“Single?” Asha asked.
“No ring,” Tim said when Anil was being particularity animated with his hands. Tim pulled out his phone. “I’ll search up his socials.” After a few minutes, he grinned. “Bingo. He mentioned separating from his wife in an Instagram comment a few months ago.” He kept scrolling Anil’s Instagram. “Doesn’t sound too distraught about it. He’s talking about living his authentic self. He’s new in Toronto. Did you know that?”
Kamila shook her head. She couldn’t keep her eyes off the video. Anil Malek was mesmerizing. He had an open, compassionate demeanor. Friendly. He was talking about his project, specifically about lifting up immigrant communities by helping women launch small businesses. Another plus. The guy sounded pretty feminist. He was centering women in his incubator.
Maybe…maybe Kamila should be more enthusiastic about working with this project? Anil’s mandate seemed to align with hers—helping women-owned businesses. He was extremely easy on the eyes. He didn’t seem uptight at all. Plus, single.
Impressing this man meant Dad would go part-time, which would keep him healthy and help her keep Emerald. And also? Keep Rohan from spending too much time with Jana Suleiman.
She’d been determined to take over Dad’s work for this man’s project, but honestly, Kamila had been kind of dreading it. But now…she was intrigued. It could be fun to spend time with this accomplished, handsome man. Kamila was suddenly eager to meet Anil Malek. Even if it meant getting a briefcase.
She emailed Anil that night, telling him that she was taking over his nonprofit incorporation paperwork because Dad needed to take some time off. She suggested they meet to go over any other business needs he had. And she asked if he had room for a new volunteer on his fundraising committee. He wrote back Monday, saying he’d love to get together and discuss all of that. Somehow, the man was able to exude as much charm in his email as he had in the video clip. He suggested Wednesday or Friday to get together. Wednesday was no good—Dad was going to London to spend a few days with Shelina and the kids, and Kamila promised to drive him to the train station. And of course, Friday was Bollywood night. On a whim, she invited Anil to join her then, saying they could get to know each other at her dinner party, and then talk one-on-one later. He agreed.
It meant Bollywood night would have to be a little more…respectable this week. No ukulele sing-alongs. Probably no signature drink. But Kamila could be elegant and sophisticated. She was up for the challenge.
Chapter 9
After dropping Dad off at the train station Wednesday night for his visit with Shelina, Kamila found some time to do some research on Anil so she’d be ready to wow him on Friday.
Even though his project was only starting, it was impressive. The donors that had already signed on were pretty big deals—real estate companies, law firms, big tech companies. And HNS, of course. Emerald’s name attached to this project in any capacity would be fantastic for business.
Bollywood night needed to be utterly perfect. This time there was no room for cut fingers, kitchen fires, or anything else that could go wrong.
She tapped her gel manicure on her computer desk, thinking. Where was there opportunity to class up this party? Maybe the tableware? Her normal plates were very good, very bright Kate Spade, but she could get something more elegant. And she could kick up the food a bit. She already had the biryani ordered (Mumbai style this week). Maybe plate it in a fancier serving dish? Could she add elaborate appetizers? She pulled down an Indian snack cookbook that some generous soul had given her as a hostess gift and thumbed through it.
She wanted to make her favorite—kachori chaat. But it looked much too complicated, and she was low-key afraid of starting a grease fire if she deep-fried anything. Not to mention it was messy. She considered bhel puri, but it seemed too simple. And even messier.
She needed wow factor, while being secretly foolproof and tidy. And flame resistant. She finally settled on chili-paneer kebobs and vegetable momo dumplings with chili-ginger chutney. The momos looked a bit tricky to wrap, but nothing a YouTube momo-watching marathon couldn’t solve. The best part? They were steamed—and thus, nearly impossible to ignite into flames.
Of course, she wasn’t serving any alcohol at all this time. She had no idea if Anil was a religious enough Muslim to refrain from drinking himself, or if he would be judgy about others imbibing. Kamila herself wasn’t really religious, but she knew others might be uncomfortable with the normal drinking at her parties, even if she didn’t normally participate. Apple cider simmered with whole cinnamon and cardamom would be lovely.
She left the office a little early on Thursday to visit an outlet mall where she bought classy matte black dinner plates, small pink rose-printed luncheon plates, and brushed-gold flatware. She also picked up a black tiered serving plate that the momos would look amazing on, along with some large clear globe-shaped bowls for fresh flowers. And she got new clothes. Fancy, sophisticated party clothes. No flared skirts or bold prints to be seen.
It was after eight by the time she got home and started cooking. She needed to make the food tonight since she had client meetings tomorrow and couldn’t work from home. The paneer was easy—she cubed the cheese and tossed it in a simple marinade of yogurt, ginger, garlic, and spices, then parked it in the fridge. She’d thread the pieces onto skewers and roast them tomorrow.
The momos were less accommodating. The dough for the wrappers was a nightmare to knead smooth, and she couldn’t seem to roll it thin enough. And even after all those YouTube videos, her pleating technique left a lot to be desired. Still, they ended up looking mostly cute, and they miraculously stayed together during steaming. She knew with a bit of garnish they’d be fine. The chili-ginger chutney was utterly perfect.
It was after two a.m. when she finally cleaned up the kitchen. Her first client meeting was at ten, which meant waking at seven to wash and blow-dry her hair straight. It was fine. It would be worth it to see everyone’s face when she brought out a platter of handmade momos.
Kamila was exhausted the next day, but she managed. Her meetings went well, and just as importantly, her blowout was perfectly on point. She left work at four and changed into her new black shift dress with three-quarter-length sleeves and straight below-the-knee skirt and had just rolled her hair into a respectable updo when there was a knock on the door. She added white pearls and put her sensible shoes near the stairs so she’d remember to put them on when the guests arrived.
It was Rohan at the door. In dark jeans and a gray knit cardigan. A big bouquet of vibrant-yellow sunflowers in one hand and a reusable liquor-store bag in the other.
“What are you doing here?” Kamila asked. She probably should have said hello, but Darcy had that covered. She was jumping and yelping for attention at Rohan’s feet.
He leaned down and patted the dog’s head. “It’s Bollywood night.” He frowned at Kamila. “What are you wearing? Is there a costume theme tonight?”
“I’m wearing a perfectly respectable dress.”
“I know. That’s why I’m confused.”
She rolled her eyes. “You’re early. Bollywood night starts at seven.”
“I always come early.”
“Two and a half hours early? Last week you were an hour early.” Was he gradually moving up the party time just for himself? Not that she was complaining. It was too quiet in the house with Dad gone the last few days.
He walked in, smirking. “I heard Anil was coming and that you’re cooking. I came to make sure disaster doesn’t strike.” He handed Kamila the flowers and a bottle of sparkling wine and slipped off his shoes. He then opened the cabinet under the sink and pulled out the fire extinguisher, placing it ceremoniously on the counter. He smiled. “Put me to work, Kamila. I’m here to help.”
