Pride, Prejudice, and Other Flavors (The Rajes #1)(46)

Trisha groaned. It made her sound like an ill animal.

“Shut up and listen to me. The chef”—she paused dramatically—“will be here any moment and he’s pretty good at what he does, so this will take minimum effort on your part.”

Trisha jumped off the bed again and gawked at her sister. If she had been drinking something, she would have choked on it and died. Why hadn’t she gotten herself something to drink? “What do you mean he’ll be here any moment?”

The doorbell rang. Horseshit! Nisha had timed her assault perfectly. “What the hell, Nisha?” The shrillness of her shriek possibly cracked some of Nisha’s windows.

“Give yourself some credit. You’ll be fine.”

“Credit? There’s no credit to give. I have no credit in this. None. Why can’t Ashi do this? Ashi does this for a living!”

The doorbell rang again.

Nisha glared at her again.

Trisha stomped to the front door. “I’m coming,” she snapped and opened it to find DJ Caine standing there.

Of course it was him. Gah!

She leaned back her head and stared up at the surprised scowl on his face. How tall was this man?

He was carrying a huge padded box. One that needed both hands to be carried, which made Trisha wonder how he had managed to press the bell. Because she had the kind of brain that started analyzing random things when it was imploding.

Every single time she’d met this man, it had been a disaster. But this one was a disaster of epic proportions.

“Before you snap at me again, I’d like to mention that this weighs a ton.” It really wasn’t fair how a British accent made everything sound ridiculously hot. That shrug thing he did with one shoulder didn’t help matters, either, because that shoulder . . .

She was sweating. Sweat trickled down between her breasts, where her heart had decided to start up a percussion band.

Channeling Nisha, she glared at him. “Literally or figuratively?”

He matched her glare with an impressive counterglare and she stepped back to let him in.

One would think all those huge muscles weren’t purely for show. She followed him to the kitchen. He seemed to know exactly where it was.

“They’re sewn into my shirt, actually. Like a superhero costume.”

Holy crappers, had she said that out loud? What the hell was wrong with her? Brain, work. You’re a genius. I have paperwork to prove it.

She was about to apologize, but when he put the box down and turned to her, she found herself frowning at him again unable to actually form words. How pathetic was she? So he was an attractive man. That’s all. There was no reason to turn into a complete bumbling idiot.

He craned his neck and searched the room. “I think you’re the wrong sister. I’m supposed to meet Nisha here?” He came out from behind the island and turned around, still searching.

As if on cue Nisha walked in and caught her ogling his butt.

“Why are you up?” she said to Nisha more angrily than she’d meant to. Because really, the whole point of this was for Nisha to not get up. And also because she hated to be caught staring at men’s butts.

“I’m being an ass, am I not?” Nisha said, and then grinned at her own joke as though she’d suddenly turned into Jerry Seinfeld.

The guy went completely still like a possum sensing danger, and Trisha learned that intense mortification feels exactly like motion sickness in the pit of your stomach.

“Hi, DJ! I believe you’ve met my sister, Trisha.” Nisha went up on her toes to air-kiss his cheek and he very obligingly bent in half to let her.

“Yes, we’ve been introduced several times,” he said in a tone that suggested being introduced to her even once was one too many times.

“Actually, we’ve been introduced just the once by Ashna,” she snapped. “We were never actually introduced at Yash’s dinner.”

“How’s it going with Ashna?” Nisha widened her eyes only the slightest bit at Trisha in what was Nisha’s signature Glare of Elegance that you would only know was a glare if you shared genes with her. She saved it especially for public glarings. Then she led Bicep-chef to a barstool by his biceps.

“So you are with Ashna?” Trisha said. When she really, really should not have. What was it about this guy that was making every word out of her mouth stupider than stupid? She had been admitted into the nation’s most prestigious schools for all that was sacred. She could operate machinery that delivered microscopic ammunition to tiny little cell clusters and saved people’s lives.

He started to answer Nisha. “Things are going . . . actually . . .”—then realized what Trisha had said and turned to her. “I beg your pardon?”

Who actually said, “I beg your pardon”? Especially in a British accent. It just made you seem like a show-off.

“When Nisha asked how things were going with Ashna, I thought she meant you two were together,” she babbled, her explanation only proving why she shouldn’t have said what she’d said in the first place.

Nisha cleared her throat and decided to finally act like a big sister and step up to save Trisha from herself. “I was actually asking about how Ashi’s new menu is coming along.” Another Glare of Elegance was lobbed in Trisha’s direction. What the hell is wrong with you?