Sam stared at the mess aghast. There was no way he could work in this chaos. How would his clients even make it through the door? “Why would you have your personal belongings delivered to your office instead of your apartment?”

“First of all, I’m living with my parents while I figure my life out. Second, these aren’t my personal belongings. This is what I had in my office.” She leaned back in her chair, folding her arms under her chest, drawing his attention to the filmy white blouse that was unbuttoned low enough to reveal the crescents of her breasts.

He forced his gaze up only to notice that her hair was down and fell over her shoulders in thick, dark, glossy waves. How the hell was he supposed to focus when he had to look at her all day? Why couldn’t she have worn something loose and hideous? Maybe a One Direction T-shirt or a woolly hat . . .

Sam lifted a bolt of fabric. “How was this used in the recruitment business?”

“I found it on sale in a small fabric store one lunch hour and put it under my desk and totally forgot about it until I was leaving. Isn’t it pretty? I’m going to ask Nira Auntie to make it into a salwar kameez for me. She owns a clothing store on East El Camino Real.”

“This is a place of business.” Sam tossed the bolt into the nearest box. “Not a storage warehouse.” He dropped his briefcase on the messy desk, cringing at the disarray.

“Chill, Sam. You are entirely too uptight. I’ll get everything organized and you’ll never even know it’s all here.” Layla grabbed a coffee cup from her desk and treated him to a view of her perfect ass molded by a tight black skirt as she walked to the office kitchen, her black heels clicking softly on the wooden floor.

He growled under his breath. This was warfare of the most insidious kind. He slid into his seat, cursing his new slim-fitting suit. Clearly the designer didn’t have to deal with sexy women in tight skirts and high heels or he would have left a little extra “comfort” room for the unexpected expression of desire.

“If I were uptight, I would have tossed you and your couch out the first day I walked in here.” He reached into his bag and pulled out the legal opinion.

“I heard that,” Layla called from the kitchen. “And if you’re done hating on my furniture, you can come and help yourself to some coffee and breakfast. I bought donuts and my mom made some dal parathas from yesterday’s leftovers.”

“Donuts and dal again? You’re the epitome of culturally confused.”

Layla shrugged as she emerged from the kitchen, coffee and treats in hand. “Dal is my comfort food. I’m still depressed about my breakup. The donuts are just part of my plan to work my way through all the bakeries in the city now that I’m back. You can join me, or you can just watch my hips expand.”

Her hips were delightful just the way they were. Not that he was going to share his thoughts. He was already having enough trouble dealing with the situation down below.

He breathed in the rich scent of coffee and cursed himself inwardly for deciding to forgo his morning espresso in favor of trying to beat her to the office. He didn’t function well without his caffeine kick, but damned if he was going to accept it now after she’d rubbed in her early start. “No coffee.”

“I have chai if you prefer.” Her lips curved in a teasing smile, but Sam didn’t take the bait.

“I told you, I don’t touch the stuff.” Of all the traditional foods he’d given up, he missed chai the most. His mother had made the flavored tea by brewing black tea with her own special mixture of aromatic Indian spices and herbs. It was his comfort drink. But he didn’t allow himself those comforts anymore.

“How about water? I watch a lot of science TED Talks. Your body is sixty-five percent water, so you must have had a glass or two in your life.”

Too much talking. Too early in the morning. Given the hostile nature of his job, Sam preferred to start his workdays in peace. “Are you planning on poisoning me? Is that why you’re pushing the beverages so hard?”

“I was trying to be polite. Obviously my efforts are wasted on you.” Her breasts bounced gently beneath her filmy blouse as she walked back to her desk. Even if he’d wanted the coffee, there was no way he could stand up now and give her the legal opinion. It was going to take at least ten minutes of reading stock reports before he could even consider moving from his desk.

Sam pulled a sports drink from his bag. He’d already had his usual post-training breakfast: two egg whites, two slices of wholemeal toast with peanut butter, one glass of skim milk, and one banana, but the combined scents of coffee and dal parathas made his mouth water.

“Sugar water. I should have guessed.” She gave him a cheeky smile as she settled in her chair. “Good thing you brought your own beverage. I considered adding a laxative or even a spoon of ipecac syrup to the coffee, but there’s only one bathroom and I’ll need to freshen up for my clients.”

Coldhearted woman. She wasn’t even ashamed to admit she’d planned to incapacitate him.

“Oh God,” she blurted out, her gaze fixed on her screen. “Another desilovematch.com dude wants an appointment to see my father. What am I going to do?”

He was tempted to tell her to pick one and get married, leaving him in quiet possession of the office, but then he thought of Nisha. If he’d known how easy it was for a predator to hide behind degrees and awards and a charming smile, he would have torn up every résumé his parents received on her behalf when he had the chance.

“Tell him to take a hike.”

She sipped her coffee, her brow creased in consternation. “I was going to contact them all last night, but then I started thinking about all the work my dad did to find them. He wrote that lovely profile, reviewed hundreds of résumés, talked to these guys on the phone, and arranged the meetings . . . And all the time he was thinking about me and what kind of person I was and who would make me happy.”

“You couldn’t figure this out for yourself?” He cringed inwardly at his harsh words. Who was he to criticize? He’d given up the pursuit of happiness long ago.

Far from being offended, Layla just shrugged. “I’ve gone from one disastrous relationship to the next. My last one ended when I found my boyfriend, Jonas, snorting coke off two naked models in our bed. The worst part was, he asked me to join them, like I was his pal instead of his girlfriend. And that wasn’t the first time . . .”

Sam’s eyes widened. This woman was full of surprises. “You’ve found other boyfriends in bed with models?”

“No.” She sipped her coffee, her slender throat tightening as she swallowed. “But after my brother, Dev, died, I became very depressed and I made a lot of bad choices, especially with men. I missed him so much. He used to look after me when my parents were busy with the restaurant. He was a great big brother, always there to solve my problems . . .”