“Tanqueray gimlet on the rocks,” she added, resting her head back down on the bar.

Once Steve placed the two goblets in front of them, Nadim grabbed her arm and pulled. “C’mon.”

She picked up her drink and let him drag her toward the back. When they reached a table, his eyes swept over her body.

“Interesting outfit. You’re all investment banker upstairs and yoga mom downstairs.” His gaze trailed lower as his eyebrow raised. “Are you mocking me?” he asked.

“What?”

“Why no socks? It’s September.”

“It’s warm. I hate socks.” She slid into the seat.

“You know, Sunshine, you just might be my soul mate.”

Reena squeezed her cold drink as a lump formed in her throat. “I’m not marrying you.”

“Yeah. So, you said.” He lifted his glass. “To finding this fine antidote to misery.” He hummed with appreciation after sipping the drink. “I always forget how much I love gin. I rarely drink it when out, but I always had a bottle of Beefeater in my flat in London.” He took another sip. “This tastes like another.”

The room had spun slightly after her first two drinks, and with a third already in hand, a fourth sounded ill-advised to Reena. But maybe this was all part of his plan. Maybe he hoped the gimlets would render her more pliable for … what, exactly? Reena hiccupped and waved a finger at him. “Don’t think you can pour drinks into me to make me more acquiescent. I’m still not going to marry you, no matter what my parents want.”

His eyes crinkled in mirth. “You can say acquiescent while drinking? You, my dear, are a woman of many talents. And anyway, after today, don’t be so sure what your parents want anymore.”

Could there be trouble in this business relationship between their respective families? She leaned a little closer to Nadim, ready to dig out the dirt.

But … wait. Ugh. She slumped in her seat. If she wasn’t willing to come clean about her job, she couldn’t expect him to tell his secrets.

“I thought we weren’t going to talk about our problems. Or about our parents.”

He nodded, still frowning. “I’m all for that.” He sipped his cocktail. “And I’m all for this drink.”

Reena swirled hers around in her hand, watching the lime wedge crash against the ice cubes. “Can I ask you something? No obligation to answer me.”

“Um …”

Reena patted his hand reassuringly. Ooh, that skin was soft. She patted him again. Hand cream maybe? He laughed as he inched his hand away.

Right. Questions. Gin on the brain had distracted her from the topic at hand. And the topic at hand was not Nadim’s hands.

“Okay,” she said, straightening. “Why is your British accent so strong? My father said you were from Dar es Salaam, but you said you had a flat in London?”

A small smile appeared. “Yes. I am technically from Dar es Salaam. I attended a British private school there and transferred to a boarding school in England at age twelve. I went to the London School of Economics for both undergraduate and graduate degrees. Afterward, I moved back to Africa but ended up in London again a few years ago. And now”—he grinned widely—“I’m here.”