“Raj, then.” Tushar nodded. “What exactly can RKH provide that Bharat doesn’t have? We can create a dedicated security team on our own if that’s an area we want to pursue.”

She turned on her heel to look at the expectant faces in the room. “I have a local facility, trained employees, long-term contracts, and a growth strategy. It would take years for Bharat to develop what I’m offering you today.”

Her eyes met Ajay’s. “You sign the paperwork for a buyout and make the announcement. No one will question that you’re perfect for CEO.”

“Clear the room.”

Ajay had spoken so matter-of-factly that it took her a moment to register his words.

“No, it’s fine—” she began.

“Clear the room,” he said again.

Raj watched as Ajay shared a look with his family and legal counsel before, one by one, they stood and headed for the door.

“I’m going to make sure Zail is occupied,” Hem murmured. “Call me if you need me, brother.”

“That goes for you, too,” Mina said, pointing at Raj.

Raj and Ajay were alone a moment later.

He strode forward, then stood with her, shoulder to shoulder, facing the brilliant blue sky and glistening cityscape together.

“Why are you selling?”

“You didn’t need to clear the room for me to tell you that.”

“I did if I wanted you to cut the bullshit.”

She straightened. “Are you still pissed at me about Robert?”

“No, but it looks like you’re still keeping secrets.”

“Watch your step, Ajay Singh. You aren’t my only choice for a buyer.”

He rolled his eyes, and for the first time in as long as she could remember, Raj was speechless. Had he seriously just rolled his eyes at her? She hated when a man rolled his eyes.

“Answer the question, Rajneet. Why are you selling?”

“It’s an opportune time to—”

“The truth.”

She faced him, arms crossed. “Cut me off again and I’ll cut off more than your words. Understand?”

“Hothi, did you know you get this little sexy accent when you’re pissed? Kind of like all of the polish and sheen and assimilation can’t control you. Your Punjabi roots are showing, and you’re a real phataka when they do.”

Assimilation. That fucking word grated on her nerves like nothing else ever could. In the same breath he’d complimented her by calling her a firecracker. Ajay, with his comfortable upbringing and his proud Punjabi parents who’d established roots before he could, would never understand what it was like to immigrate to a new country at such a young age, to be a woman who had to speak the language of her older, straight-white-male client base. Just because she had polish didn’t mean she’d assimilated. Just because she’d married a man to give her access to her dreams didn’t mean she’d suppressed her Punjabi roots.