Layla pulled herself up with a derisory sniff. “This pot contains my mother’s dal, which is the most delicious and comforting food in the universe. I was planning to share it, but now I’ll just eat it all myself. The donuts are for dessert, which you are not welcome to have. And not that it’s any of your business, but I was at the hospital at seven A.M. visiting my father, and then I was downstairs in the kitchen helping my mother. She’s trying to keep the restaurant going on her own with the help of some inexperienced but well-meaning aunties, and it’s not easy to do.”

Sam opened his mouth and closed it again. She was being kind, caring, and helpful to her family. How irritating. There was no way he could push that line of argument and keep his self-respect.

“You’re sitting at my desk.” She put the pot on the reception desk and folded her arms.

Sam shuffled his papers, spreading them across the polished wood surface for no reason other than to keep his gaze off her distractingly perfect breasts. “I didn’t see your name on it.”

“Just look at your lease. You’ll see it written across the top, or can’t you read big words like Patel?”

“I don’t recall seeing any identification,” he countered. “For all I know, you could have just walked in off the street. You’re certainly not dressed like you’re running a business.”

Eyes blazing, she glared. “What’s wrong with how I’m dressed?”

“An apron and a pink tracksuit with Juicy written across the ass are hardly serious business attire and they certainly don’t scream swipe right on desi Tinder.”

Sam didn’t know if there was such a thing as Tinder for people of South Asian descent living abroad, but if it did exist, he and Layla would definitely not have been a match.

Layla gave a growl of frustration. “You may be surprised to hear that I don’t live my life seeking male approval. I’m just getting over a breakup so I’m a little bit fragile. Last night, I went out with Daisy and drank too much, smoked something I thought was a cigarette, danced on a speaker, and fell onto some loser named Jimbo, whose girlfriend just happened to be an MMA fighter and didn’t like to see me sprawled on top of her man. We had a minor physical altercation and I was kicked out of the bar. Then I got dumped on the street by my Uber driver because I threw up in his cab. So today, I just couldn’t manage office wear. It’s called self-care, and we all need it sometimes. Danny certainly didn’t mind.”

“Who’s Danny?” The question came out before he could stop it.

“Someone who appreciates all I’ve got going here”—she ran a hand around her generous curves—“and isn’t hung up on trivial things like clothes.” She tugged off the apron and dropped it on the reception desk.

“I’m not hung up on clothes, either,” Sam teased. “When I’m with a woman I prefer her to have no clothes at all.”

Her nose wrinkled. “You’re disgusting.”

“Go home, sweetheart.” Sam waved a dismissive hand. “Put your feet up. Watch some rom-coms. Eat a few tubs of ice cream. Have a good cry. Some of us have real work to do.”

Layla grabbed her pot and the box of donuts and marched into the small kitchen at the back of the office. Sam heard cupboards bang. Cutlery clatter. Angry mutters and a huff. A few minutes later Layla marched back out with a bowl of dal in one hand and two donuts circling her finger like rings.

Only when she sat down and proceeded to eat one of the donuts off her finger did he realize he hadn’t done any work since she walked in.

“Donuts and dal are not two foods that naturally go together,” he pointed out.

Layla took a giant bite and licked her lips. “Do you not have work to do? Or are you just going to sit there and look pretty?”

He was saved from laughing out loud when he noticed a man standing beside the empty reception desk, a bundle of papers clutched in his hand.

“Can I help you?” Sam glared at the intruder who had dared interrupt when he was about to defang the little viper in front of him with a few well-chosen words.

The visitor was shorter than Sam by a good few inches, his bronzed baby face clean-shaven, straight dark hair in need of a trim. He wore a ridiculously large sports jacket over a blue collared shirt and a pair of polyester pants two inches too short and cinched tight beneath his large belly with a worn leather belt.

“I’m looking for Layla Patel.”

“That’s me.” Layla removed her donut rings and shot Sam a smug look. “I have a client!”

She couldn’t have been more excited if this were the first client she’d ever had. Sam couldn’t imagine keeping up that level of enthusiasm over the course of a day. Certainly, it would be an asset in her field. Maybe he’d misjudged her, and she was more successful than she appeared.

“Please come in.” She motioned him forward. “What can I do for you?”

“Hassan Khan.” His lips pulled back in a smile, all gums and little teeth. “I will be your new husband.”

• 5 •

“I beg your pardon?”

Hassan walked past Layla and held out his hand to Sam. “I spoke with Mr. Nasir Patel last week. He said his daughter needed a husband right away and we had arranged a meeting for today. When I arrived at the restaurant, one of the kitchen workers told me that Mr. Nasir was in the hospital, but that Layla was upstairs and looking forward to meeting me.”

“I’m going to kill Danny,” Layla muttered under her breath.

“She definitely needs someone to get her under control,” Sam mused, stroking his upper lip. “She got into a bar fight last night, if you can believe it.” Leaning forward, he shook Hassan’s hand. He had no idea what was going on, but from the way Layla was glaring at her visitor, it was worth playing along if only to see her riled.

“My parents have given their approval subject to meeting the girl,” Hassan continued. “They’re excited to have a daughter-in-law who has had such excellent culinary training.”

“Why are you talking to him?” Layla snapped.

“He’s the man.”

Sam couldn’t help but smirk when Layla pressed her lips together, her brow creasing in a furious frown. This day was just getting better and better.

“Anything to do with me, you discuss with me,” she said firmly.

Puzzled, Hassan asked Sam, “Would Mr. Nasir approve?”

“From what I know of her, I suspect Mr. Nasir wouldn’t get much say in the matter.” He let out a heavy sigh. “She is strong willed, unconventional, and definitely not what I’d call a traditional woman.”