He’d seen her bake at an event where he was the guest of honor, and the pleasantly plump young woman with open, brown curls had instantly caught his attention. He was flabbergasted at her creativity and enthusiasm. She was humming, smiling, and cooling a batch of cookies all at once, appearing like light and happiness, rolled into one. Intrigued, he had immediately approached her; especially after tasting her delicious goodies!
“Hi, I am Armaan Malik.” He extended his hand.
A startled Mia turned around and gaped at him for a full minute before she offered him a wide smile. “Oh, hello! How can I help you? Did you taste the cake?” She noticed the empty plate that he’d kept aside.
He stared at her blue-green eyes.What an unusual color, he thought to himself. “Yes, I loved it. It’s not a cake; it’s a piece of art.” He’d brought on the charm completely, not realizing she was naive and would fall for it immediately.
“Really? Gosh, thank you very much, Mr. Malik.” Her smile widened more. “May I serve you some more?”
“No, thank you! If you’re done here, I’d like to speak to you regarding a job opportunity. Can we talk somewhere that isn’t so noisy?”
“Oh! But, I...I am a culinary student, and I haven’t even completed my course… yet.” She bit her lip, feeling embarrassed at the inability to finish her course atLe Cordon Bleu.
“Let’s go to the coffee shop around the corner.” He gently led her to the coffee shop that was hardly 200 meters away. Like a true gentleman, he pulled out her chair and ensured she was okay.
“Huh, Mr. Mailk….”
“Call me Armaan.” He gave his famous lopsided smile while passing her coffee. “So, tell me more about yourself, Mia.” He sipped his black coffee.
“I am Mia Jones, and I am a student. I’ve recently shifted to Mumbai and I live with my aunt. I’ve studied in theLe Cordon Bleu, but hmm, I couldn’t complete my course because of some personal reasons. I am currently doing a short course in the School of European Pastry here in Mumbai.”
“Le Cordon, Paris?” He was impressed.
“Yes!”
He absently noticed she didn’t say anything more about why she didn’t complete her course there. “So, how long does your course last here?”
“Another two months.”
“Hmm hmm! Planning to work somewhere after?”
“Yes, I need to pay the bills. I can’t expect my aunt to support me.” She shrugged and gave a half-smile.
Quickly coming to a decision, he drained his coffee and leaned back. “Here’s the deal, Mia. I need someone to manage my household and personal stuff for me and take care of my needs here at my place for another ten months or perhaps even a year. My chef is not able to travel out of the US right now, and the guys here aren’t helping. So, yeah! I need a personal chef for the next year. Let me know if you’re interested. Oh, by the way, here’s my card. You can take your time and call me by tomorrow to let me know either way.”
Mia was stunned for a minute. This handsome man here was American? He looked Indian although his accent betrayed him. “Huh, but, what about my school?”
“That shouldn’t be a problem. I am out during the day anyway.”
“Okay, let me think about it.” It was only later that he’d quoted an insane amount as compensation for, the lack of better words, a housekeeper. She would have said yes right away, only she didn’t want to seem desperate. She’d also wanted to verify who Armaan Malik was, before attempting to work for him.
She’d called him the next day and accepted the offer. When she went back and did a search, she was astounded to know that he was a wealthy businessman from old money.No wonder he can afford to pay such a high salary,she thought to herself.
The following months had been interesting, at least for Armaan. He’d learned that Mia was also half American, just like him. That was the only commonality they had. While he had been a prince with a silver spoon, she was brought up by her Indian mother as a single parent. Mia’s dad - the American - didn’t want anything to do with a child and had abandoned both of them. She loved cooking, baking, basically any culinary art. He’d found it amusing and enjoyable, when she’d tried various recipes for him.
Initially, for a couple of weeks, she’d been formal and stilted, almost in awe of who he was. Until the day he’d found her humming an ABBA tune and dancing to it while cooking. She hadn’t known he was upstairs and had happily danced, much to the amusement of Armaan. He’d silently sat on the island stool and enjoyed the show with barely-suppressed laughter. When she turned around, she was thoroughly embarrassed and tried to apologize. He waved her apology off and started a conversation. That had been the day the ice had broken.
With the initial awkwardness gone, they had become good friends. They’d had long, easy conversations, literally about anything. Sometimes, after a frustrating day at work, she’d listen to him without judgment. The only time she’d subtly frowned at him was when he brought home women. It was no secret that he enjoyed women, and yes, it was a revolving door. He didn’t do relationships. More importantly, he didn’t want to offer her an explanation, nor did he think it was necessary.
If there was one thing that bothered Armaan in the whole deal, it was his uncharacteristic attraction to her. When it had happened the first time - his body reacting to her presence, her subtle flowery perfume - he’d been stunned. A month after her joining, he’d seen her coming in wearing a cute, knee-length dress that accentuated her curves. His body had swiftly reacted to her presence, her subtle fragrance. He usually dated models, actresses, divas, not cute-looking, curvy bakers. For a couple of days, he’d been particularly uneasy in her presence and had even avoided her. But nothing had helped. Unwilling to spoil their friendship, he had quickly moved on to the next woman to sate himself temporarily with yet another body.
Over the months, the frustration of not being able to touch her the way he wanted, had nearly killed him. Sometimes, he just abandoned dating to come back to her only to talk. She was his only female friend. Usually, either he slept with women or did business with them, taking care not to mix these two. And then came this sexy little baker with her flowery dresses, looking like sin and innocence at the same time.
He’d wondered if she had ever been affected by him. He was no fool; he knew women tripped over themselves to sleep with him. Heck, there had been one time an air hostess had been happy to take care of him in-flight. But this little baker didn’t show any signs of wanting him. She addressed him by his name, but always stood within an invisible boundary. He was a coward and didn’t want to risk losing her friendship. It took him months to gather some courage to find out if she saw him as more than an employer. Before he could ask her out, she’d abruptly left his employment. Within a few weeks, she’d announced her engagement.
Armaan came back to the present with a thud, when his phone buzzed against his pocket. He quietly went out of her room to attend to business.
Chapter 5
