CHAPTER TWO
Krishna did not doubt it, just as he did not doubt everyone sitting around the table believed that Nitin was just about to receive his just desserts. His stepbrother was a freeloader. It went without saying that the people who worked hard for their living did not like freeloaders. And all it took was for him to lift his darh head with its hard, chiselled bone structure, which would have been stunningly perfect if it weren't for the bump in the middle of his slender nose-put there by a football boot whwn he was in his teens-and scan with his rich, dark velvet brown eyes half a dozen carefully guarded expressions to have that last thought confirmed.
Theos. There was little hope of him managing yo pull off a cover-up with so many people in the know and silently baying for Rico's blood, he concluded as he hid his eyes again beneath the thick curls of his eyelashes.
Did he want to cover for Nitin? The question flicked at the muscle that lined his defined jawbone because Krishna knew the answer was yes, he did prefer to affect acover-up thab to deal with alternative.
A theif in the family.
Fresh anger surged. With it came a grim flick of one hand to shut the folder before he rose to his feet, long legs thrusting him up to his full and intimidating six feet four inches immaculately encased in a smooth dark pinstripe suit.
Shakti also jumped up. 'I will go and-'
'No. you will not,' Krishna said in tightly accented Englisk. 'I will go and get him myself.'
Everyone else shifted tensly as Shaktu sank down in his seat again. If Krishna had been in the mood to notice, he would have seen the wave of swift, telling glances that shifted around the table, but he was in no frame of mind to notice anything else as he stepped around his chair and strode out through the door without bothering to spare anyone another glance.
Just as he didn't bother to look sideways as he strode across teh plush hushed executive foyer belonging to the Thakur London offices. If he had happened to glance to the side, the he would have seen the lift doors were about to open-but he didn't.
He was too busy cyrsing the sudden heart attack that took his beloved fatehr from him two years ago, leaving him with the miserable task of babysitting the two most irrirating people it had been his misfortune to know-his high-strung Kyatsh stepmother, Buniya, and her precious son, Nitin Sharma.
Ah, someone save me fro smooth, handsome playboys and hypersensitive stepmothers anxiously besotted with their beautifull sons, he thought heavily. Family loyalty was the pits, and the day that Nitin's ever-looming marriage took place and he took his life and his gullible new wife back to his native Allahbad with Buniya, could not come soon enough for Krishna.
If he could get Nitin out of this without compromising his own reputation and standing in this company that was, or Nitin would not get anywhere but a prison cell.
A sigh hurt his chest as Krishna chose to suppress it, the knowledge that he was already looking for a way out for Nitin scraping the side of his pride in contempt.
What was Pratigya going to do when she found out that she was going to marry a theif?
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