||CHAPTER 5||
《¤》
┊A R V I K A┊
My lungs burned as I tipped my head back, downing the shot with no hesitation. I wasn't exactly sure why I let this journalist buy me a drink, I had no intentions of getting drunk tonight. Especially not in front of a reporter— that would result in a disastrous shìt storm.
But talking to Raman Oberoi wasn't pleasing to my mind either, and I had to endure hours of that. Today he had on an obnoxious pair of glasses with leopard printed frames. He called that a trend. It was hard to believe that a man like him was supposedly malicious and feared in business.
"I'm surprised, you know," I gulped, tasting the remnants of the liquor on my tongue. I needed more of that. Thinking about going back to Wadhwa and Associates to figure out a game plan was something I really did not want to think about right now. "For once, your reporters weren't flogging me at the airport."
I think he smirked– my eyes were on my brother who had gone back to clicking pictures of a half empty glass of liquor. He was weird that way– he was deep in thought and I knew that.
"That sounds like you've missed me."
"Speaking of delusions," I turned back to him, "How's that grand documentary about my step-father coming along? Do I get peeking privileges?"
He caught on. "You often express your distaste for that man. Is that a hint?"
That's why I needed to stay sober. I shrugged. "Nothing personal, but he could do with a better style..." of cleaning his mess.
I should have mentally prepared myself when I said that, because when Varun raised his eyebrow, raking his eyes down my body, I couldn't blame him. I had turned up in a pair of jeans and an oversized sweatshirt, eyeliner and a lipstick sufficing for my make-up. It's not that I did not know how to dress-up. I was simply tired and hadn't gotten fresh air since the flight landed yesterday. This was supposed to be a small catch-up anyway. "Keep your thoughts to yourself, buddy."
"I'm a journalist. That's the last thing I'd do."
Touchè. I did not like how he outsmarted me every time. His eyes gleamed each time he did that, and that made me hot for some reason.
Regardless, he didn't comment on my choice of outfit. "Are you here for the cruise project?"
"Are you confirming that so that stalking me becomes easier?"
He laughed, in the same way he did a month ago on that flight to Udaipur. It was flustering, but why would he want to deal with me just to glorify my step father? I rolled my eyes, chugging down the bottle in my hand, watching Arohi instead. She had been staying low on the liquor and had refused to dance with her crew– two activities that Ishita, her sister and my friend, claimed she was known in the family for. I'm still curious as to why she had to use a stage name at all. Sanaya did not sound any better than Arohi.
I could feel my thoughts meddling up. Low on the liquor, Arvika!
"...not you we're after."
Right. Had heard that one before. Varun seemed like he was done laughing at me. He had his wallet out and slapped his visiting card on the oak wood counter, sliding it towards me. "I know you love my company, but I've to leave before I'm accused of drunk driving."
He left with a tip of his head, bidding adieu to Sanaya and her crew. Five minutes never felt so long. I grabbed the card on the counter once he was out of sight.
Varun Malhotra, Editor-in-chief, BizNest.
The cogs in my mind started turning. He was right about one thing. I did want his company.
For majority of next day, I was at the dockyard. There had been a delay in the overlooking of matters, but Fiza and Bill had managed a great deal of work. I had never been much of an enthusiast when it came to on-site projects, and rarely had to deal with it.
But this project, Project DEEV, had become a personal goal of mine. It was luck that that had it perfectly timed with my father's retirement, because this is what the Board of Directors would see. They weren't too excited about the idea of me stepping up another notch– but I had become too bored of my five year plan already. I knew I was capable, and I needed them to know it too. My mother was a stakeholder in our company and Arnav had his shares too. I knew I had their support, but sleeping partners hardly had a significant percentage to gain leverage.
These weren't the only thoughts running in the back of my mind when Mia informed me that my mother was waiting for me outside the dockyard. Of course there was the blasphemy that Oberoi Industries was trying hard to avoid.
Having two fathers kind of suçked.
I unbuckled the black construction helmet and handed it to Mia, walking towards the exit. Sure enough, my mother's sleek brown Mercedes was waiting for me outside. Spotting me, her driver opened the door. I probably should have cleaned up a little before leaving. Dockyards weren't exactly as polished as the seat I was now sliding into.
"Sending you to do the dirty work now, is he?" My mother spoke, turning her phone off.
Without doubt, she wasn't referring to her current husband. "Well, that's something you two have in common."
And without any doubt, I was clearly referring to her secret project.
She let out a sigh. The pallu of her silk sari had taken up half of the seat. "Have you spoken to Binoy about this... situation?"
This really wasn't the time to be sassy, but I couldn't help it. "You think I'm the only one who wants gloating rights over Raman Oberoi?" Of course my father knew. He wasn't a man of many emotions, but he was pretty clear about wanting the last laugh.
She did not try to initiate any other conversation until we reached our destination. Yatis Grandiose– the five starrer that wasn't mine.
The butler opened the door for us, my heels landing on the carpeted entrance. I pulled off my shades and followed my mother. Even if the staff was informed about the meeting, I knew from their expression that they feared my mother.
What was not to be feared about a woman who I couldn't figure out in the twenty-six years of my existence?
We rode the elevator to the second floor. The lawyers were waiting for us, with the other party in the conference room. They stood up on our arrival, acknowledging us. For someone who had been causing the ruckus, a floral printed shirt stretching taut over his pot belly wasn't something I had expected Harish Thakur to be donning. He looked like an affable middle aged man who had more worries about his retirement funds than claiming Raman Oberoi to be a fraud.
"Good afternoon," Mr. Thakur greeted us, bobbing his shiny bald head. He extended his palm forward, introducing himself to me. "Myself Harish Thakur."
"Arvika Deewan," I shook his pudgy hand with a brief nod. He had the typical Marathi accent lacing his words.
My mother's fist came around my hand, discreetly motioning me to take a seat. Our team of lawyers sat with us, and I couldn't help but notice that Harish Thakur had just one with him. And his lawyer did not look half as experienced as the ones with us, and yet she had a layer of confidence surrounding her.
Raman Oberoi wasn't wrong. There was something very fishy about this case.
In a bath robe, I stood in front of the wide bathroom mirror. With citrus-scented candles providing a dim lighting, I was ready to indulge myself in some calming silence— definitely needed that. The meeting earlier had not ended in a settlement, and that meant prolonged damaging. Harish Thakur was not going to budge easily, and it did not look like he was in it for the money. He had some personal vendetta disguised as a draft.
I tore open the packaging of the care-products Nina Varghese had sent us. The contents weren't disappointing for a souvenir– a jade facial roller, with the signature golden VARGHESE on the dusky blue handle. I tested it on the ball of my palm before cleansing my face.
Interrupting the routine, my phone blared. I stepped out of the bathroom, with the cleansing lotion still on my face. Karan Bahl, it showed.
"Have you stopped baking or shìt? I don't see food in the fridge." That greeting was a confirmation of him spending another night in my apartment. I rolled my eyes, walking back to the bathroom.
"You don't see me in the house either. I could sue you for trespassing, Bahl."
"What a fuçking shame that I don't care. I don't know how to cook and I am hungry."
I scoffed, setting down my phone on speaker mode on top of the sink and grabbed the facial roller. "I'm not your babysitter, Karan. Baahar se order kar le, or oh– khudke ghar jaakar kitchen raid kar."
"Such a fuçking bìtch you are." I was used to his crass language by now. A few years of racing, apparently, made him swear like a country cowboy. "You haven't been home for three days now. Wapis kab aa rahi hai?"
"I'm sorry, when did we become flatmates?"
"I've no shame, kyu koshish kar rahi hai?"
The roller glided over my cheeks as I snorted at his remark. Of course he had no shame. "I don't know kab aungi. Probably by the end of this week. The... party we're dealing with has tough skin."
He waited for the noise of water gushing down from the tap to stop before responding. "So do you have a game plan?"
My teeth sunk into my lower lip as I walked out of the washroom, the phone in my palm. The visiting card that I was given last night was resting inside the bedside drawer.
It wasn't too fancy, I had noticed earlier. Plain, black against white lettering, the magazine logo on the top right. Varun Malhotra in bold.
I pressed the phone to my ears. "I think I do."
_____
Namoshtaii!
All my lectures got cancelled today because of network issues and server problems, and I'm just imagining how cool it'd had been if this was a normal Friday at college and not a video call. Not complaining at all though, this saved like 1 GB of my data and 4 hours of my day, and y'all know what that means? Send me your movie/web series recommendations (unpopular ones, please!)
Also, if you have a Spotify playlist you'd like to share, please do. Dil Beparwah's Spotify playlist is also out. You can check that out if you want :)
I'm not sure if I can update next Friday, but I'll try to. What's one old hobby you are doing again? Read, vote, comment, promote!
~chaashnee