Page 22 of Claiming His Bollywood Cinderella

That night in the library had been just an accident of nature—like the meteor that hit earth every hundred years. It had shaken up the very foundation of her life and she was still processing the tremors it had left behind. But she knew she couldn’t survive a second impact.

With that resolve sorted in her head, she walked up the airplane stairs just as it started to rain, anticipation thrumming through her.

Elegant cream-and-white leather greeted her as she stepped inside, the main cabin more spacious than the entire flat she shared with her stepmom.

Seven pairs of eyes focused on her for a few seconds, took in her pink blouse and colorful skirt and then promptly ignored her. Somehow, she kept her squeal locked away when she recognized her favorite playwright.

From all the information Vikram’s secretary had told her over a long phone call, Naina knew she’d be working hard for every rupee she earned over the next few weeks. But talking to Rita without Vikram staring down at her had also helped her realize she could do this job well.

For so long after Mama had left, it had been she who had tried to wrangle the household accounts into some semblance of order, despite her young age. Papa had been so lost without his wife. It had been all he could do to hold onto his tenure at the university.

When he had married her stepmother, Naina had given up control of the family finances to her. Looking back, she should have realized Jaya Ma had no impulse control, whether it came to emotions or finances. She had felt so betrayed when her father had died and she’d discovered the extent of the debts but had shoved the negative emotion away, because really, what was the point? There had been so many things to take care of after he’d died that indulging in her feelings would have been nothing but a petty waste of time.

She handed her pathetic-looking duffel bag into the all-too-elegant flight attendant’s hands. After requesting a cup of coffee, Naina settled down into her luxurious, buttery soft leather seat and looked around the unusual assortment of people onboard.

As well as the playwright, there were the Sharmas, who were a writing team of husband and wife, a septuagenarian cinematographer that she recognized only because her father had made it a point to show Naina the vintage movies the man had made, a well-known female novelist, with a man Naina didn’t recognize cozying up to her, and the last, a smartly dressed young man around her age with fashionable spectacles and a sharp nose. And a dazzlingly hot smile.

Grateful for a friendly face, Naina joined him.

It took three minutes for them to discover that Ajay was the son of a friend of a colleague of a cousin of Papa’s and that he also believed it a great loss that many fabulous filmmakers from South India were barely known outside of their region.

Ajay was even more nervous than her, because while Virat had recommended him to Vikram, he’d never worked for the big Mr. Raawal before. He’d also gathered from industry gossip that Vikram and Virat butted heads quite a lot, so he wasn’t sure how long his employment might last.

Naina did her best to allay his fears, by distracting Ajay with questions about his work. His portfolio—Ajay was an artist and set designer—was magnificent.

Whatever this project was, she was thrilled to see its conception. “Your work speaks for you,” she said, after gushing over all the period costume pieces and sets in his sketchbook.

“These are just rough sketches. Virat mentioned this film is going to be a period blockbuster with an all-star cast. It’s actually Mr. Raawal’s dream project that he’s been trying to get off the ground for years.” Ajay chuckled. “As if anything’s impossible for Mr. Raawal. The entire industry bends its knee to him if he so much as blinks in their direction.”

Naina didn’t like the censure in his voice. Maybe because it’s what she had thought too. At first.

“Everyone wants a piece of me,”Vikram had said.

“For what it’s worth, I’ve heard Mr. Raawal is a demanding but fair man to work for,” she said, incapable of staying quiet. “I’d say this is your big chance.”

Gratitude filling his eyes, Ajay reached for her hand on the table between them and squeezed it. Naina returned his clasp, feeling much better herself. The flight attendant opened the luggage hatch opposite them and put Ajay’s bag next to hers.

“At least our bags have each other,” he whispered with a wink.

As if on cue, Vikram stepped inside the plane, right at that precise moment.

His broad shoulders filled the not-so-narrow expanse of the aisle. The white shirt he wore was plastered to his chest from the now torrential downpour outside, and he was dripping water all over the floor. The outline of his hard chest reminded her of how delicious it had felt against her naked breasts. His black trousers molded to his strong thighs. His hair was pushed away from his forehead. He looked like her dreams given form.

Naina urgently wanted to go up to him and press her mouth to the pulse beating at his neck. She wanted to push her hands through his wet hair.

A number of greetings rang out around the cabin, cutting into her reverie. His gaze swept through the cabin, slowly, methodically. Her tummy went into a slow roll, every cell prickling with awareness. She knew who he was looking for.

Those dark brown eyes finally landed on her. Their gazes held, for no more than a few seconds. His, hot and demanding. A jolt of answering hunger rose in her, her body thrumming with anticipation.

Oh, God, how many times had she made fun of seeing lightning in the sky when the hero and heroine met in one of those cheesier romance movies? And yet, lightning striking the jet because of the energy sparking between them didn’t seem quite so far-fetched right now.

And then his gaze moved to her hand in Ajay’s, to their heads bent together, to the smile that had frozen on her face.

His disapproval was instant. As if the flight attendant had flipped the air-conditioning switch from warm to chilly in a few seconds. A guilty flush of heat climbed up her cheeks. Her smile slipped, but she refused to pull her hand from Ajay’s just because Vikram didn’t like it.

With a muffled curse, Ajay jerked away from her and buried his face in his portfolio. Naina wanted to throw something at the man still staring down at her as if he owned her.

It wasn’t going unnoticed by the rest of the team either. She much preferred their earlier indifference to this sudden curiosity.

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