Jiggy Mehta had not offered to work with him because of his last name. Nor had he done it because Vansh was the governor-elect’s brother. Mehta was simply aware of the fact that Vansh had spent his life understanding problems and working to solve them hands-on, at ground level.

Emma Project, indeed!

He’d show her exactly how much this was not an Emma Project.

He had gone to bed at seven that morning. Not because he was out drinking like other twenty-six-year-olds, but because he had spent the night trying to convince Hari that Vansh was going to get him safely off the street and then making it happen. This involved packing up and safely storing Hari’s belongings—which, naturally, Hari was very possessive about—and finding a hotel and then staying with him until Hari stopped crying and self-flagellating about how he had messed up.

Hari had made Vansh promise over and over again that he would not tell anyone—especially Yash and Nisha—that he was homeless. Holy shit, Naina had riled Vansh up enough that he’d let slip that Hari and homelessness were related. Naina was simply too smart to not suspect some sort of connection between the two. Vansh looked at his phone and wondered if he should text her to remind her that it was confidential information. No, that would just confirm her suspicions. He’d wait to tell her in person.

Poor Hari. Vansh would never forget the expression on his face when he’d become overwhelmed with emotion after Yash’s speech. Sure, mistaking mimosas for orange juice was funny, but the man was more guileless than anyone Vansh had met in a very long time. There was not a trace of self-interest in him. Even on Vansh’s missions around the world, the friends he made always had an agenda. Hari was just trying to exist and having such a hard time of it. If anyone needed a hand, Hari did.

Keeping this secret meant Vansh could not go to the family for help.

He upped the speed on the treadmill even more and spent another twenty minutes running too hard to think. Then he lifted for forty minutes. Fortunately the gym in his parents’ house was down the corridor from his room. Even more fortunately, Ma was probably too tired after Yash’s party to join Vansh. When he was home she liked to walk on the treadmill next to him and catch up with him. Usually he was grateful to have her. Today he was grateful to be alone. Working out helped him think. Today, not so much.

Shaving and showering made him feel a little better. He spent an extra-long time drying and styling his hair, but the angry churn inside him was being stubborn. He took the foyer stairs down to the kitchen. Sometimes the grandeur of his parents’ house grounded him. Again, today something was different.