Playing Dirty

One

The elevator doors opened to reveal the body of a man lying on the floor.

"Is he dead?" Sameera Bhaat spoke in hushed tones, eyes fixed in morbid fascination at the man propped against the far wall of the elevator. His legs were sprawled out in front of him, head lolling against the wall. His mouth hung slightly open, a thin line of drool trailing from the corner to soak into his beard. The harsh lights overhead shone directly on his upturned face, and Sam couldn't help but note how good looking he was, with a face that belonged on the cover of some fashion magazine.

"No, and we should wait for another car." Yash wrinkled his nose at the strong smell wafting from inside the elevator.

"Smell that? The idiot's drunk and probably fell asleep on his way to his apartment."

Sameera sniffed and sure enough the stink of spirits and something that smelled suspiciously like vomit hit her nostrils.

"Ugh, that's disgusting."

The man groaned and moved his head to rest on his chest, legs twitching restlessly. He quickly settled again and fell back asleep, soft snores filling the space. He was dressed in a businesslike suit that seemed a stark contrast to the drunken image.

Probably some young hotshot that'd had one too many drinks after work hours. Considering that today was only Tuesday and the level of inebriation that'd led to this moment, he would be battling one hell of a hangover at work come tomorrow.

"Come on," Curling a hand around her biceps, Yash pulled her away. He picked up the suitcase waiting by the door and motioned for Sam to grab the smaller carry case. "We'll take the stairs. My apartment's on the seventh, so it shouldn't be too much a climb."

Exhausted from eighteen straight hours of flying, plus an additional two hours spent navigating the nightmare that was the Manhattan transit system; Sam's nerves protested the notion of more strenuous exercise. Plus, how the hell did Yash expect to lug five suitcases up seven flights of stairs?

"Wait, Yash!" She gripped one edge of the door to stop it sliding closed and nudged her suitcase into the other edge. "Let's just use the lift instead; I'm too tired to do stairs tonight."

"Are you serious? You want to ride with that?" He shot her an incredulous look and stabbed a finger at the sprawled man. "Forget it. I'll carry you on my back and come down for your stuff later."

He meant it too. A fitness buff, Yash worked out religiously and the firm muscles of his arms and shoulders attested to the fact. He was probably capable of carrying her and about two suitcases with ease if she let him.

He set down the case and advanced towards her, but Sam having none of it. She backed up, placing a hand on his chest to halt his tracks, brown eyes flashing a warning. "Don't even think about it."

"Then you better get ready to start climbing," He crossed his arms on his chest in the universal gesture for male stubbornness. "Because there's no way you're riding with him."

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes, wondering not for the first time why she'd let herself be talked into moving in with him rather than finding her own place. Yash was the quintessential overprotective older brother, his stubbornness constantly clashing with Sam's assertive nature.

It had seemed a good idea at the time she'd brought it up while breaking the news she was leaving Mumbai to her parents. It had certainly helped quell a lot of their anxiety at the thought that their last child and only daughter would be moving as to a different continent, taking on a new job and essentially starting a new life.

When she'd mentioned the job was in New York and she'd be staying with Yash, Parvati Bhatt had instantly gotten on the phone to reel off a long list of instructions to her son concerning protecting his sister's virtue. Only then had she relented and bulldozed her husband into agreeing.