Page 15 of Claiming His Bollywood Cinderella

God, he’d just snapped at his very pregnant secretary for no fault of hers. But listening to the same lousy headlines that had been on every TV and radio station for the last week meant his temper was hanging by a thin thread.

Pulling his Range Rover onto the unpaved land at the back of his grandmother’s bungalow, he called Rita back, and begged for forgiveness. He laid his head back against the seat and exhaled. Of course, the media was having a field day with the criticism being showered on his latest hit, even though it was raking it up at the box office.

But for once Vikram didn’t really give a damn about the bad publicity even, if the entire world thought he was a sellout. If the whole lot of them boycotted his movies.

Heshouldcare, however.

This was business and he’d always looked at it without getting bogged down by sentiment or ego or prejudice.

But he couldn’t give a damn, if he tried.Thatwas more worrying than any of the cutting reviews.

“Your life is going to turn upside down.”

The grave announcement the astrologer his sister Anya visited every month had made after looking at Vikram’s star chart came back to him now. He’d only gone because Anya had insisted. And because Anya had been rather quiet recently and that had worried him.

Worrying about his crazy family’s antics was second nature to him ever since he’d found out as a young man that in just a few short years his father had gambled away the entire fortune his grandfather had amassed and that Raawal House was on the verge of collapse. Then came the worry about Virat’s daredevil ways after the huge fallout between him and his parents. Then it had been Daadi’s heart attack. Then discovering his eighteen-year-old sister was pregnant with a fortune hunter’s child, who’d hightailed it out of town the minute he’d realized Anya wasn’t the easy express train to fame and fortune.

Hedidn’t likeinvolving himself in their lives, as Virat had claimed during their recent fight. He was not a“pain in the backside control freak who got his kicks from directing his family members’ lives as if they were his expensive ivory chess pieces.”

Virat had always had a way with words. But Vikram refused to feel guilty.

Their own parents’ incapability of actually acting like parents had forced him into that surrogate role. For as long as he could remember, he’d protected Virat and Anya. Was he supposed to suddenly stop doing it now? Of course, he’d been angry and defensive when he’d asked Virat to prove with his actions that he could be responsible for himself. Which had spiraled into yet another row over what was the definition of respectability and responsibility.

You’ve forgotten what it is to take risks, Vikram. You’ve forgotten what it means to live.

Having spent his entire childhood with parents who thrived on drama and chaos, Vikram loathed losing control. He hated the chaos that emotional vulnerability brought with it. He hated being dependent on anyone else for his happiness. God, he’d lived his life like that all through his childhood and adolescence.

He’d worked hard to bring order to the chaos, and yet suddenly, he felt like he was losing it all now. In both his professional and personal lives. His agent had recently informed him that the music director Vikram had wanted for his production company’s next film had refused to be involved in the project. The man was brilliant and had always hated Vikram’s guts.

The only silver lining from the entirety of this year had been the few hours he’d spent with Dream Girl at the party last week. He rubbed a hand over his face and laughed. God, he was actually referring to her as Dream Girl in his own head now. Surely he was going insane.

It had been a one-night stand. He’d had one-night stands before. God, yes, the sex, the connection between them had been extraordinary.

But the woman and the memory of the few hours he’d spent with her wouldn’t leave him alone. He wanted her. Again. But she clearly didn’t want him. Not for anything more than a few hours of fantasy. Because she hadn’t got in touch with him. And he still didn’t know who she was. He’d fallen asleep for just a couple of minutes in the quiet darkness of the library and when he’d jerked awake, she’d vanished into thin air.

However, what had become inconveniently clear to him over the last week was how much he wanted to believe her when she’d assured him she’d keep their tryst a secret. And his cynical assumption that she’d reveal herself to him, to the whole world, sooner or later.

After all, he was Vikram Raawal. Every woman wanted a piece of him.

God, he could just see those twinkling eyes widen and her mouth narrow in disapproval before she told him he shouldn’t believe his own egotistical hype so much.

A strange cocktail of relief and disappointment coursed through him. Relief because their strange encounter couldn’t be unmarred by reality now.

He’d seen enough of life to know the kind of visceral connection they’d shared couldn’t be sustained. A few more hours together and she would have surely disappointed him. And he’d have disillusioned her with his own cynical nature.

He should be thankful she hadn’t reappeared.

He was thirty-six and clearly in the middle of a midlife crisis. On a good day, he was cynical, grumpy and an unsentimental bastard who only cared about his family’s reputation and creating the next hit for Raawal House. He didn’t know what a healthy relationship between a man and woman even constituted. For all his stardom, and wealth and “stunning good looks,” he wasn’t any woman’s best chance at a long, happy relationship.

Dream Girl...wasn’t just any woman, though. God, she was only twenty-four, a veritable novice when it came to life experience. And yet, she’d been so mature. So funny. So...full of life. So damn sexy. So...out of his reach, for all the power and privilege he held in his palm.

And for the first time in his life, he really wanted something very badly and yet couldn’t have it.

His mood went from grumpy to downright crabby when he entered his grandmother’s bungalow and discovered Virat had stolen away Daadi for the day. He accepted Ramu Kaka’s offer of a cup of chai instead of immediately heading out.

Daadi’s yearly pilgrimage to London meant she’d leave tomorrow. Since he had to be on a flight to the Maldives in a few days, he wouldn’t see her again for three months.

Three months was a long time when one’s grandmother was eighty-three years old. A flash of fear struck him straight in his chest at the thought of the world without Daadi in it. It was infuriating to realize some things would always be out of one’s control. Especially the things that mattered the most.

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