Page 138 of The Ex Factor

I nodded just as we heard shuffling outside my office.

“Good thing,” she whispered. “Devi’s here already.”

Quiet as mice, we pulled on our clothes and smoothed out any evidence of mischief. I grabbed her one last time and kissed her hard.

“Careful! Lipstick!” she warned softly.

With the handy makeup wipes she’d begun carrying, she cleaned our faces. Clearly, I couldn’t be trusted to keep my mouth off her. Or my hands. Then, quickly reapplying the color on her lips, she dumped everything in her bag.

We retook our places on the chair and couch, per our usual routine, and I switched the glass back to transparent. Devi had occupied her throne behind her desk and was already at work.

It had been six months since Aarti had relocated to New York City. We kept base in our own apartments but often spent timetogether for days on end. She had become comfortable around my family and with my staff. Well, it was her staff now.

We had entered into a formal partnership with Creators’ Studio. In a short time, Aarti had managed to not only build it from the ground up but also define its shape and character. She had brought Padma and her friend on as consultants, whose guidance helped build tangible features into the program. Aarti also consulted with Tara, often course-correcting according to her suggestions.

Starting a non-profit to address child hunger had been a long-held dream of Aarti’s. Last month, she’d started the procedure to create one. It was slated to begin its operations in the U.S. and gradually spread across the globe to end child poverty and hunger.

As I watched her with intense admiration, she brought her eyes to meet mine.

“Focus,” she reprimanded with love. “Did you take a look at the documents I had sent?”

“Yes. I agree with everything you suggest.”

“Hey.” She gave me a stern look. “Didyou read everything?”

“I did, yes, ma’am. And I agree with everything you suggest,” I repeated with emphasis.

We had bought out Manoj’s company from Vinay, who was glad to have it off his hands. Manoj had thrown petty tantrums when he was ousted, but Vinay had managed the takeover spectacularly. He let the world see that Manoj’s behavior was no better than an entitled frat boy, while he remained the untouchable, immaculate investor with the private equity who had swooped in to save the day. Manoj’s disgraceful reaction also ensured that he would find no support in the industry for many years to come. My conviction had held true. He had managed to ruin his own professional credibility.

After the party at the Ritz-Carlton, the press had continued to tout Aarti and me as a power couple, a force to look out for. We were featured everywhere from fashion magazines to editorials about social change. None of this fazed us, though. We continued to work quietly on projects that were meaningful to us.

The noise, however, effectively drowned out the narratives that expected us to be shameful of our relationship. With a singular, dignified interview conducted by a prominent news outlet, Aarti had spectacularly destroyed Manoj without once uttering his name. She had left just enough breadcrumbs for people to be intrigued and take it upon themselves to figure out who had dared to blackmail her. Once Manoj’s name was discovered as having slipped the rumors to the tabloid, his personal reputation had dwindled as swiftly as his professional. She had relegated him to the point of no return.

The previous month, I bought the company with backing from new investors who saw the promise of growth under new leadership. Aarti managed to convince her father to invest in it, although the money now was Aarti’s. Her savvy had finally convinced her father to let her pursue her own path with a share of the wealth she’d earned and deserved. He was still bitter about her moving away from Dallas and, ergo, threw me a cold shoulder now and again, but I wasn’t worried. Everyone else in her family had accepted me as the reason for her happiness, and I was certain in time, I would win over her father.

“There is only one person I envision as the COO of this venture,” Aarti said as we fleshed out the list of possible C-suite candidates for the cyber security company.

My lips turned up as I looked at her from above the rim of my glasses. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“Tejal,” we both said in unison.

“Definitely Tejal,” she said making several lines on the paper in her lap. “Oh, how I wish I could see his face when we make that announcement.”

She tapped her pen several times on the folder in thought. “I think it’s time she reclaimed her rightful place in your game-night group. Now that Manoj’s out, why don’t you ask her?”

“Or you can, when we call her in for the position.”

“It’s not my place, Sujit. I’m not a part of the group, and I don’t wish to be. That’s your space, your nerding-out time. I wouldn’t dream of encroaching on it.”

“Why don’t you just come out and say that you have better things to do?”

She smiled. “That too, but I really want you to have your own time. I promise it’s not a ruse.”

My eyes stilled on her again, my sight glazing over her face.

Aarti Bhatia was power personified—Shakti herself—a goddess walking the earth, and I felt both proud and humbled that she had chosen me as her consort.

“What are you looking at?” she said as a blush tinted her bronze cheeks.

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