Page 87 of Made in Mumbai
Soft giggles, and her warm sigh. He flipped her over slowly until she was on the inside, then gathered her close between him and the backrest. She didn’t complain, being cocooned there. In fact, she gave another happy sigh.
“M?”
“Hmm?”
“Nothing.”
16. Kal Chaudhvi ki Raat Thi
It was the last day of their office before they broke for Diwali. And he couldn’t stop working. Everybody was gathering downstairs after 5 to start Maya’s party, but Gautam was stuck on his phone, finishing the final negotiations with the Turks before he would have to visit Thekkady to see the shipment through. These initial few deliveries he would have to oversee before he brought a logistics guy on.
But it wasn’t painful to see to the nitty-gritties because the money was huge, the profit margins going into six figures. The only pain was the translator in-between them.
“Tell them I cannot do any more,” Gautam pinched his brows, sitting back in his chair. “This is my final offer or I will take my business to Ankara.”
“O soyleyo ki…” Gautam closed his eyes as his translator went on.
“Why hasn’t the king descended yet?” Maya’s angry voice threw his door open. He glanced up, and his throat dried. Because there she was, looking like some nymph from that Coorg pond they had swam in. White looked good on her, but a fine white saree, hugging her gentle belly looked… Gautam had to push himself to follow the conversation on his phone.
“G?” She threw her hair behind her shoulder, striding into his office, her earrings chunky and pretty, peeking through the waves of her hair. “Everybody is down already,” she mouthed.
“Sir, they are saying they need to speak to their partners and can get back to you in 10 minutes,” his translator reported.
“Alright, tell them I am waiting.”
He ended his call and got up to round his desk. “You look beautiful,” he took her hand.
“Oh, thank you thank you,” she tucked her hair behind her ear, giving him her Queen Elizabeth curtsy. “I know.”
He smirked, pulling her closer — “Why haven’t you changed?” She poked a finger in his chest, stopping him halfway.
“I don’t have any clothes here to change.”
“You do! I told you in the morning I am taking them. You only showed me where your kurtas were kept…” she pointed to the bag she had left on his couch.
He closed his eyes. Maybe that had happened. But he had been so engrossed in these final calls that he hadn’t paid close attention.
“It’s ok, now come on,” she began to pull his hand but he tugged back — “I am waiting for one final call.”
“Gautam it’s Made in Mumbai’s first Diwali party!”
“I know,” he caressed the side of her face. “I’ll be there. Promise. Just let me finish this.”
“What is going on? Is there a problem with GK Textiles? You have been quiet about Turkey too.”
“No, no problem with GK Textiles, or Made in Mumbai. I am expanding into the spices industry.”
“Oh… that was your Turkey trip?”
He nodded.
“But why suddenly? Made in Mumbai is doing so well! GK Textiles anyway runs on autopilot.” She grabbed his collars playfully and shook him — “You, my sugar daddy, are a very wealthy man.”
He snorted — “Language, M. Language. MM can’t hear you say all this.”
“Come on, naa… please,” she whined. “How much more money will you earn?”
“Enough to not be taken away.”
