A Bollywood Affair Read Online Free PDF

room. He spun around just in time to duck away from the ceramic vase that came flying at his head. It missed by an inch and crashed against something behind him. Good, he’d been wanting to get rid of the ugly-ass housewarming gift for years. But if anything happened to one of his paintings, he was going to kill her.
    “You bastard,” Neha shrieked as she rushed toward the railing-less staircase, tangled up in his sheets like a careening Venus de Milo.
    “Shit, Neha. No! ”
    Before he knew what was happening, she tripped. Her body twisted around the fabric and toppled sideways onto the stone stairs. One end of the sheet hitched on the top step as she fell over the edge and rolled out of the sheet like Cleopatra rolling out of the carpet. He ran to her but didn’t make it. She landed on her face with an ungodly thump, the white sheet flapping like a flag over her motionless, naked body.
    “Neha! Fuck, Neha?” He fell to his knees next to her, his heart hammering. A trickle of blood seeped from her mouth and Samir thought he was going to vomit.
    “Neha?” He stroked her face. She coughed, opened her visible eye for a second, mumbled something, and then closed it again. Thank you, God. “It’s okay, sweetheart. I’m here. You’re going to be fine.”
    He flew up the stairs, grabbed his cell phone and their clothes and ran back down, pulling on his jeans with one hand and punching the number for the ambulance with the other.
    A busy signal. Fuck.
    He dialed his doctor and prayed for better luck.
    “Sam? What’s wrong? It’s six in the morning,” a groggy voice answered.
    “I know what the fucking time is,” Samir barked into the phone, pulling his T-shirt over his head. “Neha fell down my stairs. Long story. She’s conscious, I think. Can you get to the clinic?”
    “Yeah. I’m leaving now. See you there.”
    He rolled her over, being as gentle as he could. “Neha, sweetheart?”
    She moaned. With quick movements he dressed her, keeping up a steady stream of words. A house full of servants and today there wasn’t a soul to help. But he always gave his staff the night off when his girlfriend slept over. His housekeeper’s granddaughter lived in his home, and Neha wasn’t exactly the kind of person who could handle a child like Poppy.
    He lifted Neha’s limp body and carried her down to the building lobby. His driver wouldn’t be in until eight. He was going to have to drive himself. Except he found a ten-ton water tanker blocking the building gates. Fan-fucking-tastic.
    “Get the damn tanker to move. Now!” Samir yelled at the watchman and headed for the car.
    The man fluttered about like a headless chicken, opening and closing his mouth, and did absolutely nothing.
    “What?” Samir snapped.
    The watchman jumped back. “Sir, the tanker driver went off to get some chai.”
    This day just got better and better. “Go get a taxi or a rickshaw. I need to get to a doctor.” Samir raised Neha higher, just in case the nitwit had missed her, whimpering and half-conscious in his arms.
    The nitwit didn’t move.
    “What?” Samir snapped. The man jumped back as if Samir were about to put Neha down and tear him limb for limb. “What?” Samir gentled his voice.
    “Sir, today is the thirteenth.”
    “So?” It took all Samir’s strength not to shout. He wanted to shake the guy until his teeth rattled.
    “Sir, it’s Mumbai shutdown. The opposition party has called for a citywide public transport strike. No taxis. No rickshaws. No nothing.”
    “Fuck. Fuck. FUCK.”
    Neha convulsed in his arms. The watchman made a squeaking sound and mopped his forehead with his elbow.
    Without another word, Samir walked past him, past the chugging driverless water tanker blocking the gate, and stepped onto the dusty, dug-up street. The roadwork had been going on for over six months. The good news was that Mumbai didn’t wake up until eight a.m. The street was isolated. Samir pulled Neha close and started to