“What’s wrong with Baboo?” Sam had been less than pleased to discover that the meeting with Bachelor #6 was going ahead, and his conversation, since arriving at the office, had been peppered with sarcastic remarks.

“People find it hard to say.” Bob smiled back at Layla, flashing her a set of perfectly white and even teeth.

“What’s hard to say about Baboo?”

Layla shot Sam a glare. Aside from cursing at him when he arrived, she hadn’t spoken to him since he walked into the office. Being trapped in the boardroom with him, knowing that beneath that handsome exterior beat a cruel and callous heart, was almost more than she could bear. “Bob is a perfectly fine name. So is Baboo.”

“And Layla is a lovely name,” Bob said. “Did you know it means ‘dark beauty’ in Arabic? It suits you.”

“Thank you.” Her smile faded when Sam scowled.

“It’s a tragic name,” Sam said. “Very unlucky. I’m sure you know the Arabian legend of Qays and Layla, a young couple who fell so deeply in love they were unable to contain their passionate devotion.”

“What exactly does that mean?” Layla asked, hoping to distract him in case Bob was superstitious like Lakshmi Auntie. India had a billion-dollar superstition-centric industry focused on astrology, black magic, and fake babas. An unlucky name had derailed more than one prospective marriage. “Is it anything like being unable to contain your opinion about things no one asked you about?”

“I’m sure we can all guess what it means.” Sam didn’t address her sarcastic quip. “Layla used poor Qays for his magnificent body and then went prowling around for a new man only hours after leaving his bed. It caused quite the scandal in their conservative community. Qays was denied her hand in marriage and prevented from seeing her ever again, although why he would want her after that, I don’t know. Distraught, he fled into the wilderness while chanting love poems about his darling Layla until he descended into madness and death.”

“What one man sees as a tragedy, another sees as a romance,” Bob said. “I’ve always thought of Romeo and Juliet as a love story.”

“Me, too.” Layla mentally ticked off a box in the plus column for Bob. “So do you think love can grow in an arranged marriage? Or are you looking for just a friend or companion?”

“Definitely love.” He put a hand to his chest. “I’m a romantic at heart.”

“Nothing says romance like finding a woman online,” Sam muttered.

“So you’re a psychologist.” Layla tried to ignore the glowering man beside her. Seriously? What right did Sam have to be angry that the interview was going ahead? He’d shown his true colors by defacing her drawings. At least she knew he’d been in the office and not with another woman.

Bob nodded. “Yes, I study human behavior through observation and interpretation to help people cope more effectively with life issues.”

Sam leaned forward. “Be careful. He reads people’s body language and tells them what they want to hear.”

“At least he’s brave enough to tell people uncomfortable truths to their face instead of slinking out at dawn and scrawling on their personal papers like a child,” Layla snapped. “And I’m sure he doesn’t give advice unless someone has asked for his opinion.”

“That’s true,” Bob said. “I would never presume.”

Sam folded his arms across his chest. “Would you jump to conclusions or point fingers without gathering all the facts?”

“I do take my time to consider the entire situation before—”

Layla slammed her pen on the table. “Don’t talk about me as if I’m not sitting right here, Sam.”

“You started it.”

She waved a dismissive hand. “I was making a general statement.”

“About me.”

“If I could interrupt.” Bob’s gaze flicked from Layla to Sam and back to Layla. “You mentioned reading body language, and that is something I have learned to do over my years of practice. But I can’t see inside a mind. Every individual is unique, and I am very privileged to be in a profession where people trust me enough to share their innermost thoughts. In fact, I specialize in couples counseling, helping people breach the barriers to intimacy that are keeping them apart. I am a grateful guide on their journey to self-fulfillment.”

“My apologies.” Layla gave him a warm smile. “Unlike some arrogant, insensitive people I know, you are refreshingly humble.”

“You’re too kind.” Bob leaned forward, his dark eyes focused, intent. “May I ask a question?”

“Of course.”

“Are you serious about getting married? If you have feelings for someone else . . .”

“Yes, I’m serious. And no. I have no feelings—”

“Isn’t that the truth,” Sam interrupted with a snort.

“I have no romantic feelings for anyone in particular,” Layla continued, emphasizing each word. “Especially not for people who act one way to your face and another behind your back.”

“I’m looking for a woman who respects our traditions, but not a traditional woman,” Bob said. “At your age, I would expect you to have had a boyfriend or two, but if you’ve had intimate—”

“I’m not that old.” Layla bristled, cutting him off.

“In this market you are.” Sam smirked. “Most of the girls who have responded to my desilovematch.com profile are under twenty-one. You’re practically an auntie. I’m surprised your profile got as much interest as it did.”

Layla narrowed her eyes. “Oh. I’m sorry. Did I ask for your opinion? Um. No. I didn’t. And yet here you are unable to hold it in again. Maybe you should go get your black Sharpie and scribble what you really think about Bob on his CV and hide it in the trash.”

“Should I come back another time?” Bob asked.

“No. Of course not.” She forced a smile through clenched teeth. “How do you feel about your wife working? Are you looking for a career-oriented spouse or someone to stay home, clean up your mess, and eat cold oatmeal while you run out in the early hours of the morning for a fictitious meeting?”

Bob chuckled. “I enjoy my work, and I’m looking for someone who has a fulfilling career outside of the home, but also likes to travel. My family owns properties in Sydney, London, Madrid, and Delhi. I employ a cook and a maid, so those skills are not necessary.”

“How perfectly lovely.” She shot a smug look at Sam. Another tick in the plus box. Bob was definitely a contender. Her parents would like him, too. He was a nice, average, reliable guy, albeit a little boring and bland. But if she were to score him on the list of traits that her fantasy man possessed, he would get a zero. There was no mystery behind that smile. No fire or fury. Bob wouldn’t slam her against a Jeep and kiss her. He wouldn’t tear off her clothes or have sex with her against a door. What you saw was what you got. And what you got was a brown version of everyman Bob.