Page 9 of The Ex Factor

“Go on,” he said, handing me my glass.

“Sameer left for India the night we got engaged. He’d been gone for a week, and I was dying to see him, so I went to his place and found them sharing an intimate dinner. Turned out it was Tara’s birthday. Sameer was sans his engagement band, and the looks on their faces told me everything I didn’t want to know. But I used the choicest words in my repertoire to convey my displeasure.”

“That must have been hard. I’m sorry,” he said with a look that echoed his words.

I had seen that look before in many eyes, on many faces, after Sameer ended our relationship. The only difference was Sujit knew exactly what I’d been through. His pity wasn’t hollow. It was empathy. It was the connection between two kindred souls.

Still, I hated that look. I frowned in response. “Do you want me to defend him too?”

He shrugged. “Only if you feel you must.”

This man was an enigma. Powerful men weren’t supposed to be like this. They were supposed to be macho, steeped in their misplaced alpha mentality, walking on earth like they did therest of us a favor by merely existing. I had seen too many of them around me since I was a young girl.

The influential billionaire sitting beside me was an anomaly. It made me want to get to know him better. Was this all a front, and was I really missing something? As much as I wanted to hate Tara, I knew her well. Well enough to be convinced that she wouldn’t have been with him if he wasn’t the person he was projecting to be.

“What are you thinking?” he interrupted my musing.

“I forgot what we’re talking about,” I confessed.

“You were about to tell me the whole story,” the astute man answered and slipped me a light smirk.

I sighed. “In Sameer’s defense, I had proposed marriage to him in front of two hundred odd people at my parents’ anniversary as a surprise, a day before he was supposed to break up with me. There, I said it.”

“I’m sorry, Ms. Bhatia. I really am. Love is never easy, but nothing prepares you for this.” He relaxed on the soft couch and savored his drink with his eyes closed.

“Love is irrational,” I replied. “The concept of love is stupid. I don’t think it really exists, and if it does, it’s fleeting. All we ever catch is a brush, a light touch, a whiff…if we are lucky.”

He opened his eyes to look at me, and it was the first time I noticed his beautiful lashes. And his deep brown eyes, full of wisdom and kindness. Darn, that man was gorgeous!

“You sound like a cynic,” he observed and drew another sip of his drink.

“I’m practical,” I countered with some indignation.

“And me?” he asked softly.

I wouldn’t have blurted out the truth, but there was enough alcohol in me to lower my inhibitions. “You’re a romantic. You believe in fairy tales. You believe in happily ever after.”

“And you don’t?”

“I believe in surviving right now. I believe in facing the truth with grit and vengeance, not patience or humility.”

His face changed a smidgen like I had pinched a raw nerve, but he’d trained himself not to show it. Only I was really good at reading micro-expressions. He planted his gaze on mine with an amused look as if he’d also figured out that last part.

My heart skipped a beat, and my stomach took a tumble. That look of his, that peering from behind his glasses, with a slight smile on his lips, made me throb in all the wrong places. I found myself damp between my thighs. And yes, I was going to blame the alcohol for this misplaced, ill-timed, and completely inappropriate arousal.

His smile widened, and he gulped down the last of his drink. “I think we should call it a night.”

“That’s probably a good idea,” I agreed, eager to get away from him before I said or did something I’d regret.

He signaled our server. When I saw him reaching for the wallet in his jacket, I said, “I’ll take care of it, don’t worry.”

“Maybe next time.”

“Do we hope to get wasted again?” I asked with a drunken grin.

“We could if you need a friendly ear,” he said and dropped the card in the plush leather folder the server had presented.

I grinned again. I usually didn’t grin. It was a part of being a socialite, you don’t grin, not even when you’re happy. You need to be picture-perfect every waking moment. But sitting here with Sujit felt different. It felt like I could breathe normally, like I didn’t need to pretend. He saw me, the real me. I could tell he could read my thoughts, so I allowed myself the grins I’d withheld in the past.

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