“Or maybe we were just both messed up,” She flipped through a rack of brightly colored salwar suits. “But he has a good job now, and he was even wearing a suit and tie. He wouldn’t have gotten as far as he has if he couldn’t make it to meetings on time.”

“He showed up at your office unannounced and smooth-talked you into a fake marriage.” Layla’s voice rose in exasperation. “That tells me he hasn’t changed, and the part of you that was attracted to his Rebel-Without-a-Cause self is attracted to him now. You didn’t even call me when he proposed.” She whirled around, dropping her hands to her hips. “Since when do you make spur-of-the-moment decisions? It takes you twenty minutes to decide what kind of coffee you want to drink, and yet you decided to marry him in less than ten minutes.”

“Twenty-two minutes, fifty-three seconds.” Daisy pulled out the lone salwar kameez on the rack, an offensively florescent orange number with green and brown embroidery. “And I didn’t call you because it wasn’t real. Besides, it’s only for a year. The company will be saved. I’ll have my space back. My friends will have their jobs. Dad and the aunties will think I’m a lost cause, and they’ll leave me to a peaceful single life.”

“Life isn’t that neat and tidy,” Layla warned. “You have to be prepared for curveballs. Look what happened to me. I came home from New York thinking I’d be single forever and instead I married the man who irritated me most in the world.”

“I have control over this situation,” Daisy said. “You didn’t. Nothing unexpected is going to happen.”

“Ladies.” A deep, loud, familiar voice boomed through the store and Daisy turned to see Liam walking toward her clad in head-to-toe black leather, the only white face in a sea of brown.

“As I was saying . . .” Layla smirked. “You get involved with Liam, you need to be prepared for curveballs.”

“Layla.” Liam inclined his head. “Nice to see you again. It’s been a long time. You look just as pissed at me as I expected you would be, but no less beautiful.”

“That’s exactly how I feel,” she retorted. “It’s funny how, after ten years, my loathing for you has not faded in the least, so you can turn off the charm.”

“This is all me, sweetheart.” He held his arms wide, a motorcycle helmet in one hand. “The charm doesn’t get turned on. It’s just there.” He winked as two young women passed by, sending them into a fit of giggles.

Daisy finally found her tongue. “What are you doing here? You’re twenty-three minutes early.”

Liam pulled out his phone and turned it around to show her the spreadsheet she’d sent him. “I received your draft dating plan and I was so overwhelmed with excitement at the prospect of discussing it with you, I just couldn’t wait. I swung by your office and asked Rochelle if she knew where I could find you.”

“Of course you did,” Daisy muttered under her breath making a mental note to find out how Rochelle knew where she was when she wasn’t at work.

“She’s a very accommodating woman.” He shrugged off his jacket.

Daisy recoiled in horror. “Did you sleep with her?”

“Of course not. I don’t fish in the company pond.” A slow, sensual smile spread across his face. “Not unless the fish bite.”

“How delightfully crass.” Layla slung a few outfits over her arm. “You picked a real winner, Daisy. Congratulations.”

Daisy bristled. “It’s not real.”

“Thank God for that.”

Her muscles tensed, and she bounced a curved knuckle against her mouth. “Is there a problem with the dating plan?”

Liam scrolled through his phone. “Date #1: Buy wedding outfits. Not my favorite thing, but okay. Date #2: The Dosa Palace restaurant. Not a problem. I like to eat and I like Indian food. But Date #3 . . .”

Daisy let out the breath she hadn’t known she was holding. “What about Date #3?”

“Dinner at Puke. That’s a big no.”

“It’s pronounced the way it’s spelled,” Daisy said coldly. “Pewque. And what’s wrong with it?”

“I checked out the menu,” Liam said. “I can’t get excited about a faux-rustic meal of fromage-frisée, bone-gel bream, and liver-sauced jowl.”

“I see you haven’t changed.” Layla’s voice dripped sarcasm. “Once an ass. Always an ass.”

“That’s what I thought when I read the house special for this week,” Liam said. “It doesn’t matter if you house-ferment, dehydrate, and then pulverize your eel. Sprinkle it on your pigeon roulade and it’s still going to be eel.”

“I’m going to check the racks near the front.” Layla narrowed her gaze at Liam. “Try and be nice. I know it’s an effort, but if you hurt her—”

“Are you threatening me?” Liam’s lips quivered at the corners. “You’re only half my size.”

“There are many ways to hurt a man,” Layla said quietly. “And our choir does need a new soprano . . .”

“She’s changed,” Liam said, after she’d gone. “She used to be so . . .” He shrugged. “Actually, she hasn’t changed at all.”

“You could have just sent me a message to let me know you wanted to change some things around.” Daisy moved to look at the beautiful lehenga, glistening with beads and jewels.

“I thought it would be better to say ‘no fucking way’ as soon as possible.” He leaned against a pillar, his biceps bulging in a most distracting way beneath the sleeves of his T-shirt.

“Do you swear to shock me, or are those words part of your normal vocabulary?” She couldn’t let him know his physical presence was doing strange things to her stomach, so she feigned an intense study of the beading on the nearest salwar suit.