The elevator doors opened to reveal the body propped against the mirrored wall.

"Is he dead?" Sameera spoke in hushed tones, eyes fixed in morbid fascination at the unconscious man. His legs were sprawled out in front of him, head lolling against the wall. His mouth hung slightly open, a thin line of drool trailing from the corner to soak into his beard. The harsh lights overhead shone directly on his upturned face, and Sam couldn't help but note how good looking he was, with the classic sculpted cheekbones, strong jaw and features pleasantly arranged.

"No, and we should wait for another car." Yash wrinkled his nose at the strong smell wafting from inside the elevator.

"Smell that? The idiot's drunk and probably fell asleep on his way to his apartment."

Sam sniffed and sure enough the stink of spirits and something that smelled suspiciously like vomit hit her nostrils.

"Ugh, that's disgusting."

The man groaned and moved his head to rest on his chest, legs twitching restlessly. He quickly settled again and fell back asleep, soft snores filling the space. He was dressed in a black business suit that seemed a stark contrast to the drunken image he currently presented.

Probably some young hotshot who'd had one too many drinks after work hours. Considering that today was only Tuesday and the level of inebriation that'd led to this moment, he would be battling one hell of a hangover at work come tomorrow.

"Come on," Curling a hand around her biceps, Yash pulled her away. He picked up the suitcase waiting by the door and motioned for Sam to grab the smaller carry case. "We'll take the stairs. My apartment's on the seventh, so it shouldn't be too much a climb."

Exhausted from eighteen straight hours of flying, plus an additional two hours spent navigating the nightmare that was the Manhattan transit system; Sam's nerves protested the notion of more strenuous exercise. Plus, how the hell did Yash expect to lug five suitcases up seven flights of stairs?

"Wait, Yash!" She gripped one edge of the door to stop it sliding closed and nudged her suitcase into the other edge. "Let's just use the lift instead; I'm too tired to do stairs tonight."

"Are you serious? You want to ride with that?" He shot her an incredulous look and stabbed a finger at the sprawled man. "Forget it. I'll carry you on my back and come down for your stuff later."

He meant it too. A fitness buff, Yash worked out religiously and the firm muscles of his arms and shoulders bulging beneath his T-shirt attested to that. He was probably capable of carrying her and about two suitcases with ease if she let him.

He set down the case and advanced towards her, but Sam having none of it. She backed up, placing a hand on his chest to halt his tracks, brown eyes flashing a warning. "Don't even think about it."

"Then you better get ready to start climbing," He crossed his arms on his chest in the universal gesture for male stubbornness. "Because there's no way you're riding with him."

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes, wondering not for the first time why she'd decided to move in with him rather than finding her own place. Yash was the quintessential overprotective older brother, his stubbornness constantly clashing with her assertive nature.

It had seemed a good idea at the time she'd brought it up, while breaking the news she was leaving Mumbai to her parents. It had certainly helped quell a lot of their anxiety at the thought that their last child and only daughter would be moving to a different continent, taking on a new job and essentially starting a new life.

When she'd mentioned the job was in New York and she'd be staying with Yash, Parvati Bhatt had instantly gotten on the phone to reel off a long list of instructions to her son concerning protecting his sister's virtue. Only then had she relented and bulldozed her husband into agreeing.

She wished it was her other brother, Amir – the more relaxed sibling – she would be staying with, but unfortunately, he lived in Canada.

"Look," Sam took a deep breath in an effort to expel irritation and held up a finger to punctuate her argument. "One, he's harmless – he's asleep for Pete's sake. Two, we only have to put up with the smell for two minutes at the most. Three, if he tries anything you can always slug him back to coma land."

Holding up the fourth finger, she delivered the final point. "We can get all my stuff in one trip; I can finally take a shower and get some much-needed sleep."

Yash considered her points and sighed. "Fine. But you stand as far away from him as possible until I get the rest of your stuff inside."

Muttering under his breath about troublesome sisters, he pointed at a chair opposite, waited until she sat, before storming off to bring in the rest of the bags.

This time, Sam did roll her eyes. This was absolutely ridiculous, but since it meant she'd gotten her way, she would comply. Besides, sitting down was an excellent idea as her aching legs sighed in relief.

She glanced back at the man, wondering who he was and the story behind the handsome face. Studying people and learning what made them act the way they did was something she enjoyed doing in her spare time. Back in university, she'd almost chosen Human Psychology as her major, but had gone with her other passion, Business Administration instead.

That suit wasn't cheap, plus the Rolex she'd spotted on his right wrist could easily have paid for her university tuition several times over. Sober, he would probably be some stuck-up trust fund baby, content to do nothing other than spending daddy's money, drink and pick up women...or men for sexy times.

Yash returned, toting the rest of the luggage. He spared one last look at trust fund baby, stepped into the car and set down the cases, looking like he'd sucked a lemon. Sam crossed to join him, freeing the doors so they slid shut again. The air seemed to thicken with the cloying smell, the remnants of the airplane plane meal threatening to make a reappearance.

"Whew! This stinks." Her attempt at humor was met with a dark look.

"You can't complain, you were the one who insisted on this shenanigan." Yash pressed the button for their floor and stepped back, practically crowding Sam against the wall.

"I was making a joke." She rolled her eyes at Yash. "Seriously, you need to lighten up, bhai."

"Haha. Now shut up, I'm trying not to breathe."

"Do you know him?" Her eyes lingered on the sleeping man. Up close, she noticed his hair wasn't exactly blond, more a blend of several light brown shades, the edges cut shorter than the middle. Idly, she was struck with the urge to know the color of his eyes. Would they be blue, green, or brown like hers?

"Yeah," The reluctant admission caused her to look at Yash. "I've seen him around. Usually, run into him when we're both leaving for work. I thought he was a decent chap, but looks like I was wrong."

"Oh?" The new information sparked intrigue. "What's his name?"

"I honestly have no idea. We've never really spoken to each other and everyone just kinda minds their own business, you know?"

They reached their floor. Yash dug out his keys from the back pocket of his jeans and tossed them to her. "Grab what you can and go ahead. It's number 703."

She held the keys but made no attempt to step out. Somehow, the knowledge that he was a passing acquaintance of Yash brought out the urge to help him.

What if he rolled over and drowned in his own vomit? Or what if he got robbed while unconscious or worse?

"What is it?" Yash paused in the act of shoving cases onto the hallway and cast her a puzzled look, that quickly turned to incredulous denial at her expression. "No, no fucking way!"

"I didn't say anything!" Sam protested.

"I know that look, Sameera. It's the one you get when you've thought up something ridiculous." He straightened and glared. "That's the good Samaritan look, and no, we are not helping this dude."

"I don't have a look." She huffed, nose in the air. "But, we can't just leave him here, Yash. He could get hurt."

"Well, he shouldn't have gotten shitfaced."

"You said he was a decent guy. Maybe something happened that made him decide to do what he did. He could have gotten some bad news."

"I thought he was a decent guy." Yash sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Sam, leave this alone, please?"

Trust fund guy let out another groan. "Wedding...," he swatted at an invisible fly, head rolling side to side. "Nicola...gotta go."

The siblings exchanged a look. Sam wondered who Nicola could be. Girlfriend or fiancée? He'd mentioned a wedding so it was possible she could be his fiancée. Maybe they'd had a fight, or broken up and he'd turned to alcohol to ease the misery.

Either way, Yash was wrong. No one deserved to spend the night passed out in a pool of their own vomit.

Mouth set in resolve, Sam tossed the keys back to Yash and marched up to the stranger. She leaned over him, dark hair falling in a curtain around her face, trailing over his chest.

"Sam," Yash's tone held a mix of exasperation and annoyance. "The guy probably weighs twice what you do."

She ignored him, gathering her hair up and twisting it into a ponytail which she secured with a wristband. She rolled up the sleeves of her cotton shirt, placed her hands on his shoulders, surprised to feel firm muscles underneath the fabric and pulled.

He didn't budge. She tried again, bracing both feet wide apart and this time he moved, lolling forward and knocking her onto her butt.

"Oh, for heaven's sake!" Yash stepped forward, grabbed the guy before they both toppled to the ground and lifted him off Sam. He gave her back his keys and barked an order to go open the door.

Sam scrambled past, hurrying down the hallway, glancing at doors as she passed. She stopped at the right one and inserted the key card, pushing open the door. The apartment was cast in shadow, and she stepped aside as Yash, carrying the stranger over one shoulder, entered the living room.

"Lights!"

The lights flicked on, flooding the apartment in soft yellow. The living room alone was nearly the size of a cricket field, one end completely covered floor to ceiling in glass windows, offering a stunning view of the city below. The dining area and kitchen were open to the living room, separated by a half wall. Several modern paintings hung from cream walls and a thick, tan carpet covered the entire floor. A huge TV hung from another wall, surrounded by a tan and white sectional.

Yash placed the man on the couch and glanced at his stained T-shirt. "Damn, this was a favorite. If he barfs on my furniture, you get to replace it."

"I'll do your laundry for a month," Sam's smile could melt steel. "But, thanks for helping him."

He turned away and stalked to the kitchen, but not before Sam caught a glimpse of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

She knelt before the sofa, running her eyes over trust fund guy. He looked to be sleeping peacefully, long lashes brushing against ruddy cheeks.

An inexplicable urge to stroke those cheeks rose, but she tamped it down.

Don't be creepy, Sameera.

Yash came close and handed her a glass filled with water. "I'll hold up his head, try to get him to drink."

"Okay."

She perched on the edge of the sofa, waiting until his head was elevated and placed the glass to his lips. When the liquid touched his lips, they parted, and he gulped down the water as though he'd been dying of thirst.

"More," He whispered, reaching blindly for the glass. His fingers closed over her wrist instead, warm and strong. Sam's skin tingled at the contact, light shocks running from the point of contact straight to her brain. "Please."

"We'll get some more," She whispered, transferring the glass to her free hand. "It's okay."

He sighed, loosening his hold. Sam met Yash's eyes and he nodded, taking the glass back to the kitchen.

She looked down again, and he was staring at her through unfocused bloodshot eyes, fair eyebrows furrowed.

"Who are you?" His rasped.

"Hey buddy, I'm Sam," She smiled at him. "Glad to see you awake."

"I'm not Buddy," He sounded unsure, shaking his head, deep in thought. He brightened as a thought occurred to him. "I'm Ryan."

Sam's smile widened. "It's nice to meet you, Ryan."

His lips formed a beautiful smile. "You're beautiful, not like Nicky..." The smile tapered to a frown at the name, his face an interesting play of emotions. He looked confused, angry and sad, all in the space of a minute. "Nicky lied."

He had a broken heart. Sam's guess had been right. Her heart went out to him, knowing all too well the pain of losing someone close to one's heart and the need to escape that gut-wrenching ordeal. It didn't matter if it was a breakup or death, the pain hit hard. Ryan had chosen alcohol as his escape.

She had chosen a new continent as hers.

Yash returned with the water. "He's awake?"

"Yes," She answered without taking her eyes off Ryan. Something in his gaze held her arrested, the intensity with which he returned the look, not even acknowledging Yash, made it seem the two of them were the only ones existing in a bubble universe. "He is."

"Here," Yash shoved the glass at her.

Taking the glass, she held it to Ryan. "Drink up."

He pushed up to one elbow, the other reached up to cover her hand over the glass, bringing it to his lips. Sam was conscious of Yash shifting from one foot to the other, ready to intervene in case Ryan got funny.

He drank, much slower this time, never breaking eye contact until the glass was empty.

"Thank you." Ryan let go of her hand and lay back, lids fluttering shut. Within seconds, his breathing evened out, falling into a peaceful sleep. Year Later

Ryan wondered if today would be the day Bradford Silverton finally lost his temper.

Seated in front his father's massive mahogany desk, Ryan watched the play of expressions on the older man's face and decided this was definitely not the day he would witness the impossible.

It was not Bradford's style to resort to a shouting match, or relinquish control enough to allow for unnecessary things like yelling or even loud laughter.

Ryan knew the old man was pissed from the moment he'd walked into his private study and his father had ignored him for a full ten minutes, his attention riveted on the contents of the computer screen.

This was deliberate, giving his victim enough time to stew, before he outlined their transgression; all delivered in a calm, but cold tone by which point, not a hint of anger was present.

Only disappointment. The soul crushing kind.

It was a tactic that worked effectively with his employees, and - up until they'd hit early adulthood - his two children.

Growing up, Ryan had lived in dread of being summoned to his father's study. He'd hated the feeling of being vulnerable, the guilt that ate at him, sometimes even when he'd done nothing wrong, his mind would conjure up something to make him feel guilty about until his father deigned to acknowledge him and put him out of his misery.

It wasn't until he and Hailey had gone away to college that the twins realized the sort of mind games their father had played on them.

Now, he considered himself immune to the old man's tricks. On a normal day, Ryan would use the time to quickly check his social media accounts, play solitaire or chat with any available buddy, knowing his nonchalance served to irritate his father.

Today was not a normal day.

He'd fucked up.

Big time.

The kind of fuck up that led to losing important clients and a shit ton of money.

So Ryan sat, and stewed.

Bradford let him fret for another minute, and leaned back in his chair, eyes running over his son. "So, Caine pulled the contract."

The supposedly bland statement was an ax splitting his conscience in two.

"I can get him back." Ryan replied. "I will talk to Caine and convince him it was a mistake to drop us."

Irritation flashed across his father's expression so quickly Ryan would have missed it if he hadn't been watching closely.

"The mistake was yours, Ryan." Bradford's tone remained unwavering even. "Your carelessness is the reason we lost a two million dollar contract. Don't try to put this on the client."

"I agree. My word choice was wrong." Ryan leaned forward to perch on the edge of his chair, elbows resting on spread knees. "I take full responsibility."

He'd spent the past day mentally beating himself up for the screw up. He should have handled the resort project himself, rather than delegating it to his staff. The building had fallen horribly behind schedule, had gone over budget trying to solve issues that could have been prevented with careful management.

He had placed too heavy a burden on his team, had relied on them too much to pick up his slack over the past year while he struggled with personal issues and ultimately, things had fallen apart.

Not that he blamed them. The Caine Hotels and Resort project was bigger and more demanding than anyone had envisioned, and without a good leader at the helm to guide the decision making, shit had hit the fan.

A truckload of shit.

Bradford's gaze slid from Ryan's face to his clothes and back again. His lips thinned.

"Perhaps it would have been wise if I had insisted on giving you some time to get over the...incident," The latter word was said with distaste. "But, your mother and Hailey convinced me otherwise. I see now it would have served everyone's best interests if you had taken time off."

Anger curled in Ryan's gut at his father's use of the word 'incident' to describe the moment his life had turned over on its head. As if the innocuous word could fully capture the devastating moment he'd walked in on his fiancée in bed - their bed - with another man two weeks to their wedding.

The catastrophe; the huge truckload of shit; the big fucking disaster, those were better words than 'incident'.

The old man remained convinced Ryan was somehow to blame for the failed wedding. Probably because he had been too embarrassed to share the full details of what had actually happened with anyone, save Hailey.

As far as his parents knew, he and Nicky had a huge fight and decided to call the whole thing off. The fact that Ryan made no effort at reconciliation still annoyed the old man to this day.

He bit his tongue to still a caustic remark. This wasn't about his past, and getting into an argument would not do him any favors. Now was the time to focus on getting Caine back and he needed to remain calm if he had a shot at convincing his father to give him the go ahead.

"Perhaps it would have helped." He shrugged. "But what's done is done, and right now, our focus is on getting Caine to give Silvercorp a second chance."

"I suppose you already have a plan on how to do that?"

Ryan recognized the opening for what it was and took it. Retrieving the tablet he'd tossed on the table earlier, he flicked it on and stood, crossing to stand beside Bradford. "I've been doing a review of the project files and I found some problem areas that can be fixed."

He outlined his plan, taking care to explain what had gone wrong and the solution he'd spent the better part of last night brainstorming. Since receiving the news, he'd pulled an all nighter, knowing full well Bradford would summon him and he'd been determined to show up with answers.

"All that's left is your approval and then I will fly to Boston, apologize to Caine in person and present my offer."

Bradford turned in his swivel chair to stare out the huge bay window as Ryan returned to his seat as quietly as possible, knowing full well his father was deeply pondering the issue. Seconds ticked by, the silence finally broken as with a loud sigh, his father turned to face him, pinning him with an impassive gaze that told nothing of his thoughts.

"It's a good plan," Bradford said. "Expensive. But good."

"I'll handle the expenses out of my own pocket." It was the least he could do since he'd been the one to screw it up. His former apartment block had sold for a tidy sum, plus he'd made several lucrative investments over the years, and he would pour the money into this project.

Grey eyes so like his own, pierced him with a stare. "I see."

"So, do I have your approval?"

"Before I get to that," Bradford selected a file from the pile close to his elbow and flipped it open. "I've come to a decision that it's time to make some much needed adjustments to the Projects and Development division."

His division

A sick feeling pooled in the pit of Ryan's stomach. What was his father talking about? The division was fine, the team worked well together and save for the past couple of months, had produced excellent results. They were a well-oiled chain with one weak link...

"What kind of adjustments?" The words passed through a dry mouth.

"Structural. Nothing major, but the overall performance of your division has been less than impressive. I believe that's because some members of staff have become complacent and no longer pull their weight." Bradford replied. "In light of that, there will be cutbacks and reshuffling based on an upcoming employee appraisal, which you will personally handle."

Damn. This whole thing was spiraling into a tornado. Because of his failure, innocent people stood to lose their jobs. Could this get any worse?

Apparently, it could.

"I am bringing in someone competent to oversee this exercise," His father settled back against the seat, laced his fingers together and rested his chin on them. "A supervisor, who will make sure things are done according to procedure and who will also review any and all ongoing projects. Also, this person will serve as the interim head of division."

"What?" Ryan was on his feet before he realized what was happening. "You're giving him my job? Is this a fucking joke?"

"Her," The response had him confused, until his father clarified. "Ms. Bhatt will be resuming duty effective today. Meanwhile, you are demoted to team leader, until you can prove you are done wallowing in self-pity and ready to -"

"Are you kidding me?" The sound of flesh hitting wood reverberated through the room. "You dare sit there on your high horse and tell me you're taking away everything I've worked for because you fucking think I feel sorry for myself? What sort of dick move is this?"

Unmoved by his son's outburst, Bradford held his stare. "Be grateful that's all I'm doing. You cost this company a huge loss, and the only reason you're not out on your ass is because you are my son. Your questionable life choices brought you to this point and I can no longer sit back and watch you waste your life."

"I was heartbroken" The words were forced through clenched teeth, rage threatening to erupt at any moment. "Try a little empathy sometime, Dad."

Un-fucking-believable!

The door edged open and Hailey peeked in, brows furrowed. "Is everything okay? We heard yelling."

A quick study of the faces of both men caused the frown to deepen. She pushed the door wider and stepped in, crossing to stand beside her twin. "What's going on?"

I need out of here.

Ryan's fingers tightened into fists with the urge to break something.

"Ask him." he growled, brushing past her and stalked out of the room. He marched on autopilot along a short hallway, and down a sweeping stairs leading to the foyer not stopping until he reached his car. Resting his hands on the warm top, he lowered his head, forcing air through constricted airways.

I'll be damned if I let him win this time.

He'd poured blood, sweat, and tears into that division and Bradford Silverton was fucking delusional to think he'd just roll over and let some...unknown woman take over. He wasn't giving this up, not without a fight.

"Ryan, wait!" Hailey's voice had him raising his head.

She burst through the front doors, and came to stand beside him.

"I can't believe dad would do something like this." She leaned against the car, huffing in disbelief. "This is ridiculous."

Ryan calmed at her presence. Just knowing he had her on his side helped lift some of the anger. "Does anything he does still surprise you?"

"No, but this..." she broke off and gave him a searching look. "Maybe if you finally tell him what Nicky..."

But Ryan was already shaking his head. "No way, I'd rather cut off my dick than give him a chance to use that against me. And you know he will still think her cheating was somehow my fault."

Hailey was the only member of his family who knew the truth about his ex. She'd been out of town when he'd called her, broken and devastated and had flown back the next day.

The exact details of that day remained blurred to Ryan. He could remember leaving the apartment, Nicky's pleas ringing in his ears. He remembered walking into a bar, and ordering a drink, then two and a third.

Everything after that was a mystery.

"Okay," Hailey said. "So what happens now?"

"I'll figure it out." He glanced at her as a thought occurred to him. "You're in HR, tell me, have you heard of a Ms. Bhatt in the employee list?"

"I don't think so. There are over five hundred staff in our Boston office alone. I'll have to look through my database first, No first name?"

"He didn't give one." Ryan tried to imagine what the woman would look like. Probably one of those uptight, stuck up new age bitches with an over bloated sense of their own importance that had flooded the job market in the past few years. Wearing impossibly tight suits that restricted basic movement, and high heels no sane person would dream of wearing, flaunting designer labels as if that was meant to impress anyone.

The kind that believed in getting special treatment by virtue of their gender and not actual, fucking hard work and diligence.

He was not against women in the workplace. Hell, his mother was the founder of a successful event planning company and Hailey was a Vice President at Silvercorp. But these new type of women were so hung up on themselves and had no qualms fucking or cheating and lying their way to the top.

Crap. He needed to do some research before meeting this woman. He was a firm believer in knowing who the enemy was beforehand and with any luck, he would find enough to gain some leverage over her.

"I could do a Google search." Hailey offered, pulling out her phone.

"There's probably a million Ms. Bhatt's out there." Ryan pointed out. He dipped a hand into the pocket of his jeans, pulled out his cell and speed dialled his executive assistant.

"Lola, where are you?" he listened for a moment. "Good. Schedule a department wide meeting in one hour. Anyone, whose ass is not in the conference room by the time I get there, is fired. Got that?"

He glanced at the time. Six fifteen a.m. By now traffic would be a bitch with the flow of Monday morning commuters. He would have to shower and get dressed at the office, no time to make it back to his condo. Fortunately, he kept a set of work clothes handy at the office, for situations like these.

He ended the call and met his sister's look. "I need to go in."

"Let me know how it goes. I'll try to reason with dad." She stepped aside so he could get into the car.

"Don't bother."

The Jaguar roared to life. Ryan steered the car out the extensive driveway of his parent's home, the sleek black paint gleaming in the morning light, and joined the main road.