Breathless in Bollywood Read online

She stiffened, her flash of defiance as she squared her shoulders admirable. “My business is a slow build. This job would establish me as a genuine player in Mumbai.”

  “Then the job’s yours.” He stood and fired off a quick text back to his PA.

  She stood and held out her hand. “Thanks, you won’t regret it—”

  “On one condition.” He handed back her tablet, not expecting a jolt of heat when their hands brushed and oddly disjointed because of it. “You pose as my date for a week.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  “You’re blackmailing me?”

  Desiree collapsed back into the chair, sure she’d misheard. No way in hell could Jarryd have offered her the dream job she coveted in exchange for dating him for seven long excruciating days.

  “Let’s call it a mutually beneficial bargain instead.”

  Annoyingly smug, he pocketed his cell. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’ve got places to be, so we can discuss the details over dinner tonight—”

  “You’re crazy,” she said, shaking her head. “I can’t be your date for a night, let alone a week.”

  “Why not?” He came around the desk, towering over her and she quickly stood, realizing her mistake too late.

  It brought her closer to him, tantalizingly close, and the fact he still wore the same expensive aftershave with a bergamot undertone catapulted her right back to a time she’d rather forget. “You didn’t used to find my company so repulsive at one point.”

  Oh no. No way would they reminisce about her foolishness in once finding him irresistible.

  “That was one night, too long ago to remember,” she said, keeping her tone airy and nonchalant.

  He didn’t buy it.

  “But you do remember.” He reached up and trailed a fingertip down her cheek, setting her skin alight. “Don’t pretend otherwise.”

  Desiree swallowed, powerless to move despite every cell in her body urging her to do just that.

  “I was young. Foolish.” She stepped away, relieved when his hand fell to his side. “I’d never make the same mistake again.”

  His smile was predatory. “So you think dating me would be a mistake?”

  She nodded, worrying her bottom lip before realizing it drew his attention. “Beyond a mistake. Catastrophic.”

  He chuckled, his laughter as silky smooth as his words. “It would be a business arrangement, nothing more. So don’t worry, I’m under no illusions of you throwing yourself at me again.”

  Outraged, Desiree searched for the worst insult she could think of. And came up lacking. Who was she trying to kid? She was no match for Jarryd Baron and never would be. He was too suave, too smart, too much. But she could definitely strike a blow where it hurt the most.

  His massive ego.

  “I wouldn’t date you if you were the last guy on earth.”

  She spoiled her declaration when she back-stepped as he leaned closer.

  “Clichés are so dull,” he said, his gaze focused on her lips. “You could put that mouth to much better use.”

  Desiree gulped. No doubt about it. She was in way over her head with this one.

  “Yeah, by telling you where you can stick your stupid blackmail.” She edged passed him and snatched up her bag. “Thanks, but no thanks.”

  “Pity,” he said, behind her. “Your work is outstanding and this hotel could do with your expertise.”

  Desiree stilled. Damn the man, slugging her right back in her most vulnerable spot.

  Her work was everything. Focusing on being self-sufficient and financially secure had been her goal growing up, when she’d known her flakey mom would follow the next rich guy and leave her hanging. Which is exactly what had happened. The only one of her mom’s men that Desiree had liked had been Voigt Baron.

  And look how that had turned out.

  Voigt had become a recluse after her mom had left him at the altar. Considering it had been the Bollywood wedding of the decade, with superstars from all around the world attending and the media rights sold to major channels, Voigt’s humiliation had been very, very public.

  Desiree had blocked a lot of that day from her mind, considering her humiliation had almost matched Voigt’s. But she’d never forget Voigt’s devastation when he’d heard the news, when he’d staggered to a nearby chair, collapsed onto it, dropped his head into his hands and cried.

  “Come on, Desee, I need you.”

  He sounded genuine and a lump of emotion lodged in Desiree’s throat. Only Jarryd had ever called her that, the last time being the night of their infamous almost-kiss. The night she’d thought he’d reciprocated her crush.

  How wrong she’d been.

  Indignation made her shake and she whirled back to face him. “You don’t need me. You’ve never needed anyone in your entire life. So quit the BS.”

  To her surprise, a fleeting sheepishness clouded his eyes before he stepped back and out of her personal space. Thank God.

  “I’m going to be honest with you,” he said, perching on the edge of his desk. “The Baron hotels are in a bad way. Dad let them lapse. Hasn’t been checking up on managers. Not caring about the bottom line.” He dragged a hand through his hair, making her palm itch to do the same. Or maybe slap him. One of the two. “I’ve recently been appointed CEO and I want to ensure the family name is restored.”

  He jabbed a finger at his cell. “That message was from my PA, reminding me I need a date for this massive event the hotel is hosting this week. It was to be the hotel’s re-launch, to match it with the big boys again. But it’s an online dating agency event, the biggest on the western seaboard, and I can’t host something like that without having a date myself for PR purposes. It’d look hypocritical.”

  She understood. Especially the part about wanting to restore the family name, considering how much her mom had tarnished it. But that didn’t mean she had to agree to his ludicrous suggestion.

  “Why the hell would you ask me though?” She pointed at his cell. “Surely you’d have an endless supply of stupid women willing to fall at your feet?”

  His lips twisted into a wry grin. “As I said, this would be a business arrangement. A mutually beneficial, short term arrangement, one that can’t be complicated by emotions.”

  “Well, when you put it like that, how could any woman refuse?”

  He chuckled, the genuine warmth in his tone surprising her, and sending an unexpected shot of something akin to longing through her.

  “Your work really is excellent and this could be a way for us to both get what we want.”

  Desiree hated how logical it sounded. How simple. When she knew for a fact that spending any time around Jarryd Baron was far from simple.

  “I let you design the entire interior of the old wing, you pose as my date for a week. No muss, no fuss.” His smile packed as much punch as his damn chuckles. “What do you say?”

  Desiree knew what she should say. A big, fat, resounding hell no.

  But she needed this job desperately.

  She needed to prove to herself and the world that she was nothing like her mother.

  That she was a survivor who could make it on her own without the help of a man.

  So she found herself nodding, a second before “yes” spilled from her reluctant lips.

  Seven days as Jarryd’s date.

  She could do this.

  She would do this.

  Then why was her insistent voice of reason yelling at her to make a run for it while she still could.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Jarryd didn’t have time to take trips, not when the family’s Mumbai hotel needed more work than he’d realized.

  But he had to tell his dad about Desiree firsthand. Having Voigt learn about him ‘dating’ Desiree via the media would be disastrous.

  The Baron boys—his dad, himself and his brother Rory, a major movie star in Hollywood and Bollywood—never spoke of Sushma D’Souza. So if his father learned of his new ‘girlfriend’ via the press…

  His da
d had gone through enough when that gold-digging tart Sushma had broken his heart. No way in hell would Jarryd let Voigt believe he was seriously involved with Sushma’s daughter without explaining first.

  As the rickshaw pulled up out the front of his dad’s modest single story house in the tiny town of Saravan, Jarryd clamped down on the urge to whisk his father away from this place. It was the same every time he visited, his shock that his dad had withdrawn from a high-flying wealthy lifestyle to hide away in this place.

  Munnipar may be the glamorous municipality commonly labeled as India’s Riviera, but its capital Saravan had to be the only town that bucked the trend on this stretch of land on India’s west coast.

  Jarryd paid the driver and glanced around at the dusty road, the cow grazing in front of a nearby tobacco shop, the whitewashed concrete houses long faded to gray.

  The smell of frying onions, garlic and turmeric hung heavy in the air from a street vendor offering chaat, the fast food he could never resist.

  Across the road, the Arabian Sea stretched as far as he could see, with a few boisterous kids playing cricket on the beach and he had to admit the place had a simple charm, far from the madness of Mumbai.

  “Good to see you, Son.”

  He turned at the sound of his father’s voice, hating the familiar twang of awkwardness he felt. Voigt Baron was his hero, always had been, but Jarryd had never had much in common with his dad, not like Rory.

  Their mom had died when they were toddlers and while they’d been raised by a string of competent nannies, Voigt had always been a hands-on father despite his workload and lifestyle. Jarryd idolized him, but when Rory entered showbiz, acting in many of Voigt’s blockbuster hits, Jarryd faded into the background.

  He knew restoring the Mumbai hotel to its former glory was a chance to make his dad proud. Or at least sit up and take notice. Deep down, he hoped it might even bring Voigt out of his self-imposed reclusive retirement and encourage him to take an interest in the family’s hotelier business again.

  “Hey Dad.” Jarryd strode toward his father and embraced him, not surprised he’d lost more weight.

  Voigt didn’t seem to take an interest in much these days, including food.

  After they disengaged, Voigt eyed him with speculation. “What brings you by?”

  “Can’t a son visit his father because he feels like it?”

  Voigt’s eyebrows rose. “Your life revolves around jets, hotels and property around the world, yet you pop in to the ass end of the earth on a whim because of dear old dad?”

  Jarryd felt embarrassment flush his cheeks. When he’d first laid eyes on his father’s humble abode here, he’d labeled the town the ass end of the earth. Which may be true, but thankfully he’d learned to hold his tongue better.

  “We need to talk, Dad.”

  Caution clouded Voigt’s eyes. “Why do I get the feeling that means you’ll lecture and I’ll listen?”

  “No lectures, promise.”

  The fact his father thought Jarryd might lecture him made him feel guilty. Because that’s exactly what Jarryd had done when Voigt had first moved here six years ago to escape the scandal that dogged his every move after being jilted at the altar.

  He’d initially done it out of concern, to try and snap his father out of the lethargy that plagued him after Sushma had abandoned him to a paparazzi storm that lasted weeks. But the more he’d lectured, the more his father had withdrawn and once he’d moved here, Jarryd had left his dad to heal in peace.

  A peace he hoped he wouldn’t shatter with his news.

  “Come inside and have some masala chai.” Voigt stepped back from the door. “Prita whipped up idlis and sambar for breakfast today and there’s plenty.”

  Jarryd’s mouth watered at the thought of steamed rice cakes and the rich, vegetable-laden lentil soup. “Sounds good.”

  No one cooked authentic Indian food like his father’s housekeeper, who could manufacture a spicy feast without breaking a sweat.

  She’d been Voigt’s housekeeper since he’d moved to India ten years ago. Prita had kept Voigt’s Mumbai residence running with precision and Jarryd had been thankful that she’d stuck by his father and moved to this backwater place.

  Prita had never liked Sushma too, had seen through her phony façade. Which endeared her to Jarryd even more.

  Entering the coolness of the house, watching his father move with a relaxed ease, Jarryd couldn’t help but think this place suited Voigt. Growing up in LA, surrounded by the frenetic pace of Hollywood, might’ve been exciting but it had taken its toll. It had been one of the reasons Voigt had moved to India in the first place, for a change of pace and a new challenge.

  Predictably, Voigt had conquered Bollywood in the same way he’d been the toast of Hollywood; by producing memorable movies, respecting his workers and sticking to budget.

  Jarryd never knew if his father would’ve retired if Sushma hadn’t embroiled him in a scandal but thankfully, his father now looked more relaxed than he’d ever seen him.

  “We’ll eat in the kitchen,” Voigt said, ushering him through. “Prita’s at the market, buying fresh fish and crabs for a curry tonight.”

  “How come you’re so skinny?” Jarryd poked his dad in the ribs. “If Prita’s cooking is half as good as I remember, you should’ve doubled your weight by now.”

  A shadow passed over his father’s face before it vanished in a second, making Jarryd wonder if he imagined it.

  “When I lived in Mumbai, I rarely ate at home.” Voigt patted his stomach. “All that rich food when constantly eating out wasn’t good for me.”

  That wasn’t the only thing that wasn’t good for his father but Jarryd kept that comment to himself. They both knew what Voigt hadn’t said: the reason he’d eaten out a lot back then was because Sushma demanded it.

  A B-grade actress on the arm of a mega producer had wanted to be seen at every hot spot in Mumbai and beyond, badgering Voigt to go out almost nightly. His dad had obliged because he’d been smitten. To the point he’d been blindsided when she’d left him, looking like a schmuck in a white suit on a private beach in Goa, surrounded by Bollywood A-listers waiting to celebrate his extravagant nuptials.

  To this day, Jarryd had no idea why Sushma abandoned her golden ticket to the good life at the last minute. He hated her for hurting his dad to the point Voigt had withdrawn from society, but inwardly Jarryd jumped for joy.

  Annoyed he’d soured his father’s mood before he’d revealed what he had to say, Jarryd helped himself to a plate and piled three idlis onto it and smothered the rice cakes in delicious smelling sambar, thick with lentils. “Well, apart from being too thin you look good, so Prita’s cooking is obviously better for you.”

  His father nodded, a distant look in his eyes, as if lost in the past, and Jarryd inwardly cursed at dredging up memories best left alone.

  “So what’s on your mind, Son?” Voigt poured them a cup of tea and joined him at the small wooden table barely big enough for the two of them. “And don’t tell me nothing, because you’ve got that look.”

  Jarryd took a sip of cardamom, cinnamon, black pepper, star anise and clove infused tea and schooled his face into a blank mask. “What look?”

  “The look of a man up to no good but unable to extricate himself from a bad situation.”

  “Don’t be so dramatic, Dad.” Jarryd gestured at his plate. “How about I eat this then tell you everything.”

  “Go ahead,” Voigt said, continuing to study him as if he suspected Jarryd had come here to abscond with the family fortune.

  Jarryd didn’t care, he’d get to the truth soon enough, because the moment he spooned the first mouthful of idli and sambar into his mouth, he wished his dad had never moved.

  Prita had a master’s touch, combining the rich, spice-infused lentil soup with brinjal (aubergine), tomatoes and onions to make a dense gravy that made him hungry for more.

  Voigt chuckled. “Good, huh?”

  Jarryd mumble
d his agreement, not stopping until he’d cleaned his plate and finished his tea.

  “How many rupees to do you pay Prita?” Jarryd patted his stomach. “Because I’m tripling her wages and taking her back with me to Mumbai.”

  Voigt snorted. “Like to see you try. That woman’s the most loyal I’ve ever met.”

  Jarryd’s contentment from the good meal faded, as he realized his dad had given him the perfect segue into a conversation he’d rather not have but knew he had to.

  “Speaking of women and loyalty, there’s something I have to tell you.”

  Voigt leaned back in his chair, as if he didn’t care what Jarryd had to divulge, but Jarryd saw the telltale clench of his jaw. “It must be big, for you to make a trip out here to tell me in person.”

  “Not so much big, as I wanted you to hear it from me and not read about it or see it on TV.”

  Concern creased Voigt’s brow. “If it’s some scandal surrounding Sushma, I don’t give a shit.”

  “It’s not that…” Jarryd ran a hand over his face before continuing. “You know the Mumbai hotel needs a revamp. The old wing requires complete remodeling but I don’t want to wait ‘til that’s done to get some positive PR happening.”

  “And?”

  “Well, there’s a new designer who’s doing some great work and I’ve enlisted her help with the old wing.”

  Impatience tightened Voigt’s mouth. “So what aren’t you telling me?”

  Jarryd took a deep breath and blew it out. “The designer is Desiree D’Souza.”

  Voigt startled, before the tension holding his shoulders rigid eased and his expression softened. “She’s a sweet kid.”

  An image of Desiree in all her sultry glory flashed into Jarryd’s mind, reinforcing that the sweet kid had grown into a stunning woman. Waist-length black hair, eyes the color of Belgian chocolate, high cheekbones, full lips and a killer body with curves that begged to be explored.

  Yeah, his date for a week was far from a kid, a fact certain parts of his anatomy had recognized all too keenly.

  As Jarryd debated how to tell his dad the rest, Voigt said, “There must be more. Because Desiree designing the new wing wouldn’t make front page news.”