CHAPTER 2
Maya
POP CULTURE DEPICTED THE DEVIL AS A HIDEOUS thing, clawed and fanged with red skin and horns that broadcast
his evilness to the world.
Pop culture was wrong.
In reality, the devil was tall and sculpted, with perfect teeth and a year-round tan that made him look like he’d just returned from a beach vacation in the south of France.
Thick, artfully tousled brown hair hid his horns, and he moved with the lazy, self-assured confidence of someone who was used to getting everything handed to him on a silver platter.
If you hadn’t grown up with him (which I had) or endured his lifelong, cleverly hidden snark (which I also had), you might be duped into thinking he was an angel instead of
Satan reincarnate.
Fortunately, I knew better.
Unfortunately, no one else did.
Lucifer, otherwise known as Sebastian Laurent, leaned against the wall and gave me the half-smirk he only revealed when it was the two of us.
He was too smart to let it show in front of other people.
Everyone thought he was this perfect golden boy, but I’d seen through his mask since we were three years old, when he’d purposely tripped me during a game of tag and claimed the candy prize for himself.
It was the first and last time a boy ever made me cry.
“I was hiding from you.” I ignored that hated nickname, Sal, and gave him a saccharine smile instead. “I didn’t want to spoil my appetite before dinner.”
“Is that the type of hospitality you offer an old friend?” He tsked. “No wonder your company’s in trouble.”
My jaw tightened. Hewould bring up the crisis the first chance he got. “We’re not friends, and this has nothing to do with work.”
“Frenemies, then.” Sebastian straightened and sauntered over. His walk was loose-limbed and graceful, as if it took him a fraction of the energy it would for anyone else.
He sprawled onto the couch opposite me, seemingly oblivious to my go-away-and-jump-into-a-lake-of-flesh-
eating-piranhas energy.
Some people never get the hint.
“We’re not that either,” I said coolly. “Friends is still part of ‘frenemies.’”
“That’s what you say, but I know you better than most ‘friends.’” A knowing smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “How many sweets have you stress-eaten since news
of the first case broke?”
Damn him.
“None.” The falsehood slipped easily off my tongue. “I don’t do that anymore.”
Sebastian’s eyes bored into mine. They were clear amber shot through with flecks of gold. In the dying sunlight, they
appeared almost leonine.
“Liar,” he said softly.
My skin flushed. My heart beat in double time again, its rhythm a loud drum in my ears as we stared at each other.
The air crackled with long-simmering animosity.
I loathed him so much I almost couldn’t breathe.
“Is there a reason why you keep showing up where you’re not wanted?” I asked. “Or do you simply enjoy getting on my
last nerve?”
“Yes and yes.”
I really wished I could’ve pulled off the laxatives stunt.
Seeing him writhe in discomfort would’ve been worth every bit of the consequences.
“You keep forgetting I’m an invited guest.” Sebastian leaned back, his gaze filled with cool amusement. “I didn’t barge in here unannounced.”
“You were invited to dinner, not here. With me.”This is my spot, I almost added, but that sounded too petty.
Besides, if Sebastian knew how much I loved the conservatory, he’d never leave.
“You can get up and leave any time you want.” He shrugged. “No one’s forcing you to talk to me.”
“I was here first. I’m not leaving.”
“Ah.” A faint smile touched his mouth, contrasting with the boredom stamped across the rest of his face. “Then it appears we’ve reached an impasse.C’est dommage.”
Translation: That’s too bad.
I wasn’t a native French speaker like him, but I was fluent in the language thanks to my Swiss boarding school education.
I swallowed some other choice words I could’ve said in French.
This was ridiculous. We were full-grown adults acting like children, but that happened every time we were in close proximity. He always brought out the worst in me.
But Sebastian was like the world’s most annoying peacock. He craved attention. Maybe if I deprived him of that oxygen, he’d do me a favor and wither away.
Instead of acknowledging him further, I pulled out my phone again. A deluge of news alerts flooded the screen, and all thoughts of my unwanted company fled as my pulse
kicked into overdrive.
The press release.
It’d gone out, and the media had latched onto it like wildfire to dry brush.
A frantic skim of the headlines revealed only a basic regurgitation of the facts, so I went to the one corner of the internet where I was guaranteed to see opinions: social media.
My heart climbed into my throat as I typed “Singh Foods” into the app’s search bar. The topic was already trending, with new posts refreshing every other minute.
There were a few cynical naysayers, but overall, the initial reactions were overwhelmingly positive.
The vise around my chest loosened. For the first time in hours, I was treading water instead of drowning.
I exited my socials and switched to my email, where I sent Ezra a follow-up and checked the rest of my messages.
Sebastian didn’t say a word the entire time, but the heat of his stare seared into my skin.
Now that my initial adrenaline rush had subsided, I was hyperaware of how silent it was. Of the way my blood pulsed in my veins and the way his presence charged every molecule in the room.
I didn’t have to see him tofeel him there.
Silent. Assessing. Judging.
I stared at my phone, willing myself not to twitch or do anything that would indicate his scrutiny had any effect on
me whatsoever.
Which it didn’t. Obviously.
“It’s a good press release.” His tone contained the casualness of an afterthought. “Let me guess. You convinced your father to pull the entire line because you were worried about cross-contamination. Trust over profit. Very on-brand for the chief brand officer.”
I remained silent and jabbed theDelete button on a generic party invite with more force than necessary.
“I’ll take that as a yes.” Sebastian yawned. “Smart. It’s what I would’ve done.”
“I’m so glad I have your seal of approval.” I couldn’t hold back anymore. “What would I have done without it?”
I regretted taking his bait the second the words left my mouth, but it was too late. I caught a flash of triumph in his eyes before he unfolded himself from the couch. It was almost time for dinner. I should leave too, but I’d rather gouge my eyes out than leave with him.
“Always happy to be a source of validation,” Sebastian drawled. He retrieved something from his pocket and tossed it at me. I caught it a split second before it smacked me in the face. “You’re welcome.”
I heard a glimmer of laughter as he left the conservatory and disappeared into the depths of the house.
I waited until he was well and truly gone before I unclenched my fingers. An orange-foil-wrapped candy sat in
my palm.
It was a chocolate bonbon.
Of course, I didn’t eat the chocolate.
I wouldn’t put it past Sebastian to give me expired candy, and the bonbon was clearly a power play. A subtle way to indicate he knew things about me that he had no business knowing, and a sneaky reminder that I needed the stress relief because I was caught up in a public relations shitstorm.
Meanwhile, he was riding high on a wave of glowing publicity, including two newly minted Michelin-starred restaurants in the Laurent Restaurant Group’s portfolio and a fawning profile in theNew York Times.
My family didn’t own restaurants. Our money came from frozen foods, and there was no Michelin star equivalent for frozen foods.
I knew that, but it didn’t stop me from wanting one.
I think that was the real reason Sebastian grated on my nerves. No matter how hard I worked or how much I accomplished—personally, professionally, academically—he always made me feel like I was behind.
I got straight A’s by studying my ass off; he got straight As just by waltzing into the classroom after rolling out of bed.
I was salutatorian; he was valedictorian.
I won the International Marketing Excellence Award; he won it firstand got more press coverage for it.
It was infuriating.
I glanced at him across the dining table. He was busy chatting with my younger sister Neha and pretending to be a normal human being.
Dinner started half an hour ago, and both the Singh and Laurent clans were gathered in my parents’ formal dining room. My father sat at the head of the table, with my mother on his left and Sebastian’s father, Michel, on his right.
Michel’s wife, Yvonne, gossiped with my mom about the latest society scandal while Neha’s husband gulped down his wine like this was his last supper. My grandmother sat at the other end of the table, her expression serene as she took everything in. She wore a plain white linen shirt that contrasted with the enormous emerald earrings dripping from her earlobes.
The only person missing was my youngest sister Priya, who was vacationing in Bali with her boyfriend. It was their six-month anniversary, which was why my mother let her absence slide.
Everyone seemed to be having a grand time except for me and Sebastian, who was seated directly across from me.
Although he was laughing and smiling, I could tell it was fake.
When hereally smiled, his eyes would crinkle at the corners, and the pitch of his laugh would be a decibel or two
lower than it currently was. He wouldn’t be gripping his wineglass that tightly or focusing that intently on Neha, like he had something to prove.
“Before we get to the main course, I want to thank everyone for coming tonight.” My father’s booming voice drew everyone’s attention to the head of the table.
The room quieted.
My stomach twisted in anticipation. My father had hinted at some “big news” he wanted to share tonight, but I had no idea what it might be or how the Laurents were involved.
I glanced at Sebastian again. My heartbeat stumbled—he was already looking at me, his expression inscrutable.
He arched an eyebrow and raised his wineglass with a sardonic smirk.
I pressed my lips together and refocused on my dad.
At age sixty-one, Neal Singh remained an indomitable force in any room he walked into. His hair had gone full gray, but his eyes and mind were as sharp as ever.
“I know you’re all busy, but I have some news I’d like to share that is relevant to both our families.” Despite his jovial tone, tension strained his smile. The press release had gone over well, but the recall crisis still hung over us like a thundercloud. “As you obviously know, Michel and I have been good friends for many, many years, but we’ve never gone into business together.”
“We’ve thought about it,” Michel added. “But the opportunity never came up. Until now.”
The nape of my neck prickled with foreboding. Across from me, Sebastian frowned, his smirk gone.
“Let’s cut to the chase since I’m sure everyone would like to eat their dinner before it gets cold,” my father said. “I’m happy to announce that Singh Foods and the Laurent Restaurant Group will be collaborating on a special line of frozen food products. The expertise of…”
A strange buzz filled my ears. I didn’t hear what my father said next because the same three words kept looping
in my head.
What. The.Fuck.
The high-low collaboration model wasn’t a new concept.
It’d already made its mark in the fashion industry (see: designer brands collaborating with big-box retailers on affordable, limited-edition lines) and was gradually creeping into the food world. But us? Working with the Laurent Restaurant Group? That would be like trying to sell Hermès and H&M in the same store.
Some brands meshed; others didn’t. And the Laurents’ ultra-luxury, fine-dining portfolio was so far removed from our affordable supermarket staples that it might as well be on a different planet.
Judging by the tight set of Sebastian’s mouth, he agreed.
“Is this an idea or a done deal?” There was no inflection in his tone. It was pure, smooth calm, but I detected a dangerous ripple beneath the surface.
“It’s a done deal.” Michel shot his son a warning look.
“Neal and I have been talking about it for months.”
“We should still discuss—”
“This isn’t the right—”
Our overlapping protests burst forth in synchronized outrage. Sebastian and I glared at each other before we faced our fathers again.
No one else seemed that invested except for my grandmother. She watched us, her eyes alive with interest as she nibbled on her bread like it was popcorn.
“This is the first time I’m hearing of this, and I’m the chief marketing officer.” Sebastian beat me to the punch in elaborating. His voice sounded sharp, brittle, and extremely unlike him. “With all due respect to Singh Foods, there are certain brand incompatibilities that have to be reconciled—if they can be reconciled—before we take such a drastic step.”
“And this isn’t the right time to launch such a big collaboration,” I added. “We’re still dealing with a… delicate situation.”
“We’ve made up our minds,” my father said, his voice firm. “The collaboration will be financially beneficial for both of us, and if we pull it off, it’ll be a huge PR coup.”
“It’ll also diversify our consumer base by giving us a new market entry,” Michel added.
Sebastian didn’t appear mollified. “But—”
“Enough,” the elder Laurent said sharply. “Like Neal said, we’ve made up our minds.”
“We’re fast-tracking this project,” my father said. “I have it on good authority that Whitaker Farms is planning a similar collaboration. They’re in the early stages, but we have to announce before they do, or we’ll look like we’re copying them.”
Whitaker Farms was our biggest competitor. Despite their wholesome-sounding name, their CEO was ruthless, and they’d been slowly but surely eating away at our market share over the past two years.
“Whitaker itself isn’t a worry,” Michel said dismissively.
My father gave him a sharp look, but he didn’t interject when the other man added, “Neal is right about fast- tracking, though. The first to market gets the advantage.
That’s why it’s important.”
“Define fast-tracking,” I said.
“We want it announced by next month. I trust the optics will be better by then.” My father gave me a pointed look.
His voice was like iron, stern and unyielding.
I swallowed another protest and sank deeper into my chair. That was an order—fix our company’s image before the announcement, or else.
I wasn’t thrilled about the collaboration, but I’d never let my father down before. I wasn’t about to start now. His opinion and our family’s reputation mattered more than my personal grievances.
Besides, I couldn’t argue with an elder, especially not in front of company. It simply wasn’t done.
“We’re aiming for a nine-month product launch window,”
Michel said. “This new line should be on shelves before next year’s shareholder meetings.”
Sebastian’s eyes flared. “That’s impossible. A project of this scale—”
“Is possible when you have the right people and resources.” Michel leaned forward and laced his fingers together. “It’s a good thing you and Maya both feel so strongly about this matter. Considering you’re the top marketing executives for our respective companies, you’ll both play a pivotal role in this launch.”
A giant pit opened in my stomach. My earlier foreboding whooshed in, turning my nerves into a pulpy mess.
“Meaning?”
He couldn’t be implying what I thought he was implying.
No way, no how.
“Meaning we’d like you and Sebastian to be the point people on this project,” my father said. “For the next nine months, your top priority is working on the collaboration.
Together.”