Jaya was half-singing, half-Lamaze-breathing her way through her fourth rendition of "I Will Survive" when the passenger across the aisle shot her another side-eye. One that said 'I hope we crash just so you stop.'
What, not even an ounce of sympathy?
Jaya checked the timer on her smartphone: six hours and forty-four minutes until she was scheduled to appear on Trevor's late-night talk show.
But first, she needed to survive the flight. Her brother Gus, a Stanford-educated doctor, had advised her to stay off the Xanax, to take one "only if absolutely necessary." But one look at the slippery runway on takeoff, and she'd already taken two preemptively.
Four hours later, Jaya woke with a start when a meticulously groomed flight attendant poked her in the shoulder.
"Ye need to leave the plane." He talked in a thick Scottish accent, his gaze so scornful she tried not to shrivel in her seat.
Jaya gathered her belongings at snail speed.
"Guid cheerio the nou!" she said before she left the aircraft, saluting the flight attendant with a smirk that made the vein under his eye twitch.
Hah. It was good to be back in L.A.
The interview this evening would be her last before she could begin renovations on the fixer-upper she'd purchased before her departure.
When the driver pulled up in front of the studio where they recorded Trevor's show, Jaya's mind was still foggy from the sedative. Another glance at her phone confirmed she only had ten minutes to find her way back to reality.
Once inside, a pale woman in a red pantsuit and matching lipstick ushered Jaya through the narrow halls, telling her she'd be the last guest on the show.
Yes, thank you!
She threw a kiss up to the ceiling. At least she wouldn't have to feign interest in someone else's story. She was tired, jet-lagged, and still slightly high—not exactly the ideal state for a national television appearance.
"Our next guest is a sociologist and bestselling author who's here to talk about her latest book, the critically-acclaimed #PicturePerfect. Ladies and Gentlemen, please give a warm welcome to the very talented Jaya Lahiri."
Trevor Williams. That man had once given her the orgasm of a lifetime.
Jaya stalked toward the stage, which held a large, white leather couch and Trevor's desk. It had been almost six months since she'd seen him last. If his relationship status hadn't changed, maybe they could reenact that legendary night.
Yeah, right. She never went back for seconds, but that didn't stop her mind from fantasizing about it.
Jaya was undressing Trevor in her mind when she tripped over the step leading onto the platform. She would've fallen face-first into the lap of a dapper Noah Santino—male model extraordinaire—had he not reached out to steady her.
Dammit.
Because she still had some residual sedative in her system, Jaya shrugged off the incident and took a seat next to Noah.
"I guess that's why they call these 'killer heels,'" she said, showing off her shiny, crimson-red stilettos.
Trevor directed his dimpled smile at her. Like her brother Gus, he was Jamaican, but Trevor grew up in London and came to the States at twenty-one. The man had been unstoppable ever since, landing his own talk show three years later.
"Jaya just flew in from London," he told the audience before he returned his focus to her. "You hate flying, I recall."
"It terrifies me. But I survived, and I'm happy to see you again. Thanks for having me." Jaya reached across the desk and squeezed his hand, then glanced over at Noah and back at Trevor. "Did you invite him on purpose?" She jerked a thumb at Noah without looking at him.
Trevor grinned. "Whatever do you mean?"
"If you read my book, you'd know why I'm asking."
"I read your book, but it's a coincidence."
Please.
Trevor smiled right through the lie.
"Am I missing something?" asked Noah.
Her gaze snapped back to him.
Lightly tanned with hazel eyes, a long nose, and even lips, he looked vaguely Italian. His appearance screamed drop-dead-gorgeous-boy-next-door, but Jaya could tell the blindingly white T-shirt and light-wash jeans he wore were high-end—and probably cost more than her entire wardrobe combined.
"You're a model," Jaya said to Noah, "My book criticizes the fashion industry, including your profession. I'm just wondering if they invited the two of us hoping we'd jump at each other's throats." She glared at Trevor. "If that's the case, I took a Xanax—or two—so don't expect my A-game."
"I haven't read your book, but I'd be happy to discuss your concerns once I have." Noah gave her a daring smile that sparked a tingle in her core.
Grabbing the pen and an index card from Trevor's desk, Jaya jotted down her phone number, then tore off the part containing the digits and handed it to Noah. "I'm looking forward to it."
Trevor hummed John Paul Young's "Love Is In The Air."
"I wouldn't count on it," she said when the audience chuckled.
"Noah, you like a challenge?" Trevor's lip quirked. "I can tell you from experience; she's feisty—in the best and worst way—but worth it."
Jaya patted Trevor's hand none too gently. "Sure, feisty—that's one way to put it." She made a point of acting like she was having a blissful moment. "Imagine how refreshing it would be to meet someone who can handle a woman who argues her opinion in a discussion." She bit her lip as if the thought turned her on—which it did.
Noah leaned back as if he was giving Trevor's suggestion some serious thought. "I do appreciate a challenge. But she seems like trouble to me."
"Man, you have no idea," Trevor proclaimed, his voice filled with pride.
"Great we cleared that up." Jaya turned away from Noah and his inviting bedroom eyes to narrow her own at Trevor. "Don't you want to ask me about my book?" And with that, the interview continued more professionally.
***
"Hey, Jaya, wait up," Noah called after her when she was about to disappear into the dressing room twenty minutes later.
She stopped in the doorjamb, stifling a yawn.
Noah slid a hand up and down his toned bicep, his smile impish. "My friends and I are having a little party at my place. I was hoping you could join us."
Jaya glared up at the ceiling. Really, Universe? Thrusting the forbidden fruit in my face? Literally? On national television? Her eyes flitted over Noah's groin area and then back up to his face when he cleared his throat.
Right, he's expecting an answer, not a sightseeing tour of his nether region.
"Um, thanks for the invite, Noah, but I'm tired. Long day." She yawned, and not on purpose.
One hour from now she'd curl up in her wine-red sleeping bag and dream of India. It had been a while since she visited the orphanage that took her in when Sanjay abandoned her.
"Come on, Jaya, how often do you have the opportunity to study your subject in its natural habitat?"
"I already wrote the book. Research is done beforehand, which I did. That's what we sociologists do." He was right, though. Part of her was curious to see what the supermodel's "little party" entailed.
"Maybe you want to write a sequel. Or an apology."
"An apology?" She suppressed a snort. "For what?"
He brushed a hand along his five o'clock shadow. "For being overly judgmental, perhaps."
"My writing is based on empirical data, not my personal opinions." That wasn't entirely true, but close enough.
She hesitated for a moment.
Damn curiosity. "In the name of qualitative research, I'll join you for an hour. Two tops."
He gave her a friendly pat on the shoulder. "Go grab your stuff, and let's get out of here."
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Thanks for reading! :) Please remember to vote and feel free to leave comments. xo—Alex