Where the Lotus Flowers Grow Read online

  I didn’t know what to expect this time, but I sure as shit didn’t expect Mary’s anger. I got a full dose as she rolled the cart past me so fast I had to get out of the way.

  “How are you?”

  “Pissed off, sir.” She turned back to me, hands on her hips. “Is that the right term?”

  “Oh yeah, you nailed it.”

  She dropped the cloche on the table, its silver platter clanging as it landed. “May I get you anything else, sir?”

  “An explanation perhaps. What has you so upset?”

  “Are you planning to demolish the fountain?”

  It was the last possible thing I expected her to bring up. “Yes. It’s an eyesore.”

  “The stones are crumbling, but the inside structure is still intact. If you take it down, the flower will die.”

  “Why is the flower so important to you?”

  “It’s a lotus flower.”

  I had no idea how that answered my question. “Yes, I’m aware. If you care to make a valid argument, please do. I’m willing to listen.”

  “It was a present to me.”

  “From who?” I hope to God it wasn’t from the bastard driver I sacked.

  “When I left the orphanage, the sisters gave me a packet of seeds and told me to plant them wherever I was. Like you, I didn’t appreciate the gift. When I arrived here, I threw the seeds in that stupid fountain and never thought of it again.”

  “But it blossomed.”

  “Yes, a single flower took root. It should not have. I never took care of it. But it grew anyway. It’s not much, but it’s a tiny miracle. At least it is to me. They are the most special flowers in the entire universe. Did you know that?”

  I raised my hands. “I did not. Tell me, Mary, why do they hold such a prestigious place?”

  “The Buddhists believe they are a symbol of purity. I do, too.”

  “Purity?”

  “They grow in darkness and muck, in the dirtiest places possible, but when they emerge from the water, they are clean and pure. They symbolize resurrection, because even in darkness, there is light.”

  “That’s a sweet sentiment, but you aren’t convincing me.”

  She crossed her arms. “You’re such a bully.”

  I held back my laughter, but I couldn’t suppress my smile. How did she manage to look so damn beautiful when she was angry? “We’re progressing from ‘sir,’ but I don’t really care for the term ‘bully.’ Can we negotiate something in between?”

  She swiped a wisp of hair from her forehead. “Everyone who works here loves that flower. Not just me. It brings them some small joy to walk past every day. Even Prabhat likes it, and he never likes anything.”

  “Mary, I don’t want to take anything away from anybody, but you can’t call me a bully because I want to remove a dilapidated old fountain that is a haven for mosquitoes.”

  She sighed, staring out the window. At the very spot where I first saw her at the same damn fountain we were arguing about. “Every morning, I lay out candles around the perimeter. I make sure they stay lit throughout the day. It keeps the mosquitoes away.”

  “I see.”

  “I remove any litter. I can’t do anything about the stones, though.”

  “I’ll have the flower relocated.”

  “You’ll kill it.”

  “If it survived once, I’m sure—”

  “It’s strong, but delicate. You can’t change the habitat without destroying it.”

  “Then we’ll plant a new one. Okay?”

  “Don’t you think it’s special how one seed hung on? How it beat all the odds?”

  I think you’re special, Mary. That’s what I think.

  “I’ll take it under advisement. Can we move on now?”

  Her shoulders slumped with defeat. “Yes, sir.”

  Fuck it. If fixing a stupid fountain made her happy, then I’d do it. I moved to her. Her spine straightened. I placed a hand on each of her shoulders. Her breathing changed. The pale moon cast her face in a soft glow. I inhaled her scent…spiced vanilla and citrus. God, I wanted to run my nose against her Audrey Hepburnesque neck. “Okay, Mary. We won’t get rid of it.”

  “Don’t do it just because I want you to. Do it for the right reasons.”

  “What other bloody reason do I have? You think I believe in resurrection and purity? Trust me, neither of those concepts are high on my list. But it means something to you, so in turn, it means something to me. That…that is the right reason as far as I’m concerned.”

  “Why am I the right reason?”

  I didn’t have an answer. Hell, I couldn’t even make sense of it myself. “You just are.”

  She fingered her cross. I almost wondered if she’d hold it out toward me to repel my sinful thoughts. I pulled my hands back. As quick as an autumn wind, she changed directions.

  “It’s your birthday tomorrow, isn’t it?”

  “How did you know?”

  “Prabhat is throwing you a party.” She clamped her hand over her. “Shit. It’s a surprise party.”

  Although I hated the idea, I chuckled at hearing her swear.

  “Don’t laugh. It’s not funny. I just ruined it.”

  I pulled out a chair for her. She eyed it warily.

  “Please sit. Our supper will get cold.”

  “You’re treating this romantically.”

  “Romantic? You have no idea what romance is. It’s certainly not your coming to my room, all cloak and dagger, with a room service cart. This is just a business dinner.”

  My words must have done more harm than good because she looked hurt.

  “Do you often have business dinners with maids?”

  “Stop.”

  “Stop what?”

  “Stop making this about what we do. We’re two people having a conversation. If you don’t want to be here, then you’re free to go.”

  “I want to be here.”

  I exhaled in relief. “Good, but you have to promise me you’ll check all those doubts and fears at the door. Can you do it?”

  “I’ll try, sir.”

  “Works for me.” I fetched a bottle of water for her

  “Thank you.”

  I slumped into the other seat. “You know what’s not good, though?”

  “What?”

  “Surprise parties. I’ll tell Prabhat to cancel. Don’t worry, I won’t tell him how I found out.”

  “He’ll be upset.”

  I wanted to tell her I didn’t give a fuck about Prabhat being upset, but my stomach grumbled. “Let’s eat.”

  She took two plates from the tray. I opened the dome and ladled out lamb stew. We tore pieces of buttered naan and scooped it. “Are you afraid of Prabhat, Mary?”

  “Yes.”

  “Has he treated you unfairly?”

  “No. He is my boss. Everyone is afraid of him to some degree.”

  “You shouldn’t be afraid of him.”

  “Please don’t cancel it. They are allowing us to work extra time. It may not mean much to you, but there are a lot of people counting on those wages.”

  “Who says that doesn’t mean anything to me?” I sighed, wanting to get off this stupid topic. Our time was limited, and the last thing I wanted was a debate. “Okay, Mary. I’ll attend and act surprised.”

  She relaxed a bit. “Thank you.”

  I downed a bottle of Kingfisher. I preferred Guinness, but it wasn’t bad. She explained how the lamb was seasoned with fresh spices and cooked over a low flame, simmering for hours. She moaned after her first bite, closing her eyes, her mouth chewing slowly. It was fucking delicious…and the lamb was good, too.

  My hand twitched as the light caught her hair. I wanted to touch it, but I also wished to draw those strands. I imagined what it might look like loose, flowing against her back, tangled between my fingers.

  “Why doesn’t anyone here know you speak English?”

&nbs
p; She stared out the window. I tapped the pencil against the blank paper. Blank paper and a fine lead point…so many possibilities. I never took notes with a pencil. In fact, I hadn’t even realized there were a few in my briefcase until I pulled out the legal pad. It was a subconscious choice on my part, but what my brain couldn’t comprehend, my hands did.

  “It didn’t seem important. No one ever asked me.”

  I wanted to bring up the fact that Prabhat had asked her point blank the other day, but I thought it better to muzzle my curiosity on that issue. This was my time with her, and I really didn’t want to spend it talking about Prabhat.

  “Are you taking notes about this?”

  “Just jotting down a few things I need to remember. You could do better with your life.”

  “Better how?”

  “Make more money. Work an office job. Something less…manual.”

  “That’s important to you, isn’t it? Money.”

  “It’s important to everyone.”

  “Not true. I’m happy with this work. It’s hard work at times, but I need it. It helps me focus.”

  “Focus on what?”

  She sighed, fidgeting impatiently. Stay still, Mary, I silently commanded.

  “Do you have any real questions?”

  “Was he your boyfriend?”

  “Who?”

  “The man I saw with you at the fountain the first morning I arrived, and then later at the pool.”

  “Did you hear us?”

  “Answer my question first.”

  “We were a fling. He wanted more.” A realization flickered over her features. “Wait…you saw me at the fountain? That’s why you called me Lotus Girl? And you sacked him because of me?”

  “Yes. Yes. And hell yes. He was harassing you. Everyone should feel safe where they work.”

  “Don’t do me any more favors. I can take care of myself. If I need help, Mr. Montgomery, I am fully aware of the proper channels as outlined in the Wilshire Hotel Corporate Handbook.”

  “I would have done it if I’d witnessed any employee being mistreated by another. I’m sure you are capable, but I don’t want you to handle anything outside of your job description.”

  We looked at each other, the irony of my words hanging in the air. The tension grew thicker than the humidity. She surprised me with a laugh. I found myself laughing as well. What I’d just said was ridiculous considering we were having a quiet dinner for two in my hotel room. Definitely not part of her job description.

  “Do you always need to control everything?”

  “Not at all. I’m very flexible, actually. For example, just recently I was talked into saving a fountain and convinced to attend a surprise birthday party. So you see, I’m pretty easy going.”

  She tilted her head. “Touché.”

  “Ah, do you speak French as well? What else don’t I know about you, Lotus Girl? You have a black belt? Maybe you’re a spy engaging in a form of corporate espionage.”

  “No, no, and certainly not.”

  “Do you really think I’m a bully?”

  “Sir, I completely understand your need to rule. It is in your blood, isn’t it?”

  “Ouch, is that a barb on the British imperialism of India?”

  “Possibly.” Her grin turned sly, fucking sexy.

  “Your country has been free since before you were born…way before. Still holding a grudge, then?”

  She placed her fingers together to indicate a pinch. “Maybe a small one.”

  “And you’re placing all that on my shoulders, yeah?”

  Mary shrugged. “You have very broad shoulders. I think they can sustain it.”

  “I assure you none of my ancestors made any decisions regarding Her Majesty’s pleasure when it came to this country or any other.”

  “How can you be sure?”

  “I come from a long line of surly bastards. None were proper enough for Parliament or Her Majesty. As a matter of fact, my grandmother was Scottish, so you could venture to say both our cultures have sustained suffering under the same flag.”

  Her mouth crinkled with amusement. “Scottish? Have you ever worn a kilt?”

  “No…never.”

  Her mouth turned downward.

  “Does that disappoint you?”

  “Slightly. I think it would suit you.”

  I turned on the Sean Connery brogue. “You have a thing for lads in kilts, do you?”

  She chewed on her bottom lip, a pretty shade of crimson reddening her cheeks. “There is something…appealing about it. At least based on books I’ve read.”

  “Historical novels?”

  She nodded, playing with the label on her water bottle. “Highlanders and the lasses they love.”

  “And where do you procure such books here?”

  “There is a store some distance away. I take the bus there on my days off. Not much selection, but I can usually find something to rent.”

  “Rent? Like a library?”

  “Sort of. You pay for the book and return it for partial refund. I buy a book in the morning, drink my tea, devour the whole thing in one sitting, and return it at night. You can also purchase books outright, but I never have.” She pulled her legs up, wrapping her arms around them.

  I almost asked her to shift so I could capture her profile better. “I see. You know, your pronunciation is perfect. You actually sound British sometimes.”

  She graced me with a lovely smile, the kind of expression that made men want to freeze the image of beautiful women on canvas, stone, or clay.

  “My family lived in England for a few years when I was younger. I was only two, and we moved back when I was eight, but it was where I learned English. I suppose I retained the inflection. My papa studied at Cambridge.”

  The pencil fell from my hand. She picked it up.

  “I lived in Luton. That’s about an hour from Cambridge.”

  She dropped the pencil. We both went to pick it up. Our foreheads bumped on the way back up, like some silly Monty Python bit.

  “Sorry,” I said, stroking her hair. God, it did feel like silk. Her body tensed against my touch. I dropped my hand immediately, unsure which I regretted more, starting or stopping the action.

  “It’s okay. We were close.”

  “And here we are again. In the summers, my mum sold jewelry at different booths and craft fares around Cambridge. Sometimes, I’d go with her. What if we crossed paths before?”

  She played with the hem of her sari. “I doubt our circles ever overlapped, sir.”

  Yeah, Mary. Not then and not even now. That was what she was telling me.

  “Still kind of amazing, don’t you think?”

  “Yes.” She wrapped her arms around herself. “When I think about my time in England, all I remember are long trains, Dusty Springfield, Cadbury bars, and the cold, wet chill in the air.”

  “Dusty Springfield?”

  She laughed, the kind of laugh only faraway memories brought. “Papa was a fan of rock’n’roll. He amassed a huge collection of records when we lived in Cambridge, but my mother hated them and insisted we couldn’t fit them in our luggage. They got left behind. I used to dance to them as a kid.”

  I could almost picture her doing that. It was easy to read between the subtle lines of her dialogue. Dad was “Papa” and Mum was “Mother.”

  She shivered, rubbing her arms, although the room was warm. “You came at the right time. It has to be freezing in Luton.”

  “I’m sure it is, but I haven’t lived there in ten years. Manhattan is my home now.”

  “Of course, you moved there for work. That’s the corporate headquarters, no?”

  “I shifted to America at sixteen after Mum died. It’s where my father lived.”

  “Lived?”

  “He passed a few years ago. I suppose another thing we have in common.”

  She twisted a loose strand of her hair. The same strand
I’d touched. “I’m sorry.”

  “Thank you. So, your father went to Cambridge?” I wondered how she got here for the thousandth time.

  She nodded. “He moved us back before my sister was born. He loved England, but he missed home, and he wanted to teach here.” Her eyes misted over talking about her dad, pride in her voice.

  “Did you ever think of going to university yourself? I can make inquiries on your behalf.”

  She shook her head rapidly. “No.”

  “Mary…”

  “I’m not interested, sir.” The sharpness in her tone surprised me. God, she was stubborn. She didn’t have pockets of sorrow—she had landmines. I could feel the blast coming, but I didn’t care to stop it either.

  “You’re brilliant. You can do so much with your life. I would like to help you in that regard.”

  “I didn’t ask for it, and I don’t need your help.” She stood and headed for the door.

  “Stay.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you want to be here as much as I want you to be here.” I took her hand and held it, staring at her.

  Her gaze lowered to our joined hands. She let go. Relief came when she finally sat again. Holding the legal pad higher, I focused back on my work, although the pencil felt shakier in my hand. If she hadn’t let go, I would have pulled her onto my lap and tangled my fingers through strands of ebony silk while my mouth crushed against hers.

  Get a grip.

  “Do you enjoy your job, Mr. Montgomery?”

  “No,” I replied without pause. I had no idea why I was able to answer so quickly. I could barely admit that to myself, let alone tell it to someone else. In fact, I’d never told anyone else.

  “Why not?”

  I shrugged. “Take me up on my offer and become a therapist, Miss Costa. Look at how many confessions you’re getting out of me.”

  “Will I get a straight answer?”

  “I don’t care for the bureaucracy of business or making decisions that impact the livelihood of others. Because, at the end of every bottom line, there is a person, a family, a life that is affected. Satisfied?”

  “Why do you do it then?”

  “Lotus Girl, I swear it’s not complicated. I do it for the money. Money can make up for many things. I understand you don’t share that ideology, but horses for courses as they say.” I didn’t know if I’d ever been this honest with someone. Why stop now? Why not just go completely starkers? “Does that make you think less of me?”