Tea for Two and a Piece of Cake (8 page)

I tell him about the five-star resort we would be staying at. I tell him I am excited and eager and really looking forward to it.

He listens in pin-drop silence. I am happy to have really given it back to him and rendered him speechless. A kind of slow satisfaction is spreading over me.

Then he says in a quiet tone, ‘Of course, what else can you expect when you sleep with the boss? You have cleared your way up, spreading your legs. That is all you were worth, and that is all you will remain,’ he says.

His words hit me like a shower of arrows. I am so angry that I cannot think straight. My breath is coming in short gasps. I clutch the phone hard in anger. I am so angry that I can barely speak.

‘Fuck you, arsehole’, I finally manage to say, but he has already hung up.

Prashant has managed to throw a shovel full of ice and dirty muck on my cherished dream.

I am hurt, upset, and angry—all at the same time. Yet it was me who had implied that I had slept with Samir. But still, there was no need to use the words he did and be mean, nasty, and cruel.

I sit for a long time, thinking about it that night, and even though I know Prashant is being deliberately cruel, I still cannot get his words out of my head, and they sting like hell.

Like a Hurricane

T
he Bali resort is even more picturesque than the brochures portray. It is at a secluded location on a cliff top at Jimbaran Bay. It is cosseted by seventy-five hectares of superbly landscaped gardens and has a two-kilometre-long private coastline, with miles and miles of white sand. The ocean is a colour which I have never seen before. The moment I set foot on the resort, I go speechless at its beauty and perfection. It even has lavish restaurants facing the ocean. The place seems more like a romantic getaway than a venue for a conference.

Samir seems oblivious to the beauty of the resort as he completes the check in formalities. The other delegates too seem to be arriving, and the reception is soon crowded with people of different nationalities, all waiting to check in. Our rooms are adjacent to each other, and the moment I am inside mine, I keep my luggage in the wardrobe, and run my hands on the ultra-luxurious furnishing of the bed. I throw open the blinds and sharply inhale the magnificent view of the ocean, the beauty of it all, and feel so fortunate at getting a chance
to experience such luxury. I have never stayed at a fivestar resort before and am enjoying and savouring every moment. I bounce up and down on the bed and smile in joy at my childish act.

Then I explore the room further and examine all the shampoos, the conditioners, moisturizers, and various lotions kept in the loo. When I come out, I notice another door in my room and I am curious as to where it opens out to. Perhaps it is a private terrace?

I unlock it and I scream.

There is a near-naked man standing with his back turned to me, wearing the tightest of briefs, his back muscles rippling, and his well-toned buttocks standing out prominently. The man is as startled as me, and when he turns around, I gasp in horror as the slow realization dawns on me that I am looking at Samir who says, ‘What the fuck?’

I retreat in haste and shut the door, and when I recover from the shock, I collapse on my bed, laughing uncontrollably.

Oh, the horror of inadvertently seeing your boss nearly naked! I am so darn embarrassed that I want to dig a hole in the bed, crawl inside, and stay there for eternity. I feel like a prized fool to have barged in on him like that. But the silly hotel should have kept the door locked. How was I to know that the rooms had an interconnected door? It is the first time in my life I have even heard of such a thing as rooms with an interconnected door. I try my best to stop laughing, but I find the situation too ridiculous. I nearly jump out of my skin when there is a knock on the same door. I suppress my giggles and open it.

Samir is fully dressed now and to my relief, he is smiling too.

‘Oh, Nisha, I am so sorry. I should have warned you. Most of these hotels have rooms which are interconnected. They give them out in pairs, on request,’ he says.

‘But why in the world would anyone want it?’ I ask naively and as soon as I ask, I realize my stupidity.

‘Maybe people want it so they can walk in on unsuspecting others when they are changing clothes,’ he smiles and winks.

That sets me off again and I laugh and apologize profusely.

‘Don’t worry about it. Meet me downstairs in an hour and get all the slides. We have to rock this presentation,’ he says.

We rock it just fine. Samir seems to have done his homework thoroughly and his public speaking skills are exemplary. I oddly feel very proud of him, as he wraps up the presentation to a rapturous applause.

The rest of the day goes by in a blur. I can see that art tourism is truly a big thing and everybody is very excited about it. It is the first time I am attending a conference like this, and I carefully make notes about everything that each speaker says for easy reference in the future. I look at some of the people in the audience who seem bored. A few have even dozed off in the back seats! I am surprised how they cannot find such a topic interesting. Then again, maybe they have been to a hundred
conferences before and are not newbies like me. Whatever it is, I know I am learning a lot and soak it all in like a sponge.

At night, there is a buffet dinner organized at the venue of the conference, but Samir has instead booked a private table for us by the oceanside. I am glad I am wearing a red dress with a plunging neckline. It perfectly accentuates my curves, making me look toned. I match it with red stilettos and a simple diamond bracelet on my wrist. I have never worn such bold colours before nor such jewellery, but I feel this occasion demands it. I feel a bit like Julia Roberts in
Pretty Woman
after she wears the designer stuff. I am rewarded when I see that Samir has a look of pure admiration on his face when he sees me. He says I look stunning and I thank him. He looks gorgeous himself—dressed in a white shirt tucked into a pair of faded denims. My heart beats faster as I gaze at him, getting increasingly drawn to his handsome face. I find all of this wonderfully romantic, but I have no idea what he feels. Why has he booked us a private table? Is he attracted to me as much as I am to him? I reason out that he has indeed asked me on a date twice, before I started working with Magellan. But I still don’t know what his intentions about me are and decide to just enjoy the grand time I am having without reading too much into the situation.

The dinner is in a secluded gazebo and the table is set perfectly, down to the slightest of details. There is a lovely bottle of wine chilling and the candles have been lit for effect. The sound of the ocean waves adds to the whole atmosphere.

‘You can have a drink now, Nisha. We are outside office timings now,’ smiles Samir as he orders a whisky for himself. His tone definitely sounds flirtatious now, or am I wistfully imagining things because of the whole atmosphere of the place?

‘I am scared of tripping over like last time.’

‘I’ll be there to catch your fall, don’t worry. Besides, our rooms have an interconnected door, remember?’ he smiles wickedly.

Of course he is flirting now.

‘How can I forget? But then, I may be too heavy for you.’ I smile back, as I remember how droolworthy he looked nearly naked. The guy does have a cute butt and a well-chiselled body.

‘Oh, I am a strong man Nisha. Try me!’ he says in a low baritone, making me smile.

As dinner progresses, he keeps refilling my glass of wine and orders another whiskey for himself. Both of us are getting drunk beyond the sane limit—he on his whiskey and me on my wine. Slowly, our conversation turns more intimate.

He starts talking about his previous relationship. ‘Her name is Jeena,’ he says, ‘and she taught me how to live. “Jeena sikhaya” as you say it.’ His tone is resigned, slightly bitter, and there is a trace of regret and longing in his voice.

Funnily, I feel a stab of jealousy. But I want to know more.

‘Was she the one we saw at the party when you called me a witch for guessing?’ I pry.

‘Yes, the same.’

‘What happened between you two? Why did you split?’

‘Let’s just say we wanted different things from life. It’s a long story, Nisha. One night will not be enough. Let’s not talk about it,’ he says, and I can see that he is still hurting. I feel angry with Jeena for causing him pain, even though I have never really met her. I am surprised at the intensity of my emotion.

‘Tell me about your childhood, Nisha. I want to know,’ he says.

The fact that he even bothers to ask, fills me with a kind of tenderness that I find hard to comprehend. My childhood was not a happy one at all. I have never spoken about it to anybody, as I have never had anyone close enough with whom I could share stuff like this. But when he asks, I want to tell him all. I want to tell him how lonely it was growing up without a mother, in the company of a father who didn’t seem to care much. I want to tell him how I used to long for some kind of praise when I did exceedingly well in school. I want to tell him that I badly wanted my parents around for all the school events, but my father never came. I want to tell him how it felt to be teased all my life for being plump. How it hurt and how I gradually learnt to shrug it all off with a smile. I want to tell him a lot of things. But I hold back.

‘There is nothing to tell,’ I say and sigh. ‘My mum died when I was five. My dad raised me with the help of a nanny. He hardly speaks to me. I guess I remind him too much of my mother. I am told he loved her a lot,’ I add as I clench my fists.

Samir reaches over and holds my hand. Then he raises both my hands and kisses them. My heart nearly stops beating. I realize we have just crossed a line here, and I am not drunk enough to not figure that out. An inner voice inside me screams that it is not a good idea to enter into a relationship with your boss. But the sensation is too good to pass and I am left with an intense longing for more. I want more of it. Nobody has cared this much for me before this.

We walk on the moonlit beach after dinner and it feels so
right.
My heart is thudding in its rib cage, making me feel giddy. I have had way too much wine. He puts his arm around me to steady me and I adore him for it.

We walk in silence on the white sand in the moonlight, the waves splashing at our feet. It is just him and me and miles of white sand lit up by the light of the moon. I notice a few white crabs scuttling away and I laugh in delight.

‘Oh Nisha, how easily you laugh! And what tiny things amuse you!’ he says gently, looking so tenderly at me, as though seeing me for the first time.

That statement of his does it. All my self-control melts. I want him more than anything else. Who knows, I might never get a chance like this again. We would go back to office and our real lives tomorrow, where I would be back to being Ms Efficiency, making sure his coffee is perfect. Here and now is my moment, where I can be Cinderella.

Do what your heart tells you to. Life is short. Kiss him now.

I look at his hard mouth and his cool eyes, the moonlight highlighting his perfect features. I yank him against me, and the only thing that registers is the surprised look in his eyes as my mouth reaches out to his. He responds with an intensity that takes me aback and his arms go around my waist, pulling me closer to him. He kisses me tenderly, and I feel the heat of his body pumping fire into me. My body trembles and I moan in pleasure.

There is no stopping us now. His hands are caressing my breasts and he has slid them inside my dress. I cannot think straight at all. I am charged with a purely feminine rush, giddy with excitement, as every fibre in my body seems to respond to his touch. We are so hungry for each other. His hands are impatient and there is fire in his blood.

Finally, he pulls away and says hoarsely, ‘Let’s go back to the room and finish what you started.’

We enter the lift in silence, breathing hard, and we can’t wait to get into his room. As soon as we are inside the room, he tugs at my dress and feasts on my breasts. His hands are quick and exploring. There is a trail of my clothes from the door to his bed. In the heat of the moment, I forget to be shy. I want him as badly as he wants me.