Page 35

Two Strikes

“I am sorry, my dear, but Vikash has rejected you.”

Fucking Vikash.

The Matchmaker delivered the decree in her familiar rat-a-tat-tat, from the square beside Padma’s mother on the monitor in front of her.

“Rejected!”

Padma was still debating whether or not she’d grant him a third date, and he’d beaten her to the punch and pulled the plug on her. “What did he do, Aunty, text you with one hand while he was waving good night to me with the other?”

“Miss Padma, you cannot take this personally.”

If a date wasn’t personal, what was? What did she ever do to Vikash? She’d been cheerful and freshly showered.

“He said you went”—The Matchmaker referred to her notes—“salsa dancing. He said you did not appear to enjoy yourself, and he has listed salsa dancing as one of his top-ten activities.”

Enjoy herself? It had been hot, and outside. How could she possibly have enjoyed herself? She was sweating, and mosquitoes were dive-bombing her. If Vikash had wanted to dance, he should have taken her somewhere with air-conditioning so at least her concealer would have had a fighting chance. But at that outdoor patio with lights strung around its edges and beer served in buckets of ice, her mascara had melted so drastically that when Padma caught a glimpse of herself in the cracked bathroom mirror, she’d stepped back in horror. Of course she didn’t enjoy herself. Who would?

Fuck Vikash.

“Do not be discouraged, my dear. You will see Nilesh again. Am I right?”

Padma’s mother unmuted. “Oh, Nilesh. Yes. I was quite impressed with his bio data.”

She positioned her glasses on her nose, studied a piece of paper, and said, “Padma, you’ll recall, his family is in manufacturing. They are the preeminent suppliers of bedding. He must be delightful.”

Padma nodded, unsure how being from a family of pillowcase makers made one delightful. But so far things had been just that. Delightful. She’d had one dinner date with Nilesh, and while he was bald with no neck, he had a nice smile. Conveniently, he didn’t have any sisters, and he’d been interested in her work, even suggesting some locations in India she and her mother might want to consider for their expansion. With all that said, although Padma would never admit it to her mother, she was very much looking forward to her second date with Nilesh. She would check his bio data for his top-ten activities and give herself plenty of time in case she needed to stretch. After The Matchmaker disconnected, her mother lingered to offer yet more unsolicited advice.

“I think we should ask The Matchmaker for more bio datas. You now have two strikes out of three. Can you not make yourself more attractive? Have you thought about highlights? Your hair is dingy. It’s a hard truth.”

It was always the same with her mother. Padma bit her tongue and silently chanted, I am enough. And she thought her hair was looking pretty good these days. Her mother continued, “I think I should begin vetting the men myself.”

Yikes. It was bad enough going along with this whole matchmaking process, and humiliating to be rejected only because she didn’t know she should have texted The Matchmaker first, but there was no way her mother was choosing her husband. The only way out of this conversation was to switch the topic. She asked, “Mother, how do you want to proceed with the slot machines?”

Padma had hesitated before consulting her mother about the possible theft, but ultimately decided there was no downside. If there was no masterminded big rip-off, well, she looked like she was on top of things. If Hank and his buddy had indeed masterminded a big rip-off, it was before she arrived, so no blame for her. And if she had discovered a masterminded big rip-off and recovered the money, she would look like a fucking genius. Surely, she’d be promoted to lead their casino expansion across India. Maybe she’d win a company award. Padma was mentally drafting her acceptance speech when her mother interrupted.

“I’ve dispatched our top man and his team. He is a forensic accountant who is experienced in recovering funds. If there is an abnormality, he will find it and know how to handle things. I trust him implicitly. His name is Farid Nadir. We call him The Fiscal Falcon.”

Her mother tittered.

“The Fiscal Falcon?”

Her mother looked around her office and then leaned toward her computer’s camera, so Padma had an extreme close-up view of one of her mother’s eyes. She spoke in a low voice. “Yes. How he got that nickname is an interesting story.”

Padma watched her mother’s eyebrow rise and fall as she recounted the details.