Daisy covered her ears. “Don’t tell me. I don’t want to hear the details or I might throw up all over myself, and I stole this skirt from Mehar Auntie’s closet.” She drew in a ragged breath. “This is Sam we’re talking about. Public enemy number one. He’s trying to steal the office. We hate him. Max hates him.” She lowered her hands. “Don’t you, Max?”

Max barked from under the desk and then jumped out, wagging his tail.

Layla sighed. “He asked you not to bring Max to work.”

“This is your office, too. You like Max. I like Max. The fish like Max. Max likes Max. That makes five in favor of Max and one against. So Max stays.”

“I think he’s right.” Layla walked over to her desk. “We are running a business here. I think we need to make things more professional. That means no dogs, no fish, proper office wear, and a proper business image. I’ve been struggling to come up with an idea for a brand, but Harman actually made it seem simple. Everything he is and everything he wants to achieve can be summed up in the word brown.”

“Brown?” Daisy stared at her aghast. “That’s going to be your brand?”

“No. But I’m going to try and come up with something equally simple. I’ve been toying around with a few ideas. I’ll show you what I’ve done so far.”

“He got to you,” Daisy grumbled. “He’s tainted you with his uptight Sam-ness. Wake up. Smell the chai. You’re just on a high because he scratched your itch. You know it didn’t mean anything to him. Was he there to give you a cuddle in the morning?”

“No.”

“Did he make a delicious breakfast for you in bed? Did he pack you a lunch like Harrison Ford in Working Girl? Do you see him here having a meeting?”

Layla swallowed hard. “No, but I want to give him the benefit of the doubt.”

“Why?” Daisy demanded. “Are you going to do him again? I thought this was exactly the kind of thing you were trying to avoid by finding yourself a husband—meaningless hookups with emotionally unavailable men that will ultimately end in disaster.”

“I know. It’s just . . .” She bent down to study the fishbowl. “What’s wrong with the fish? They’re not as energetic as usual.”

“Maybe they’re full. I gave them a few extra food flakes this morning. The big fish ate like a champ, but the little fish was sulking at the bottom of the bowl. You should really give them proper names.”

“I can’t commit to names just yet. What if they die? I thought I’d wait a few months and make sure they’re strong enough to survive before I decide who they are.” Still looking for her designs, Layla walked over to the printer, where she’d lined up the recycle bins for tomorrow’s collection. Her logo designs were on the top, but each one had been defaced with harsh words scrawled in black Sharpie.

Stunned, she covered her mouth and gasped.

“Something wrong?”

“I guess Sam didn’t like my designs.” She held up the papers for Daisy to see. “I didn’t even ask for his comments, but he scribbled on them anyway and then he tossed them in the recycle bin like they were trash.”

Daisy’s nostrils flared, and she cracked her knuckles. “You want me to kick his ass when he gets in?”

“No. I’ll deal with him.” She swallowed hard. “I didn’t think he was that cold or callous.”

“Seriously?” Daisy’s hands found her hips. “He wouldn’t get out of your office even after he found out your dad was in the hospital. He’s trying to take what’s yours. You woke up alone in his bed. Did you really think he was a nice guy?”

“Yeah,” she said softly. “I did.”

Daisy held up Baboo’s résumé. “Now, this is a nice guy. Tall, handsome, nonsmoker, caring, family-oriented, loves pets, professional psychologist, open-minded with strong moral values . . .” She trailed off. “If I wasn’t currently channeling my inner Goth, I’d fight you for him, but I think my sass and kick-ass style might scare him away.”

Layla had a feeling she was right. Daisy was wearing a wool hat, a tight black T-shirt, studded black leather belt, and a black chiffon skirt over leggings and thick black boots. With a studded dog collar around her neck and matching bracelets on her wrists, dark red lipstick and smoky black eyes, she was definitely not what Baboo’s ultraconservative parents were looking for.

She took the CV and skimmed over Baboo’s details. “My parents would definitely approve. Dev would have liked him, too.”

“Are you kidding? Dev wouldn’t have let you settle for anyone other than the ruler of a small country or a multibillionaire. No one was good enough for his little sister.”

“He was a tad overprotective, but in a good way.” A smile tugged at Layla’s lips. She couldn’t believe they were actually having a conversation about Dev. It was something she’d avoided doing for the last five years. Although she felt the familiar pang of sadness, for the first time she didn’t feel like she was going to burst into tears.

“Dev wouldn’t have liked Sam,” Daisy said.

“Why not?”

“Sam took advantage of you. Single woman. On the rebound. Emotionally fragile. Looking for love. He pretends to be helping you. Lures you into bed with his gorgeous face and rock-hard bod. You do the nasty. Fall asleep in his arms. Then boom. You wake up cold and alone. I’m surprised he didn’t steal your purse.”

“There were two of us in that bed,” Layla retorted. “I chose to be there for sex and nothing more. I’m not looking for love.” She tucked the defaced logos under the résumé. For a short while she’d actually thought things were looking up, but if her ideas for a name and a brand were so awful, what chance did she have of making it work with either the business . . . or the man?

* * *

• • •

“CALL me Bob.”

Layla smiled at the quiet, mild-mannered man who looked nothing like a Bob and very much like Vij Uncle, an economics professor at Berkeley. He was an inch or two taller than her, slim, and elegantly dressed in a crisp striped shirt, open at the collar to reveal a gold medallion around his neck. His dark hair was short and neatly cut. His bland oval face had no blemishes, and there was only the hint of a wrinkle in his perfectly proportioned forehead. Relaxed and at ease, he sat back, legs crossed, hands resting on the arms of the chair, head tipped slightly to the side as if he were waiting for her to begin. Everything about him screamed share your deepest secrets and she could just see him nodding in sympathy as his patients unburdened their souls.