Page 34 of The Ex Factor

“It’s yours, bro! If this is how you see it, it belongs with you!” She gave me a quick hug, overwhelmed that I’d finally understood the artist in her.

“Now, show me something for Amma’s gudi,” I said. “I’m sure she called you about it too.”

Padma laughed. “She did, and I have just the thing for her, a beautiful painting by a dear friend. Come, let me introduce you to her. She captures the feminine essence so brilliantly. I’m sure Peddamma will love it.”

Twenty minutes later, I saw Aarti leave the gallery. I left soon after. On the way back, I stopped to buy two chilled bottles of thesparkling white that she’d loved at Marco’s. When I got home, I waited with an eagerness that was aberrant and inexplicable.

She was dating other men, and I was still hurting from Tara. It was safe to assume we couldn’t share more than camaraderie at this time. Then why did her presence, her smart words, and her wisdom seem to ease my soul?

She arrived looking relaxed, with a definite lightness in her demeanor. I could vouch for it because she had traded her stilettos for a pair of low-heel pumps. Though she was still in that stylish, simple black dress, she’d ditched her clutch for the tote she usually had on her.

“Nice place!” she said and walked around the spacious apartment, surveying the layout. “Really nice. I thought I heard you assure me it was humble.”

“It is. Very humble. Like me.” I grinned.

She rolled her eyes and flopped on the couch.

“Did your date drop you here?” I asked for no apparent reason.

“No, I had him drop me at the hotel. I had the car service waiting for me.”

“Is the car waiting for you here?” I asked, and she nodded.

“Send it back. I’ll drop you.”

She narrowed her eyes, then smiled and placed the call.

“Whisky, bourbon, or something else?” I asked when she dropped her phone back into the tote.

“What’s thesomething elseon that menu?”

“Sparkling white, perhaps?” I asked with a crooked smile.

She laughed. “Yes, please. You know me now, don’t you?”

“Only because you ordered it at Marco’s. Unlike you, I’m not sneaky. I still don’t know how you found out about Rampur.”

She smiled as I poured her the wine.

“You’re not going to share it with me, are you?”

Accepting the glass I offered, she said, “Maybe someday.”

She took a sip of the wine and let out a sigh. “The date wore me out. I don’t even know why I decided to go out with him again.”

“Again?”

“This was our second date,” she said and shook her head in disbelief. “He seemed alright on our first one. We went for dinner, and he wasn’t boring.”

“You gave him another chance because he wasn’t boring?” I asked, intrigued.

“Well, not entirely. My cousin had set us up, so I wanted to give him a fair chance before I rejected him.”

“He’s a good-looking guy.”

“I’ll say, and too full of himself. He never asked one question about me. Likememe,” she said and gave me a look as if I must know precisely what she meant. And I did. She meant the conversation we had the other day.

“He’s an investment banker, and all he talked about was money and business. I’m not averse to it, but it’s my day job, and I’d really love to talk about other things outside work hours.”

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