He looked comically affronted and almost said something before shaking his head, smiling. “Kamila Hussain, you aretrouble. Capital T. I have no idea why I put up with you.”
She smiled her sweetest smile and ran her finger over that scruff on his cheek. “Because I make you feel young again.”
At thirty-two, Rohan was only five years older than her twenty-seven, so hardly an old man. With his rock-climber’s body, chiseled jaw, and seriously intimidating demeanor, he was the perfect example of a high-powered King Street executive. Except, of course, on Saturday mornings when he was in his pajamas and swatting Kamila with tea towels. Rohan would have a lineup of women happy to be casual, committed, or anything in between if he wanted it. But he didn’t seem to be interested after his wife left him.
Dad reappeared then, a small box of bandages in his hand. “Sorry, beti, I had a phone call.”
Kamila took the box from him. “Go, sit, drink your tea.” She could handle this. Her blood thing was usually only a problem at the first sight of her own blood. Rohan looked back at her, concerned. “I got this. Go sit,” she told him.
“Okay, but I’ll be right here if you need me to put out any fires.”
After bandaging her own hand, she finished slicing the sweet potatoes and put two slices in the toaster.
“That was Rashida on the phone,” Dad said to Rohan. “Jana Suleiman is returning from Tajikistan soon.”
What?No. Kamila must have misheard. Jana Suleiman’s fancy contract at an international aid agency was supposed to go on for a few more months.
“Her contract is over already?” Rohan asked.
“Apparently she’s left her post early,” Dad said.
They continued talking about Jana the Great, while Kamila’s mind was reeling.Fudge. Kamila did not like Jana Suleiman.
She took a breath. This wasn’t a big deal. Her focus should only be on Dad’s health and growing her client list at Emerald. So what if her secret nemesis was moving back to town? She felt a throbbing in her finger, a reminder that she’d already had one mishap here and didn’t need another. But it was fine. One cut finger was hardly a fire to be put out.
Dad suddenly stood, knocking his chair to the floor. “Kamila! The toaster’s on fire! You need to put it out!”
Damn it.
Chapter 2
Kamila put that little kitchen inferno out of her mind because her client meeting today was beyond important. Ithadto go well—this was a dream client. It was exactly the type of large, complicated account Kamila needed to prove to Dad that she could manage things fine if he went down to part-time at Emerald. But if there was one thing Kamila prided herself on, it was her ability to brush off setbacks and forge ahead, usually with impeccable style. And style was something she’d need to wow this client—Nirvana Lotus Day Spa was a buzz-worthy establishment whose soothing bamboo and vibrant lotus flower decor was so Insta-worthy the place had risen to the top of Toronto spots to be photographed in. That was why Kamila hadn’t changed out of the full-skirted floral dress and matching heels.
After arriving at the posh building, she gave her name to the receptionist and waited for one of the spa owners to meet her.
Five minutes later, a woman appeared in the waiting room. “Ah! Kamila! Fabulous! Thank you so much for meeting me on a Saturday! I’m sorry I had to cancel yesterday. Can I offer you a manicure to make up for it? I was just about to get my weekly polish change.”
This was Kacey McKinley, one of the owners of the spa. Kamila wasn’t about to say no to the manicure, as she’d discovered that business owners were easier to please when immersed in the services they provided. She’d signed a hairstylist client while getting her color done, and she’d secured Ink Girls, a chain of tattoo shops, while a watercolor-style peony was tattooed to the side of her right rib cage just last week.
“So, tell me more about your company itself,” Kacey asked as the technician soaked off Kamila’s polish. “I’m always looking to support women-owned businesses.”
“Well, we’re not woman-owned per se. My father owns Emerald. Dad is all about gender equality, though!” Kamila cringed, well aware that she sounded amateurish. She sat up straighter as a woman wearing a dust mask clipped her cuticles. “We each keep our own clients. He works mainly in the health-care sector, while I’m moving toward providing freelance CPA and financial-analyst services for small- to medium-sized service-industry businesses.”
“You don’t look anything like any of the other accountants I’ve met with.”
Kamila grinned. She knew she didn’t look or dress like most accountants. For some, that might be a negative, but for a client like Kacey McKinley, it was a strike in Kamila’s favor.
“I’ll be honest with you, Kamila. I’m meeting with other accountants this week,” Kacey continued. “Bigger firms that have experience working with businesses at our level. We are planning to expand significantly in the near future, and the finance piece of it will get complicated. Plus, a conscientious accountant is important to us. We value sustainability and ethical commerce above all else. Did you know we work with a women’s collective in the Congo to make the herbal soaks in our vitality ponds?”
The nail tech held out a tray of gel polishes, and Kamila picked a nude similar to the one Kacey was having applied. Not Kamila’s usual vibrant hues, but maybe she needed to play the part here. “I’ve done a lot of research on your business.” Kamila would normally have brought out a file folder with a full proposal for the client at this point, but her hands were, of course, occupied. Good thing she had a stellar memory. “On the phone you mentioned looking for new capital. Well, I found several grants for women-owned businesses in Ontario you can apply for. You can also leverage your work with the local college to get funding from the Ministry of Education. And there are opportunities if you register as a sustainable business. Another of my clients was able to get—”
Kacey interrupted her. “I’m interviewing an intellectual collective next—a group of women who provide business services cooperatively. Every summer they pack up their business and work remotely while planting trees in the North.”
Kacey continued talking about this collective, which progressed to her telling Kamila about her mind-opening trip to Thailand where the Buddhist Eightfold Path had enlightened her brain to the possibilities of conscious business, and how compassion and sustainability were driving the momentum forward in her spa.
Kamila smiled and nodded, realizing that signing this client seemed unlikely at this point. She wished she’d gone with the red polish.
***
