She’s known as the Ice Princess. He’s got a reputation for melting hearts...except hers. Let the rivalry begin.

Cynthia Kumar always wins. She’s successful, competitive, and knows exactly what she wants: to be the heir to her father’s multimillion dollar business.

Except, her father just chose his successor and it’s not her…it’s her one-night stand.

Rohit Patel can’t believe his luck. He’s just landed the opportunity of a lifetime, his future is once again on track, and the woman he spent one steamy night with could be the love of his life.

Except, she’s his new boss’s daughter and now she hates him.

When Kumar Constructions falls under scrutiny, both Cynthia and Rohit are determined to see its tarnished reputation restored to its original glory. As they each try to swoop in and save the day, their game of one-upmanship fails spectacularly, leaving them no choice but to set their differences aside and work together. But as their partnership to save the company—and their feelings for one another—blossoms, they’ll have to decide what’s more important…their careers or love?

Autorentext
A first generation Bengali-Canadian, Aurora Palit grew up in rural Alberta, where she was always the only South Asian student in her class. Her love of reading began at age four but it wasn’t until high school—when she wandered into the romance section of a bookstore—that she realized happily-ever-afters are her jam. Aurora is now writing those stories with her own unique brand of humor, perspective, and belief that people of color deserve love stories too. During her time pursuing a master's degree in English literature, Aurora was drawn to discourses on diaspora and identity, racism, and multi-generational immigrant experiences; topics she now explores in her writing. When she’s not testing her characters’ patience, Aurora is raising small humans, roasting her spouse, prowling for chocolate, and dancing for all that she’s worth. She also spends her days adulting as a communications professional for a not for profit organization.

Klappentext

She’s known as the Ice Princess. He’s got a reputation for melting hearts...except hers. Let the rivalry begin.

Cynthia Kumar always wins. She’s successful, competitive, and knows exactly what she wants: to be the heir to her father’s multimillion dollar business.

Except, her father just chose his successor and it’s not her…it’s her one-night stand.

Rohit Patel can’t believe his luck. He’s just landed the opportunity of a lifetime, his future is once again on track, and the woman he spent one steamy night with could be the love of his life.

Except, she’s his new boss’s daughter and now she hates him.

When Kumar Constructions falls under scrutiny, both Cynthia and Rohit are determined to see its tarnished reputation restored to its original glory. As they each try to swoop in and save the day, their game of one-upmanship fails spectacularly, leaving them no choice but to set their differences aside and work together. But as their partnership to save the company—and their feelings for one another—blossoms, they’ll have to decide what’s more important…their careers or love?

Leseprobe
Chapter 1

You must be Cinderella . . ."

Cynthia Kumar didn't bother suppressing a disgusted shudder seconds before knocking back her tequila shot and swiveling her barstool to face whoever had delivered that tired remark. It was the fourth pickup line she'd received tonight and despite the beer commercials of her youth, the speakers were not looking more attractive with each additional ounce of alcohol she welcomed into her body.

This particularly terrible opener had come from a guy with droopy blue eyes who was sporting a floral Tommy Bahama shirt in the dead of winter. In Canada.

". . . because I see that dress disappearing at midnight," Droopy finished, his lips stretching into a sluggish grin.

Cynthia needed another shot.

"Not interested," she replied, tone clipped and precise, before turning back to the bar and signaling to the bartender. She could practically feel the man bristling under his awful shirt.

"What? I'm not good enough for you, sweetheart?" Droopy sneered.

When she didn't respond, his shoulders jerked in an uneven shrug. "Just so you know, I wasn't actually interested. I was just trying to be nice because you're sitting here all alone on a Sunday night."

Typical. She was attractive to them until she stood up for herself. Every guy who'd approached her that night had trodden a similar path: an embarrassing attempt at flirting followed by a level of hostility that spoke volumes of their fragile masculinity. Cynthia kept her eyes trained on the bartender assembling her drink and pretended she couldn't hear him. The choice words he muttered before scuttling away barely broke skin-rude, stuck-up, bitch-she'd heard it all before, whether here, in this sticky bar, or at work, aimed at her retreating back after she pointed out a miscalculated risk in someone's project proposal.

She'd long ago given up trying to solve the age-old question of why men continued to run the world and was now much more focused on her next shot, sliding cleanly across the bar to stop right in front of her.

With a wrinkled brow, the bartender watched Cynthia toss it back-without even bothering with the salt or lime this time-and cleared her throat. "Everything okay?"

Cynthia shrugged and signaled for another. She was so not the type to spill her woes, especially to a stranger, however well-meaning they were. This whole night, really, was not her usual scene; she'd had to google the nearest bar for the under-fifty-but-definitely-not-twenties crowd.

And as a new dose of tequila slid into view, Cynthia wondered if it would even do the trick. The alcohol was not softening the bitter disappointment congealing in her stomach since earlier in the evening, after her weekly dinner with her parents.

Up until the end, it had been a predictable evening of rice, roti, and curry simmered in Cynthia-why-are-you-not-in-a-relationship sauce with a side of boys-prefer-long-hair vegetable pakoras. Her mother had done the cooking while her grandmother, whose wrinkled face via video call had been propped up against a vase for the main course, had spiced the meal with her not-so-unique blend of complaints over the rising cost of living and jabs directed at her single-and not looking-granddaughter.

Cynthia didn't care much about fulfilling her family's ridiculous expectations of what constituted a good, obedient South Asian daughter, but even she knew better than to argue with her grandmother. Still, her dad nodding his agreement with every one of Grandma's critiques combined with her mother clearing her throat purposefully every time Cynthia tried to change the subject had been enough to make Cynthia sprint for the exit as soon as the last spoonful of kulfi had passed her lips.

But three words, overheard from the hallway outside the dining room, had stopped her in her tracks, her white, down-filled coat hanging limply from the one arm she'd shoved through the sleeve.

"About your retirement . . ." Her mother's voice trailed off.

During dinner, it had been a welcome respite from marriage and baby-making when Grandma had switched gears and brought up the subject of her son's retirement. The family matriarch rarely broached the subject even though she called from India multiple times a week, undeterred when she often missed her son, who had usually already left for the office. Or a site visit. Or a meeting with…