Busted in Bollywood by Nicola Marsh

Author:Nicola Marsh
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub, pdf
Tags: food critic, foodie, mumbai, food, Arranged Marriage, Weddings, journalism, new york, movie star, best friend, USA Today bestselling author, india, america, bollywood, nicola marsh, contemporary romance, womens fiction
Publisher: Entangled Select
Published: 2012-05-29T21:00:00+00:00

chapter ten

After six days, twelve hours, and forty minutes, I acknowledged Drew Lansford was a fully paid-up, participating member of Jerks United.

Not that I waited by the phone. Okay, I admit it, I checked my cell’s voice mail and messages rather frequently. Sad but true.

Between job interviews—and there’d been many—I’d turned into a partial recluse, heading out for essentials only: pints of Ben & Jerry’s, Doritos, and Moonlight Mojito Mix, a weird premixed concoction that tasted like 7UP with zip. Gorging on comfort food wouldn’t help my mood, but I needed something familiar in my topsy-turvy world.

Adding a top coat to my nails, I wiggled my toes, facing facts. Despite pawning almost everything and dipping into my nest egg—the size of a sparrow’s—I’d nearly blown it all on living expenses. I needed a job pronto before my funds ran out.

Twelve interviews and two call-backs in the last week, not terribly inspiring considering I’d broadened my job search criteria. Along with the usual executive assistant applications, I’d taken the plunge and applied for a few publishing positions. Copyeditors mostly, but considering the publishers’ lack of enthusiasm, Subway sandwich artist was starting to look good. I’d pinned my hopes on the call-backs. If they didn’t work out, better get out my knife and loaf and start toasting.

The buzzer rang and my heart did a weird flip-flop, wishing Drew would drop by, before reality set in. If a guy didn’t call for almost a week, the possibility of him visiting unannounced was as likely as Bergdorf’s throwing out their Hermes bags at cost.

It pealed out again and I waddled to the intercom, not wanting to smudge my nails.

Rabidly antisocial, I stabbed at the intercom button. “Yeah?”

“Let me in, the wind out here would freeze the cojones off a brass monkey.” Rita added a chimp imitation for good measure, earning a reluctant smile.

“Come on up.”

I pressed the button to let Rita in, though my grouchiness hadn’t improved at the sound of her voice. As much as I loved her I wasn’t in the mood to hear about her budding relationship with Romeo Rama. She’d been trying to get me out all week, inviting me to join them for dinner at Nobu, drinks at Michu, skating at Central Park.

Politely declining, I’d cited a tummy bug, a migraine, and a twisted ankle. Guess she hadn’t bought the last excuse when I’d used kickboxing with Jackie Chan as the reason. After I’d OD’d on rom-coms, action flicks were my change of pace. Besides, if I saw a hint of Hugh on the screen, I might throw the remote.

Zipping up my pink hoodie to hide a chocolate stain on the front of my grey T-shirt underneath, I opened the door.

“Hey. What brings you by?”

Rita’s contemptuous glance flicked from the top of my lank hair to the bottoms of my frayed yoga pants before settling on my face, devoid of M.A.C. or Bobbi Brown all week.

“You look like shit,” she said, breezing past me, leaving a cloud of Chanel No.

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