Chapter 2
Mantra waited at the bar for her friend.
“What are you looking at?” Samar’s voice interrupted her aimless stare. She didn’t know how long she had been staring before Samar returned. She felt drugged—her body went into high gear in response to being around the man, and she wondered what it would be like to give in to the temptation for once.
“I’m just tired, let’s go,” she lied.
They made their way out of the bar squeezing through the crowd.
“Geez, when did this bar become so famous?” Mantra snapped.
“Something about that celebrity dude buying the bar,” Samar mumbled getting into the passenger side and reclining her seat.
“We are not coming back here. We need a new hangout.” She put her car in gear and backed up slowly. She steered to the left to get out of the parking lot, and she ran into something.
“Great!”
“What?” Samar sat up with a jerk.
“I think I scratched that car, and it looks like some alien car that would cost multiple paychecks to fix the scratch.
“I can barely see the scratch. Keep going,” Samar urged.
“I don’t need this now.” She grimaced. It was only two days ago she had renewed her car insurance after missing the due date by a month. She was still on probation and did not want an insurance claim.
“Just drive before I throw up in your car,” Samar warned, and Mantra pulled up behind the cars that were waiting to exit the parking lot.
She watched in horror in her rearview mirror as the dark-eyed man walked toward the sleek car she had just scratched and slid into the driver’s seat.
“What is going on in this universe?” she grumbled shaking her head.
“What?” Samar mumbled.
“That car I just scratched belongs to the playboy owner of the bar.” She shook her head unable to believe the coincidence.
“It’s dark, and I doubt if he’ll even notice.”
Mantra could not take her eyes off the rearview mirror, her gaze fixated on the tall figure. The guy was hot, but he was also very familiar.
Why did he seem so familiar?
“Samar…”
Her friend moaned in her sleep.
“What is the new owner’s name?”
“Why the heck do you think I would know?” Samar grumbled.
“Fine… just don’t throw up in the car,” she pleaded.
Almost two hours later and spending an hour helping Samar get the free alcohol out of her system, Mantra lay in bed staring blankly at the ceiling.
She was worried about her thesis and knew she was running out of time.
Why psychology? At least pick psychiatry? A psychology degree does not qualify you as a doctor.
Mantra’s father’s words rang in her head. He was disappointed when she told her parents she was not going to pursue her medical degree and was switching to psychology.
Mantra wasn’t going to give up on her choice of study no matter who or what opinion people had of her decision not to be a surgeon like her parents had hoped.
In her mind, psychology was more important than psychiatry. The ability to treat a person’s condition without medication was more important in situations where medication doesn’t work.
The thoughts swirled in her head, and as if lightning struck, she sat up in bed.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” She turned on the light and walked to the bookshelf in her room.
She looked at the hardbound book entitled Medical Diagnosis and Surgery, a book she had bought a few years ago when she was aspiring to be a world-class surgeon.
She pulled the book out and turned to the back of the book. She gasped when she looked at the small image of the author.
Yash Birla, Youngest Surgeon and Author.
The tiny picture on the back of the book did not do justice to the feral aura he had about him from his ruggedly-set features. His chin was square with the deepest and sexiest cleft she had ever seen. Everything about him was different except for the eyes—the penetrating, soul-crushing eyes.
What was he doing hitting on women at a bar instead of perfecting surgical procedures?
She was tired but still curious. She turned on her computer and put his name in the search engine.
She let out a low gasp when she saw the amount of gossip about him in the search results. The number of images and women in the images was not easy to keep track of.
She stumbled upon one article that said something about how he dropped his research on surgical enhancements. Another article talked about a multi-million-dollar contract with a publisher for his book deal and endorsements.
“Who are you and why were you at a local bar?” she whispered scrolling through the links.
The first page of search results talked about him being the prodigy who would perfect surgical procedures, and on the next page were completely different topics. It was as if there were two different people with the same name.
She would have thought they were two different people if she didn’t have his book from five years ago. On the next page, it talked about restaurant investments around the San Francisco Bay Area.
“What in the world?” she mumbled scrolling through the search results.
Mantra was scrolling through his images online where, in some, he was posing, and others were captured at red-carpet events.
“Is that the same guy from the bar,” Samar asked from behind making Mantra almost fall off her chair.
“Samar… stop creeping up on me like that… it’s scary.” Mantra let out a sigh of relief.
“Sorry, I couldn’t sleep, and I heard you turn on your computer.” Her friend sat on the bed looking tired and apologetic.
“It’s okay. I couldn’t sleep either.”
Samar picked up the book on her bed and looked at the picture of the author. “Oh my gosh, this guy writes medical books?”
“Yes, he is all over the internet.” Mantra scrolled through the endless images.
“Hold it,” Samar called out and moved closer to the computer.
“What?” Mantra turned to look at her friend who now seemed to be wide awake.
Samar put her finger on the picture of a young woman in a flowing dress standing next to the sexy stranger from the bar. “This was the woman he was with at the bar.”
“Yes, that woman caught me checking him out.” Mantra rolled her eyes.
“Click on that picture.”
“Samar, I think that’s enough spying for one night.”
“No… do it… I know who that woman is…” Samar moved closer to the screen, and when the page loaded, she chuckled victoriously. “I knew she looked familiar. That is Miss USA from a few years ago. Miss California went on to become Miss USA.”
“Oh…” Something twitched inside Mantra like she couldn’t handle the fact she was not any random woman. She was Miss USA, and somehow looking at that picture, made her feel a deep ache like she was feeling possessive about him.
She cursed under her breath for feeling the way she did, like she owned him—a complete stranger—a sexy stranger.
“This guy is all over the place.” Samar kept clicking through picture after picture.
“Just close everything, Samar. This is a complete waste of time.”
“Why were you looking him up then?” Samar teased.
“I wanted to check if the author of this book was the guy from the bar.”
“And?”
“Nothing!”
“Really?” Samar chuckled.
“Yes, he is the one who said psychology is fluff, and there is nothing modern medicine cannot treat. Fluff is the word he used to describe psychology.”
“How do you know all that?” Samar was surprised.
“That’s what he says in his book I bought years ago.” Mantra shook her head.
“You read his book again, tonight?”
“No.”
Samar laughed. “Someone’s pissed.”
“Yes, I’m pissed because my dad quoted this moron when I told him I was not going to medical school.” Mantra was suddenly upset.
“Why couldn’t you tell them the real reason you switched.” Samar put her arms around her.
“They won’t get it, Samar.”
“I know why you switched, and I’m glad you are doing what you think will help other people.” Samar comforted her.
“Thanks, Samar.”
“I can get more information from Tony if you are into that sexy playboy from the bar.”
“Sure, get me his number.” Mantra elbowed her best friend.
“Done… scratch that. I’ll set up a date for you.” Samar laughed.
“You are a true friend, Samar.” Mantra laughed hitting her friend with a pillow before settling into bed.
“Say that the next time I throw up in your car.”
“I’ll say it and make you clean it up.” Mantra winked as her friend left the room laughing.
Mantra lay in the darkness, the words from the book and her father’s words ringing in her ears. She didn’t care what people thought about her life choices, she knew what she wanted to do, and even if her thesis were the most challenging thing to do, she would find a way to finish it.