Chapter 21 Veera

Chapter 21 Veera

Text messages from one year ago:

VEERA: Hey, we need to talk

Two days later.

VEERA: It's not like you to ignore my texts. Is everything okay?

VEERA: Deeps, talk to me.

"This is really fantastic material," Margaret said, as she scrolled through Veera's tablet. The reports were a new way of

looking at global financial markets that considered marginalized communities, carbon emissions, and sustainability practices

in a multipronged approach.

"Thank you. It's still in the early stages, but it's easy to adapt to any global market, and the flexibility is what will make it work for Illyria Media Group." Veera sipped her cappuccino and adjusted her gold bangles as she waited for Margaret to finish. She hadn't planned on pitching her work to Margaret first, but the woman had taken an interest in Veera's project and asked to be involved. They decided to meet off-site at a trendy Financial District coffee shop with large oak tables and big dome-shaped chrome overhead chandeliers. The hissing sound of an espresso machine and soft, soothing jazz made Veera grateful for the casual ambiance. It took some of the pressure off her for performing in a more traditional setting for their industry.

Margaret tapped the screen once and then nudged the tablet forward. Her smile was infectious. "All that traveling was really

good for you and your sister if you both came up with a project plan like this for global businesses."

Veera shook her head. "This was just me," she said. "This is what I was, ah, consulting with Deepak on, actually." She brushed

the inside of her wedding and engagement band with her thumb before curling her palms around her quickly cooling mug.

Margaret beamed at Veera. "He was always intelligent. I joined the board because I knew that he could take the business further

than his father ever dreamed. And with partnerships like this? Identifying talent like yours, I really do believe it."

"If he gets the CEO position," Veera said gently. She picked up the tablet and flipped the cover over the screen. "I know

that it was relatively unanimous to consider an alternative candidate for the position."

Margaret made a dismissive sound, puckering her lips as she sat back with her tea. "He's doing a wonderful job, and I'm sure

that his record will speak for itself. There are only a few individuals on the board who are still opposed to him, and we

know Olivia Gupta is one of them. For obvious reasons, of course."

"Of course," Veera said with a smile. She turned to tuck her tablet back in her backpack. "Who are the others if you don't

mind me asking?" she said casually.

Margaret paused and then shook her head. "No one, really. And they're always changing their minds every other moment, so—"

"It's my father," Veera said quietly. There was no point in letting the unspoken truth sit between them. Relationships in

business had to be formed out of honesty, and she and Margaret could be honest with each other about this. "He's Deepak's

opponent."

Margaret softened, and she reached out to pat Veera's hand. "I'm so sorry, I don't know what happened between the two of you."

"We've always had a difficult relationship," she said, feeling a sense of déjà vu. How many times had she told people that

she and her father had a difficult relationship? How many times had she forced herself to believe that they were both to blame?

"Well, as one of the largest shareholders," Margaret said, "his vote has an exceptional amount of weight. Plus, Olivia and

Narinder still doubt Deepak's capabilities. He has some work cut out for him. But like I said, Deepak's successes speak for

themselves."

"Right," Veera said. She was going to talk with her father again. She didn't want to, but she might be the only person who

could get through to him about Deepak's role as CEO. As for Olivia, hopefully Sana had made some progress.

"You know," Margaret said as she tapped a pale pink manicured fingernail against Veera's tablet cover. "If you present this

to Illyria, you're going to have to get your father involved as well. He is our chief financial officer."

Veera nodded. "I guess I was hoping he'd finally retire like Deepak's father."

"I have a feeling Malkit is much more stubborn."

Veera grinned. "That is most definitely the truth."

Her phone rang at her elbow. She'd left it out to keep track of the time, so her pitch didn't run over the allotted hour that Margaret had available for her. When she glanced at the screen, her brow furrowed. "I'm sorry, Margaret," she said, "but this is Deepak's assistant. She almost never calls me unless there is a problem. Do you mind if I take this really quick?"

"Not at all, dear," Margaret said. She stood and brushed at her pantsuit. "I'm just going to use the restroom."

Veera smiled at her and waited until she'd turned her back before answering the call. "Kim? Is everything all right?"

"Hi, Veera," Kim said, in that hurried voice that she always seemed to use. "I'm actually calling because Deepak wanted me

to pass along a request. He's in meetings all day, so he was wondering if you could run downtown to the Kumari Boutique to

pick up an outfit for him? He's already ordered it. Your name is on file so you shouldn't have any trouble picking it up.

He would've sent a messenger, but he said the package is too delicate to trust to anyone but you."

Kumari was the designer for Veera's wedding lehenga in Goa. Why would he order an outfit from Kumari?

He'd been acting incredibly strange since Bobbi and Bunty's engagement party. She assumed it was because they were now only

about a month away from the board meeting and he was busy with work. The hairs at the back of her neck prickled. Something

told her that his behavior and the Kumari errand were connected.

Veera looked at her watch and then Margaret's plum-colored peacoat draped over the back of her chair. "What time do they need

me to pick it up by?"

"The sooner the better? Within the hour is what Deepak said."

"Yeah, that should be fine," she said. "Just send me the address if you can, and I'll leave shortly and head straight there."

"Great, thanks, Veera."

"No problem, Kim."

Veera ended the call, then waited for the directions to come through. When Margaret came back, they wrapped up their meeting, and Veera hopped in an Uber to go straight to Kumari Boutique.

Veera was still unsure why Deepak would want her to pick up the outfit in person. With the amount of money he possessed, there

had to be someone who was able to do the errand for him. She could only assume it was because of the sensitive nature of the

package.

Forty minutes after her meeting, she walked into the beautiful black marble, gold, and mirrored foyer of Kumari Boutique's

New York City location. The walls and flooring were black with glittering gold veins that sparkled under the art deco lighting.

She looked down at her beige slacks, maroon silk top, and cardigan. It was the only professional outfit she owned anymore,

and even with its tailored fit, Veera was terribly underdressed for Kumari's.

A woman in a sharp black suit approached her on sparkling juttis that her best friends Kareena and Bobbi would've loved. "Hello,

how may I help you?" she asked, her accent sharp and clearly from Delhi.

"My, ah... well, I'm here to pick up an order?"

The woman's expression didn't change. "Name?"

"Veera Mathur."

It was as if she had said the magic word to get past the dragon. The woman's eyes brightened. "We are expecting a Veera Mathur

Datta."

Deepak Datta. Her cheeks warmed. "Technically, that's my husband's last name, so yeah, that's me."

Telling this stranger that she had a husband sent butterflies to her stomach. She'd never claimed Deepak as hers to a stranger in public before. The declaration felt powerful. Like she was stronger because she was part of a unit that she was proud of.

"We have quite a session planned for you," she said. "Come with me."

"Session?" Veera asked, as she walked farther into the store, taking note of the sparkling rows of pastel and jewel-toned

gowns, lehengas, and salwars.

They entered a room with rounded ceilings that looked like a birdcage. Gold-colored iron bars curved and arched to meet in

the center of the highest point of a domed ceiling connected to an opulent crystal chandelier with teardrop stones and fluted

edges.

There, two other women wearing black suits waited for her in the center of the room. Between them was a rack of jewel-toned

pantsuits and gowns.

Pantsuits.

"Oh wow," she whispered. She'd always worn gray, blue, black, or beige with the occasional pop of color because it was in

her best interest to blend in with the rest of the finance bros in the industry that she'd chosen to work within. But if she'd

had a choice, she'd want all the gorgeous floral and royal colors, the bright bling, and the lace trim.

"Hi, Veera, I'm Gurpreet," the woman standing to the left said. She had a small pompadour, and a long black braid that reached

the top of her thighs. "I know you wore a sample gown of ours for your wedding. Your husband called us and asked if we could

do a custom collection of pantsuits just for you. We were able to get a hold of your sizes from our Goa designers, and this

week, the Kumari team created quite the collection. It's one of a kind based on some suggestions and guidelines that your

husband shared."

Veera gaped. "Wait, all those clothes are designed for me ?"

At that moment, her cell phone buzzed with an incoming text. She looked at the screen to read the message from Deepak.

DEEPAK: Surprise. Just go with it.

DEEPAK: P.S. My black Amex beats your black Amex's ass.

"I don't know what this means," she said, reading the message over and over.

"We were told to dress you, have your makeup and hair done, and give you whatever jewelry you like from our collections,"

Gurpreet said. "Then we have to put you back in the car and send you on your way to your next stop."

Veera scrubbed her hands over her face. "I need a minute."

Had she said something to Deepak about her pantsuits? She couldn't remember. She'd missed them because they had been a regular

part of her work routine, of the life that she'd lost. When she had graduated from college, she remembered going shopping

for her first work outfit with Bobbi and Kareena. They'd all talked about how a pantsuit was a marker of their accomplishments.

Kareena had gone in the direction of high heels and sweater vests, while Bobbi switched up her three-piece suits with the

most flair for fashion. Veera preferred comfort and fit.

They'd spent so much money on those first work outfits, but they'd crossed that line between college student and professional

together.

Deepak had once commented about her pantsuits, when they met for lunch regularly, and she'd made some glib reply about how clothing was only ever an issue when it was a woman who wore it. Meanwhile, men wore suits every day, and it was never a conversation point.

"Mrs. Datta," the first woman said who'd greeted her at the door. She touched her arm with gentleness. "If I had a man who

was trying to romance me with a custom collection by one of the most exclusive designers in the Punjabi community, I'd take

the gift."

"Right," she said. As she worked through the reasons why Deepak was doing this for her, she wondered if this was for appearance

purposes. Olivia had made another video, and the board vote was soon.

No, she thought. Olivia hadn't said anything that would require a PR response.

Could this be Deepak's attempt at seduction?

"Okay, I guess I'm in?"

As she was ushered through a back door, her pulse quickened at the realization that she may not regain the wardrobe she'd

once had, but she was building a better closet that was unique to the person she had become.

Her new stylist led her to a small room and sat her in a salon chair. With flourish, she draped a black cape over her, and

fastened it at her neck. "Hair first. Let's keep it simple. A wash, a blowout, and bouncy curls at the ends. We do this every

weekend for brides who want us to dress them for their big day, so we're equipped for all your styling needs."

Veera gaped at Gurpreet, who stood off to the side as a supervisor. When the older woman arched an eyebrow, Veera could only

respond with a nod.

There were three, sometimes four women who worked on her at the same time. They plucked her eyebrows, filed and painted her nails, and brought her a latte while they painstakingly blow-dried her hair.

Veera was then stripped down to her underwear and told to stand in front of a trifold mirror as an army of women put her in

one outfit after another. Each one fit great to her untrained eyes, but Gurpreet and her assistant made alterations on the

spot. There was a cobalt blue pantsuit with a pearl trim camisole. Then there was the skirt suit in merlot that had her eyes

bulging at the way it hugged her hips and skimmed her thighs.

One by one by one, she was dressed in over two dozen South Asian–inspired designs that brought out her eye color, the shape

of her waist, or her jawline. There were half a dozen lehengas and anarkalis as well with delicate detail at the hem or the

neckline, but perfect for Veera who preferred the simpler silhouette.

Every outfit also came with a pair of juttis or heels that were for work attire or going out afterward. She was loaded up

on simple gold and silver jewelry pieces for her wardrobe.

Veera's eyes filled with tears as she shed the clothes she'd worn during the eight months of travel, during the countless

days and nights of doubting herself and her skill. She hadn't thought about her pantsuits, about the clothes that she'd worn

in her old life as a critical part of her identity. But now, wearing the bright colors and simple patterns and cuts, she was

starting to feel alive again. Less sad, and more... Veera.

As Gurpreet dressed her in the last outfit, a slip dress with strappy heels, she said, "All of these will be shipped to your

home once we finish the rest of the alterations. They'll arrive Friday at the latest. We're also sending all of the products

we used for your skin today. They're vegan, cruelty-free, South Asian–owned brands."

"Thank you," Veera said, as she turned to the side and looked in the mirror. Who would've thought that Deepak had it in him to bring back a part of Veera that she thought she'd once lost with him?

Gurpreet patted her shoulders. "Let's finish you up and send you on your way."

It was another hour before Veera could leave. She'd been offered a selection of leather bags from different South Asian designers

that she could choose from to wear on her way out. However, Deepak had purchased the entire collection for her, and the rest

of the options would be delivered with her altered clothes.

After hugging the team at Kumari, Veera felt strong and vibrant in her slip dress and heels as she slid into the back of the

car that waited out front. She was herself, but better.

It was amazing what clothes could do to her mood, she thought as she twisted her diamond ring.

The car missed the Brooklyn Bridge turnoff, and Veera frowned. "Excuse me," she called out. "Aren't we going back to the town

house?"

"No, ma'am," her driver said. "We're going to Midtown. Mr. Datta has asked me to tell you to, quote, go with it, end quote."

Veera grinned. "Thank you, I think I will."

Almost thirty minutes later, they had reached a familiar building on Columbia's campus on the Upper West Side of Manhattan.

She stepped out in front of Lerner Hall, a towering building made of glass, cement, and brick.

Veera spotted Deepak immediately. He wore the same suit he'd had on when he'd left that morning and impatiently stared at the street. She saw the moment that he spotted her because he tucked his cell in his pocket. With long strides, he crossed to her car when it pulled up to the front of the building so he could open the door. Veera took his outstretched hand and let him help her out into the chilled dusk.

"Hi," she said, her cheeks flushed at the sight of his heated stare.

"Hello yourself," he said before closing the car door. Her hair fluttered in the wind, and he brushed it off her cheek. "You

look beautiful. But you always do."

"That experience was both excessive and wonderful at the same time," she said. And because she couldn't help herself from

touching him, from wanting the feel of his soft mouth against hers, she stood on her toes and pressed a kiss on the underside

of his jaw.

"I wanted to give you romance," he said hoarsely, gripping her chin between his thumb and forefinger. "I wanted to show you

that this isn't about anyone but you and me."

"So you gave me pantsuits and shoes," she said, as she rested her hands on his shoulders and leaned into his warmth. "That's

smooth, Romeo. Really smooth."

Veera's eyelashes fluttered and her eyes closed as his mouth came down on hers. She shivered and parted for him when his tongue

glided over her bottom lip. She wasn't scared that their relationship would change, that there was no way to reclaim the friendship

that they'd once had. Their relationship had already changed, and if this sexy, incredible man with his deep confident voice

and kind eyes wanted to be with her, she'd accept him for as long as he gave himself to her. Fake married or not, the way

his mouth slid over hers was real and she'd cherish the memory of his taste.

When she pulled back, his eyes locked with hers, intense and focused, while his arms wrapped around her waist, pressing into

the silky fabric of her dress.

"Thank you," she whispered breathlessly. She was standing on the precipice of something dangerous and thrilling, nanoseconds from falling.

"You're welcome," he said. Then he maneuvered them both toward the entrance of the building. "Now are you ready for our date?"

"There are more surprises?" she said and linked her arm through his. They walked at a slow, easy pace, with their hips bumping.

"We're going out on the town," Deepak said. "Apparently there is this amazing panel on economic trends in the Global South.

Then I figured I'd take you out for milkshakes."

Veera was smiling so hard that her mouth hurt. "I guess you do know romance, Deepak Datta."

He smirked as he opened the door for her. "I'm just getting started, Vee," he said. His hand settled on the small of her back.

"There is no going back now."

She had to be careful not to trip, not to show him how his words affected her. That was exactly what she'd been afraid of.

But she knew as he held her hand and they walked into the lecture hall that he was right.

There was no going back.