Two giant white bowls were placed on the table in front of them. Raj leaned forward and smelled the fragrant curry dish. She picked up her spoon, coated the tip with creamy, pale green sauce, and licked. Mina mimicked her actions across the white table.

“It’s . . .” Mina started.

“Not spicy at all,” Raj said, looking down at the tiny purse at her side. “The Thai place near your condo is so much better.”

“Yeah, you’re telling me.”

Mina spooned white rice into her bowl. “You know who may have really great advice for what you can do? Ajay.”

“You are not giving up about this Ajay thing, are you?”

“Nope!” Mina spooned up more of her curry. “Selling your business is a perfect conversation starter. Tech companies need security services, right? I’m sure Ajay has come across information about other tech companies looking to diversify their portfolios.”

Raj froze. Mina’s words had sparked an idea, a pretty excellent idea, that began to rapidly form in her mind.

Bharat wasn’t growing, but if they acquired a profitable business tangentially related to their services . . . well, that would get the market excited. Their stock price would rise.

And WTA wouldn’t have a chance in hell of taking over.

Shit, she was going to have to apologize again, but this time to Ajay. That was the only way she’d get close enough to him to convince him to go into business with her.

“So? What do you think?” Mina asked.

“I’m going to take some time to reflect on my options.” Along with a few other things. Raj pointed to Mina’s bowl. “Does yours even have a pepper or something in it?”

“Nope,” Mina said. “I bet Ajay is spicy, though.”

“Shut up, Mina.”

Chapter Four
Ajay

Ajay rarely slept without his phone next to his pillow. That way, when his four a.m. alarm went off, he heard it. Except he’d been so distracted the night before that he’d forgotten to go to bed with his device, and when he finally woke up, the bedside clock face read 8:01 a.m.

There was no way it was eight. He hadn’t slept in that late since . . . god, when was the last time he slept in?

He sat up, and his laptop, which had been tucked next to his hip, almost crashed to the floor. His reflexes were the only thing that saved his precious machine.

“Fuck me,” he mumbled as he set it aside and rubbed his hands over his face to try to clear the rest of his sleep-fogged brain.

The room was awash with a soft morning glow. His automatic blinds hadn’t even alerted him to the time of day.

The Stuart Hughes suit that he’d shed when he walked in the door was strewn across the wide chaise angled in the corner. The air still smelled like sandalwood from the cleaning service.