Page 3 of Claiming His Bollywood Cinderella

“Ahh...so you’re one of those critics who makes fun but has never done a minute’s worth of creative work themselves or shared it with the world? It’s so easy to hide on the sidelines and mock the person out in the public arena, no? Can I ask why you pinpointed that particular scene?”

Her spine straightened and she charged forward. The scent of roses filled his nostrils and he felt a thrill run down his spine. God, she was gorgeous when she was all riled up.

“First of all, I’m not ill-equipped to make such comments. Not when I’ve studied film history all through college. Secondly, are you sure you want to know why I picked that scene to reenact?”

“I’m a big boy, Ms. Menon. I assure you I can take it.”

“Can you though? When you’ve turned a minute of comedy into a huge insult to your own ego?” He didn’t answer and the resolve tightened in her face. “Fine, here’s my honest opinion, for what it’s worth.

“You cater to the lowest denomination of the mass population with these action blockbusters, and you offer a warped image of what a hero should be with your revenge and destroy plotlines. You perpetuate the same tired old trope of being the macho guy who’s a ‘true man’ just because you can supposedly beat up more guys than anyone else. That movie was not only gratuitously violent but offensive on every level to women, from your leading lady to your blind sister to even your overdramatized female best friend. They only exist in the film to make you their savior.”

Every word of her criticism was justified. Every word was utter truth.

And he’d asked for it, so he couldn’t even blame her for saying it, could he?

If Vikram didn’t hate the idea of true physical violence on every level, he would’ve sucker-punched his brother for the low whistle that ran around the room.

“I make movies to make money, Ms. Menon. Having clearly inveigled yourself into my grandmother’s household, I’m sure you’ve a really good idea that it’s wealth which makes the world go around. So please don’t tell me that all artists create just for the purpose of art.”

He had no idea why he’d just said that because his grandmother was a great judge of character. And if she thought Ms. Menon was the newly rising sun, then Vikram would normally have believed her, no questions asked.

“Inveigled myself?” she repeated in a low tone, her body vibrating with her anger. “I can’t... I can’t believe I used to have a teenage crush on you! Of course, I know wealth makes the world go around probably far better than you do—because, believe me, I don’t have any.

“As for art... I’m not asking you to throw away any of your considerable wealth making artsy movies that might bomb at the box office. I know you have to keep growing this amazing dynasty...” she threw her arms around and those damn bracelets of hers tinkled again “...to enable the generations of Raawals that might come after you to sit around on their bums.”

She slapped her hand over her mouth and groaned. Vikram felt the insane urge to drag her hand away and taste that groan. As much as she was skewering him with her painful truths, he wanted to hear her go on tirade after tirade. God, he could listen to that throaty voice of hers for hours.

She turned to address his grandmother. “I’m sorry, Daadiji. I didn’t mean to insult your family.”

Virat and Daadi laughed and even Vikram’s chest filled with a burst of irreverent joy.

“Never mind,beta,” Daadi crooned, her perceptive gaze on Vikram. “No one else would dare rip into my grandson quite so well as you just have. Please go on. You have my blessing.” The last he knew was added for his benefit.

Not that she believed he would harm Ms. Menon in any way.

“I don’t think she has the guts, Daadi,” Vikram taunted deliberately. “She’s too scared to say anything else to my face.”

Fury coated her cheeks, and her brown eyes danced with fire.

“You’re not just wealthy, you wield power and influence. Directors and producers change story lines for you. They hire and fire people at your say-so. They create these multi-crore elaborate sets for you. You have the chance to steer things the right way in the industry. You could use your star power to create a new kind of hero, Mr. Raawal. Because, believe me, the world needs to reexamine what makes a man a hero.”

Vikram knew he should leave it at that. She hadn’t said anything he hadn’t already faced up to in the dark of the night. And yet to be so thoroughly reduced to the sum of his flaws grated at his ego. To be thought of in such poor terms by a woman that stirred his interest like never before...pricked his male pride.

“Why should I give your cutting opinion any weight? What have you done so far that’s so important and worthwhile? You’re clearly both educated and talented because even Virat sings your praises, and yet you’re hiding here playing PA to my grandmother, hiding from your own life!”

“That’s unfair,” she threw back at him and yet he could see from her reaction he’d hit the nail on its head. He hadn’t become the king of an industry without being perceptive.

“Ah... Ms. Menon, you can dish it out, but you clearly can’t take it,” he drawled.

“You don’t know anything about my life,” she retorted and he had a horrible feeling he’d truly wounded her.

Regret filled his chest. He desperately wanted to touch her, to hold her trembling body. Instead he stepped back.

For the entire world, even for his family who knew him well, he was a coldhearted businessman, the head of Raawal House. And nothing else. With no shades or flaws.

“And yet you presume to know everything about mine,” he said softly, his frustration with himself, with the world seeping into his tone. “Because I live my life for your entertainment and God forbid I make mistakes like every other person on the planet. God forbid anyone even wonders that there’s more to me than the company or this bloody family or being a successful star. Right?”

Silence met his own outburst. Virat and Daadi stared at him with stunned expressions. As for Ms. Menon, he had no words to describe the look in her eyes.

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