Farrah hugged her black trench coat closer to her body as she quickly walked into the bar. It was well after 6pm and the place was packed. But she knew no matter what, there was always a space with her name on it at the bar. She stood on tiptoes, craning her neck to get the attention of a waiter, server, bartender; well, anyone really, just to make her presence known. Being 5'3 always had its advantages - she got away with the highest of the highest heel without looking like an Amazonian woman; not everyone wants to be Beyonce, mind you. But on days like these, and in flat soled boots, it was certainly a disadvantage.
Damn those Desi genes, she thought as she craned her neck. She was wet, cold and upset. She needed food – five minutes ago.
"Farrah, what are you doing here? Just go to your seat!" she heard Charlie from somewhere behind her. She turned around and was face to chest with Charlie. Or more specifically, face to breasts. She frowned, "Charlie! Get them out of my face please!"
"That's the first time someone has said that to me," Charlie smirked at Farrah.
"Well, you know what they say – there's a first time for everything," Farrah answered grumpily.
"God, what crawled up your bum today?" Charlie continued with a cordial smile all the time smiling and nodding at the patrons waiting behind Farrah. "Or should I ask whom?" She shot a smirk directly at Farrah.
Farrah's scowl getting deeper, she glared at the beautiful usher. Charlie is a classic English beauty; deep mahogany hair, blue eyes, beautiful pale skin, tall, with curves at all the right places and one of the filthiest of minds. It has been four years since she first met Charlie and Farrah has never seen her with her hair out of place - not even once. She wished that she had her poise, God knows that it would serve her well in her career.
With a loud and clear voice, "Ma'am, the only vacant seats that are currently available are at the bar. We do serve dinner at the bar, but if you require a table it will be a 40 min wait," Charlie said to Farrah.
"It's okay, I'll take a seat the bar." Farrah answered in a voice as clear as Charlie's.
"For God's sake next time just go straight to the bar," Charlie whispered as she showed Farrah to the bar. Turning around she pinched Farrah's bum making her jump.
As tempted as she was to rub the sore spot on her bum, Farrah settled with glaring at Charlie's retreating back. It would do her no favors rubbing her bum in a bar of all places.
Sitting she sighed and stared down at the menu. She practically knew it by heart:
Page one Cocktails.
Page two – Mocktails.
Page three – Beers
Page Four – Appetisers
And the list goes on.
Restaurants, bars – they used to be her entire world growing up. Her father owned nine altogether. This particular one, Paani, is only a year old and is very different from Daddy's other ventures. It was hip, fresh and upscale. Daddy pulled out all the stops; he didn't want to be the man behind a chippy all his life he used to say, and he finally accomplished it. Paani was the proverbial cherry on the tip of his chocolate sundae, the pride and joy of his hardwork, the crowning glory – you get the gist of it. The interior was a dream to plan, as it went with the minimalist style that she loves. Everything about the place promised the joy that indulging in the finer things brought on. She knew all about these 'joys' after years of having to rub shoulders with the young, the beautiful, and the powerful. It heightens their sense of entitlement and makes them spend more. Fantastic for business, but a pain in the arse for her staff. My staff, she chuckled humorlessly, wouldn't Daddy just love that.
Farrah didn't know what was worse, to have a father who had a dream; or one who accomplished his dream? He understood her and her dreams when she decided to do something different; but the constant pushing and prodding and dissecting every single career move was just giving her a fucking headache. She just wanted him to lay off and give her some space. And for some space she had to make a deal; she would babysit Paani, in exchange for a flat of her own and independence all the while working as an intern correspondent with the British Broadcasting and Communication System (BBCS). All she needed to do was to get her foot in the door, once she was in...well, she would be in. Farrah chanted this like a mantra in her head, willing it to happen with her sheer will power.
"Excuse me, do you happen to know what Paani means?"
It was addressed to her and Farrah knew it. Obviously, it was an Indian sounding word, so it makes sense to ask the Indian looking girl situated oh-so-conveniently next to you. She took a deep breath telling herself not to snap, and turned to face the person next to her. She was greeted by familiar blue eyes.
He had been watching her ever since she sat at the bar, looking at the menu with a glum expression. She hadn't even opened her mouth to order and a drink was already placed in front of her. And yet she still didn't look up.
He went over to her with the intention to make her smile, yet as soon as the question left his lips he realized he might have done the opposite instead. He could see that she inhaled deeply as if to calm herself and plastered and fake, congenial smile on her face. A smile that he knew very well off as he could pin it on his face at the drop of a hat.
"Paani means water in Punjabi," she said politely.
He extended his hand, "Hi, I'm Rich."
She looked at his proffered hand and studied his face in silence. He started feeling awkward with his hand dangling midair and was about to put it away as a hesitant, feminine hand slid into his grasp, "Farrah Khan," she answered. Her gaze still studious.
"So, were you going to rip me a new one for asking you what Paani means?" he smiled nervously.
"I might have," she said "in here," she says lightly tapping on her temple. "Although, to avoid situations like these in the future, one might benefit from actually paying attention to the menu," she slid the menu towards him where on the second page the meaning of Paani was clearly printed. Rich couldn't help but look slightly abashed.
Buzz Buzz.
Buzz Buzz.
Buzz Buzz.
"Perhaps you should get that," she said looking at him quirking an eyebrow as his phone was buzzing continuously in his hand.
"I-
"Rich! Come on, we're all ready to leave. Hurry up," Farrah winced as Rich's friend practically shouted in her ears. "What are you doing man, let's go!"
"Yeah, I'll be right there," Rich said while attempting to shove his friend away. "I'm sorry, Farrah. I would like to say that Ben isn't always loud and rude, but I'd be lying," he chuckled.
Her lips quirked up in a semi smile, amusement dancing in her dark brown eyes. Unaware Rich gazed into her eyes and found himself drawing closer towards her. Her skin was the colour of toffee, and he couldn't help but wonder if it would taste as sweet. Shaking his head in an attempt to clear his head, he said instead, "It was a pleasure to meet you."
"Likewise, Your Royal Highness," she whispered in his ear.
Farrah pulled back with a smirk and studied his slightly widened eyes and the inhalation of a deep breath. It dawned on her that he really thought she wouldn't notice who he is.
"I may be just an intern at BBCS, Sir – but you have 'award-winning-news-story' written all over you," she says her eyes raking all over his face.
As he opened his mouth to say something, Ben, the loud and definitely very rude man, pulled him away abruptly. She sat there watching with a smile fit for a Cheshire cat as Prince Richard, seventh in line from the throne, was literally dragged out of the door into the very cold, and gloomy November evening.
YOU ARE READING
The Segment (Completed)
Romance*Watty's 2018 Longlist* Farrah Khan is stuck in a dead end job - 26 and still an intern at the British Broadcasting and Communication Systems (BBCS); all she wants is a chance to prove herself. Getting laughed at by Prince Richard, seventh in line...
