, shooting him a frown, as if he’d disturbed her on purpose.
“Did you have a question, Mr. Oberoi?” she asked.
“I do,” he conceded, needing somehow to make this presentation go faster. Any more incidents of his blood rushing south and he would be in no shape to walk out of this room. The image of her breasts and the hint of lace was burned into his retina and he felt miserable. “I don’t need you to explain trends and numbers, Ms. Talwar. We have reviewed the data already. What I want to know is why you think your proposal deserves to be our next showcase project?”
Vera’s lips tightened, thrown off her momentum by his question. Still, when she spoke, her voice had no trace of unsurety.
“For years,” she started slowly, “I worked behind the scenes of the shows for this channel. Through them, I have come in contact with multiple small business owners. India has several small scale industries, SSI’s, that are just as successful as the bigger name brands. We always talk about IT, agriculture, healthcare and renewables. There isn’t nearly enough spotlight on the SSI’s.”
“What do you hope to achieve by shining the light on them?”
“I want to present the lesser known faces behind the businesses that power a majority of our daily consumer reports. The average Indian isn’t going out and purchasing steel for construction and medicines in mass quantities. What they are buying are pickles and masalas made by family-run businesses, toys for their children that remind them of their own childhood, handlooms and handicrafts that showcase a little part of India within their homes. I want to encourage knowledge of the industries we do have and the effort that goes behind running it.”
In the periphery of his vision he saw a few heads nodding along in agreement.
“To what end?” he asked anyway.
“Pride,” she replied, a tiny tilt to her lips softening her previously serious expression. “I’m not saying we can replace all purchasing of imported products with what is manufactured within India. But we can certainly move the needle towards more conscientious decision making by showing consumers how their purchases fund a stronger Indian SSI model.”
Despite himself, Vihaan had to admit that it was one heck of a pitch. He’d deliberately made Vera present last. He’d wanted to make her sweat a little while she waited. Instead of putting her at a disadvantage, it had worked in her favour by giving him an immediate picture of her project in comparison to her peers. One was a food-based game show that seemed like every other culinary show out there, and the other was a reboot of an old drama which, while good for nostalgia, would likely not pull viewership from a larger population.
Vera’s list of SSIs included everything from fashion and food to art and decor, and would attract the younger to middle-aged audience on any platform they choose to air the show on. He could already picture how good this would be to pitch to the market. Tapping into patriotism and pride was a sure way to gain interest and following.
“Unless anyone else has any questions,” he announced, looking around the room for confirmation from the other chair members, “you may leave, Ms. Talwar. You’ll be informed of our final decision shortly.”
As the door closed behind her, Vihaan turned towards the creative heads who’d begun to compare notes. He let them delve into the details of the three presentations, dissecting the pros and cons. Within no time, they were sitting at a tie. Two votes for the culinary show, and two for the short series on SSIs.
Everyone’s eyes rested upon him, waiting. The tip of his blue pen had left hundreds of dots near the edge of the paper with Vera’s agenda on it. It would be so easy to reject this. He should choose the food show with the jolly host. Life would be simpler.
But simple was boring.
With one side of his brain raining curses at him while the other laughed maniacally at the doom he was inviting into his life, he heard himself announce, “Proposal number 3. Ms. Talwar gets my vote.”
Despite his personal feelings being firmly negative, her presentation had impressed him. And he knew without a doubt that two things would come to pass in the near future.
One. Vera would hurt him again.
And two. He was going to have one hell of a tough time getting rid of her.
Fuck.
7
Lessons in Chemistry
Vera
Fifteen Years Ago
Vera drew a zig-zagline, crossing one peak and scribbling an ‘O’ next to it.
“Through oxidation, the molecular bond changes to . . .” She trailed off, noticing Vihaan staring at her from his seat beside her at the table they were sharing. With his head cocked, locks of hair falling across his forehead, cheek resting on one palm and a slight smirk, he looked like he was posing for a boy-band poster. His attention would’ve made any girl feel flattered. Vera, however, was not easily swayed.