Road Trip Rivalry
Автор
Mona Shroff
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Chapter One
Poorvi Gupta pushed her glasses up her nose as she ran her gaze over the crowded gate area, looking for a place to charge her laptop. Her flight to Dublin was running about an hour behind, and patience was wearing thin around her.
Toddlers were fussing. A mother with a small baby was wearing a hole in the carpet as she paced back and forth trying to keep her baby asleep. Teens sat on the floor hogging the outlets to scroll social media, their legs outstretched. A middleaged, brown-skinned man was informing an airline representative that his elderly mother would be on the flight alone.
Poorvi’s stomach was in knots, but mostly about presenting her paper at the Irish College of Ophthalmologists conference in Dublin. It wasn’t her first presentation abroad, but the International Conferences were always a bit more complex than a presentation locally at university like Hopkins.
She still needed to make some adjustments to her presentation, but doing so required an outlet to keep her fading laptop charged long enough to run the slideshow. As she searched, she noticed a man looking her way. She continued to look for an outlet, but her glance at him revealed a tall figure with medium-dark skin, a perfect nose and a chiseled jaw sporting a balanced amount of scruff—not so much that it was a beard, not so little that it appeared as though he had neglected to shave. He was dressed in nice-fitting jeans, a long-sleeved T-shirt and a ball cap. The way her heart pounded in her chest, as well as the fact that she broke out in a sweat, confirmed it.
He was hot, hot, hot.
Which meant she needed to steer clear of him. It wasn’t that she was awkward around handsome men, it was that she was ridiculously awkward around handsome men and had no desire to sweat profusely and trip over her words in what would certainly be an embarrassing attempt at conversation with a guy who she’d probably end up sitting next to for the duration of the six-hour flight to Dublin.
Never mind all that, she needed to be convincing in her presentation of the possible detrimental side effects of the latest refractive surgical procedure, C-MORE. As it was right now, C-MORE should be discontinued until the side effects were addressed.
At least in her professional opinion.
Her new boss, Dr. Bobby Wright, had made it abundantly clear that he had wanted to see the presentation prior to the conference. He wanted to make sure she struck the proper balance between recommending further study, while not pushing too hard for the temporary discontinuation of the procedure. He was afraid that all the clinicians would come down on him for taking away their paycheck.
Whatever. Bobby’s priority was the lab. Her priority was the patients. And as the lead investigator, her recommendation carried the most weight.
Success had been drilled into her since she was a child. The reality was that she really loved ophthalmology and doing research gave her great satisfaction. Not to mention the added bonus of not having to talk to anyone for long periods of time.
Someone across the aisle stood up and unplugged their phone. Finally! Poorvi made a beeline for the outlet, while reaching into her bag for her charger. She passed the middle-aged man who had been talking to the airline representative and did a double take as she heard him speaking to an old woman in Gujarati. Her parents had made sure that she was fluent in the language. But she didn’t hear it all the time. The old woman was wearing a sari, much like her grandmother had up until her recent passing. No matter how hard she had tried to convince her to wear pants, or maybe even a salwar, her grandmother remained true to her sari.
That second of hesitation cost her. She failed to navigate the maze of extended teenage legs and children’s paraphernalia, and tripped over a tossed sneaker, nearly falling headfirst onto the ground. She didn’t fall, though the flailing of arms and legs was considerably less than graceful. She managed, however ungracefully, to reach the outlet just as another charger was plugged into the open socket.
“I need that outlet,” she blurted out. Laptop charger in hand, Poorvi brushed flyway strands of hair from her face. She looked up to see Hot Guy standing there. Great. She immediately flushed, sweat breaking out all over her. “You took my outlet.”
“The outlet was open, wasn’t it now?” His voice was butter smooth and tinged with that Irish accent. He drew his gaze over her. In a different situation, Poorvi would have melted into ghee. But she needed that outlet.
“I was running for it,” she declared, pushing her glasses up her nose again as she tilted her neck back to really see him. Damn. He was taller up close.
“You weren’t quite there,” he explained.
“You saw me running for it,” she spat at him. Handsome or not, this man had no manners. “And I nearly fell.”
“I saw no such thing,” he insisted.
“You just said I wasn’t there yet, so you clearly saw me running for it and you took it anyway,” she fired up. She really needed to charge her computer before they boarded so she could work on that presentation.
Hot Guy sighed and leaned toward her. He even smelled amazing. Like soap and leather. “Listen, my phone is dead and my brother is fixing to call any minute—”
“Well, I have to work on a presentation. Catch up with your brother on your own time,” she snapped, inhaling deeply. Damn but he smelled great.
He furrowed his brow over beautiful dark brown eyes. The irises were so dark, they blended with the pupils. It only made him more handsome. “I’ll not be giving up this outlet until my call is through.” He spoke kindly, but there was no doubt that he was not budging.
She opened her mouth to protest, but his phone rang, and he answered it, turning away from her.
She glared at the back of his head for a second, his audacity infuriating. She decided he really wasn’t all that handsome after all. Not only did she not get her outlet, she was sweating.
“I’m fixing to get on the plane, Bhai, I—” Kavan Shashane never should have answered the phone. But if he didn’t, Naveen would just keep calling and texting. He spotted the beautiful, but irritating, woman stalking off in his peripheral vision, presumably to continue her search for an open outlet in the crowded gate area. If she’d hung about, he’d have been happy to let her have the outlet after his phone call.
He watched her push her blue-framed glasses up the bridge of her nose as she continued her search. Her dark hair was tied into a thick side braid, though some pieces had come free when she’d tripped. Clearly, she hadn’t even seen him reach for her in case she had fallen over that sneaker. But there you had it—he tried to be kind, and no one noticed. Story of his life now, wasn’t it? She was comfortably dressed in dark jeans with just the tiniest of intentional cuts and a white button-down, tucked in just so. He was distracted enough by her that he missed the beginning of what his brother was telling him.
“Say it again, Bhai. I’m not hearin’ you,” Kavan said, still looking at the woman.
“Just listen. You’re on your way back from the States, anyway. I got you registered at the ICO conference in Dublin later this week. I need you to go on to the meeting, find this P. K. Gupta and be sure to convince him not to present that paper.” He paused. “And I scheduled a photo shoot for you. We are needing to update.”
“Bhai, this is ridiculous. If there are issues with that procedure, we should investigate it, there are other procedures—” Kavan paced back and forth while drinking his cooling coffee. Forgetting that he was attached to a cord, he took an extra step and was yanked backward, spilling his coffee.
“Crap.”
“What did you do now? Spill coffee?” Naveen sighed into the phone. “Seriously, Kavan.”
“It’s fine, Bhai.” Kavan said. The coffee had only spilled a few drops on his sneakers, and a few more on his T-shirt, so no harm done.
“Fine. Then, stop thinking, you’ll strain something. This procedure is becoming our highest earner. We need it, yeah? That paper will lead to research, and research takes time. And during that time, patients will be hesitating to try the procedure. They’ll want to wait for the research. And the reality is that all current studies support the use of the procedure.”
“Bhai. Have you even looked at the newest research? It really does suggest that—”
“Honestly, Kavan. I’ve been taking care of things in the clinic for years. Trust me. You should be doing this procedure as well. You’re literally the only one in the clinic who isn’t doing it, because you’re waiting for more studies. And you know as well as I do, that there are always new studies coming out. They aren’t always relevant. That’s what I need you to convice this P.K. Gutpa of. That the relevant studies of our time contradict his research, so there’s no need to present it.” He paused. “I don’t have to look at the research when I have a nerdy brother to do that for me.”
“Exactly.” Kavan let the dig slide. He’d been called worse than nerdy. Besides, that was hardly an insult these days, was it? “There’s a reason I don’t do C-MORE,” Kavan said.
“It’s the same reason you still live with Mom. You have no guts. Honestly, little bhai, if it wasn’t for me, you wouldn’t even have finished high school, let alone university and medical college.”
Kavan inhaled. Naveen wasn’t wrong.
“If we—I—stop doing C-MORE, what do you think happens to our bottom line, Kavan?”
Kavan stayed silent. He didn’t have to speak. Naveen would do all the talking.
“It goes away,” Naveen said. “We lose money—not a good thing. Just go and do what I ask, like a good lad, eh?”
Kavan closed his eyes and inhaled. Naveen had run everything since their father died. He’d learned long ago that it was easier to give in.
At least to some degree in this case. P. K. Gupta’s data looked interesting. It certainly implied that a temporary hold was to be considered. What he needed to do was actually talk to this P. K. Gupta, see their results and discuss the best options for the patients. This was what conferences were for, weren’t they? “I can talk to them.” Kavan agreed. He’d never win the argument with Naveen if he didn’t have proper facts.
“That’s a good lad, then.” Naveen assumed Kavan would do as he was told, like he always did. Fine. He’d deal with Naveen later, if need be.
“Yeah. Bhai, sure.” Still aggravated with his brother, he ended the call and grabbed his charger, all thoughts of the beautiful woman gone.
