He roars laughing. “That would’ve been my next guess.” As he did last time, he slides a piece of brownie into his mouth and slowly licks his fingers clean, while continuing to chuckle.
Gah. It should be illegal to look like him. Shame about the personality. At least there’s absolutely no chance of me falling for such a smartarse.
“Are you quite finished?” I, myself, am quite finished. My brownie, at least, and I’m wondering if he’d notice if I stole what’s left of his, but that feels too intimate and couple-y.
“Yep. All done. So, you put people to sleep for a living, and you could say I wake them up.” He gestures at the almost empty cups. “With the coffee.”
“Very clever. Anyway, perhaps you could read my biography before next week and make a note of any questions. It would be helpful if you did a biography of yourself for me too. My email address is at the bottom there.” I point at the bold line as though he could miss it.
He doesn’t respond, just smirks. “I have a question now, actually.”
“Yes?”
“You look like maybe you’ve got Indian heritage, except Lili Gordon doesn’t seem like a very Indian name.”
“My father—well, more correctly, my sperm donor—was Indian.”
“Actual sperm donor, or just an absent father?” he asks.
I bristle. Big surprise. “I’m not sure that’s any of your business, to be honest.”
“Perhaps not, but if I were your boyfriend, it’s something I’d know.”
Dammit, he’s right.
“After university, my mother worked in London for a while. She didn’t realise till she came home that she’d picked up a stowaway. That’s as much as she’ll ever say about where I came from. Except she gave me an Indian name, so I guess that’s a clue.”
Over the years, I’ve invented all kinds of theories in my head about my father and what happened between my parents. Each wilder than the next. They met for one beautiful night, then were torn apart. He died tragically in a plane crash. He was a spy and disappeared without a word. I try not to think about the darker alternatives.
“It’s sad that you never knew your dad.”
“Maybe. Or maybe it was for the best.” I shrug. If there’s any chance he’s as much of an arsehole as my stepfather, I’m better off without him. “And Lili is short for Lilavati. It means charming in Hindi.” I don’t know why I added that last bit. I’m asking for it. And he doesn’t disappoint.
His laugh is so loud that the few people left at surrounding tables turn and stare.
“So, the opposite of your name is your destiny, then.”
If only he were the first person to express that sentiment. I know I’m not easy. I can be prickly and demanding and stand-offish. But he doesn’t need to be so rude about it.
“Very original. Like I’ve never heard that before.”
“I’m sure you have. So, Lilavati, I guess I’ll see you next Tuesday. For one hour.” The last piece of his brownie goes into his perfect, smug mouth. My eyes follow, and I’m not sure which is more appealing. The treat or his lips.
“Wonderful. I’ll …” I was going to say I’ll look forward to it, but although I may not be charming, I don’t lie. Well, except for the whole fake dating plan, but whatever. “I’ll see you then.”
“I’ll be counting the moments, my little charmer.”
I glare at him, annoyed by his smirk and the way he makes me feel, then stand and stomp out of the café.
None of that went as planned. Okay, I got the result I wanted. But I had intended to be polite and nice and likeable. Instead, I was my normal prickly self. It didn’t help that he baited me thewhole time. I just hope we can be nice enough to each other to convince my mother and grandmother we’re a thing.
Chapter Five
Lilavati
Two emergency surgeries and a surgeon who hit a bleeder. It’s been a shitshow of a morning. So I’m fifteen minutes late to meet Ant. But I guess he should get used to it. He’s sitting at a table by the window, reading a surfing magazine. The light is hitting the sun-bleached blond streaks in his hair, giving him a halo. There’s more than one woman in the room shooting him admiring looks.
“You see, I’ve already learnt something about you. Timekeeping is not one of your strengths.” He closes the magazine and looks up. I notice there’s a small brown paper bag on the table.
