"About your little crush?"

"You're crazy." The same craziness making my heart pitter-patter at the thought of having a crush on a guy like Drew.

"You like him, I can tell." He tweaked my nose again and I swatted him away, annoyed by his intuitiveness. "Just remember you're engaged, otherwise my mother might stone you."

"I'd like to get stoned all right," I muttered, mustering a glare I couldn't maintain when he grinned, a smile between two friends who'd only met recently but clicked anyway.

I hadn't had a male friend before. Boyfriends, yeah. But platonic? Uh-uh. Yet here was a guy from another continent who I'd known for a few days and we'd become buddies. Go figure.

He squeezed my shoulders. "Don't worry. You'll get your chance to make a move on Drew when we're in New York."

"What?"

"Didn't I tell you? This movie he's backing has several New York scenes, so once it's a wrap here, the cast and crew will be heading to the Big Apple for a few weeks. Drew's definitely going, so perhaps you two can get properly acquainted there?"

I didn't know whether to kiss Rakesh or slap him. He deserved a kiss for being so astute and a slap for presuming to know more about what I wanted than I did. "Not interested."

Bollywood Boy would be in New York for a few weeks? Big deal. I didn't want a fling, not anymore. Besides, after I revealed the trick I'd played on him, I'd be the last person he'd want to see.

"You're pretty cute when you're in denial," Rakesh said, grabbing my chin and tilting my face from side to side as if studying it.

I elbowed him away. "Now you've had your fun, perhaps you'd like to hear that Drew knows my identity and is giving me grief over it."

"Drew knows?" His jaw dropped so far I placed a finger under his chin and guided it shut.

"Uh-huh. And he's becoming a real pain in the ass."

"How?"

"He's giving me a hard time about telling you the truth, implying I'm a gold digger out to fleece you for every rupee, about to ruin your family's reputation, blah, blah, blah."

Rakesh's brows drew together, the frown not detracting from his good looks. "Why didn't you tell him I already know?"

"Um... I didn't think you wanted anyone else in on it."

And I wanted to fool Mr. Hotshot-Know-It-All and have the last laugh.

Maybe it came down to control issues, and having Drew bully me into telling the truth chafed. Maybe I hated being told what to do. But whatever the reasons, I wanted to play this game a little longer. I was suffering Mojito Monday and Rita withdrawal. I had to tolerate Anjali's channel-surfing as she alternated between swooning over Ridge on Bold and the Beautiful and lusting after Leno-unfathomable. I'd contemplated flirting with a peeping Tom Lone Ranger look-alike.

I definitely needed another form of entertainment, even if it was an adolescent ruse. It wouldn't hurt to keep him at arm's length either. The guy rattled me. Not in a good way. His accusations and defense of his friend I could handle. The subliminal attraction? Not so much.

I'd come to Mumbai to help Rita, but my trip had been more about nursing my emotional bruises than altruism. Having Drew believe the worst in me was probably good. Last thing I needed was him to pick up on the buzz between us and want to explore it.

Falling for Tate had been dumb. Falling for a guy on the other side of the planet would be monumentally stupid.

Should I feel guilty? Probably. Did I? Hell no.

Rakesh didn't buy my lousy excuse. "But he already knows. He's a good guy, but we'll have to swear him to secrecy. Why didn't you tell-I get it." Rakesh snapped his fingers, his frown clearing, his mouth curving into a smug grin. "You're enjoying baiting him, making him squirm, knowing a secret he doesn't. I bet you're loving every minute of it, you devious woman."

"He's a pompous, arrogant ass who should mind his own business." I folded my arms and pretended to be in a huff when in fact I liked having a friend I could talk to about this. Rakesh knew Drew well, he'd guessed I was interested in the guy, and he'd proven to be an unexpected ally in a short space of time. I liked having him in my corner despite the fact he gave me as much grief as Rita. If the two ever joined forces, I'd be in trouble.

"Listen to yourself. Pompous and arrogant?" Rakesh chuckled as he led me to the car, softly singing "Drew and Shari sitting in a tree, K.I.S.S.I.N.G."

"Juvenile."

"Flirt."

"Idiot."

"Gorgeous."

"Schmuck."

"Sassy."

"Stop. How can I keep insulting you when you're so damn nice?"

"That's my girl," he said, giving my shoulders an affectionate squeeze as Buddy opened the door for us and I slid inside.

I sagged against the worn leather seats, half listening to Rakesh making idle chatter with Buddy, the soothsayer's words echoing in my head.

Rich man bring joy. Some pain. You decide.

In my exhausted state-I wasn't cut out for all this drama-I didn't like the sound of pain. The rich man? Been there, look how it turned out. The joy I could handle, no problems at all.

As for decision making, I'd been lousy in the past. Time to wise up.

chapter six.

To: Amrita.M@hotmail.com From: Shari.J@yahoo.com Hope you're sitting down, Rita, because this promises to be long.

My first trip to Bollywood didn't quite work out as expected. Your aunt threw a hissy fit over some fortune-teller's prediction. If her voice hadn't attracted a crowd, her impromptu striptease would have.

The list of what you owe me is growing daily: in addition to Leo, the Valentino, Fifth Ave, and the Manolos, add psychotherapy.

Anyway, back to Bollywood. I wasn't discovered, didn't even have a chance to sneak into a scene as an extra, what with a) fending off Bollywood Boy (hereafter known as BB)'s constant nagging about telling Rakesh the truth-like, duh, he already knows!

b) playacting the devoted fiancee-insert pic of me sticking two fingers down my throat c) saving your family from utter humiliation if Anjali's sari had unwound all the way.

In other news, I'm still stringing BB along. Rakesh-aka Lover Boy, yours-wants to rub my nose in the fact BB is on my case. LB also thinks I have a 'thing' for BB. As if. I'm supposed to be the devoted fiancee, remember?

I also have to come clean about the charade to BB, and LB is taking me to their offices so I can do it. The only place I can have some privacy with BB without the all-seeing scandalmongers reporting back to Mama Rama (as opposed to Banana Rama). I must be really losing it if I'm making jokes about our all-time fave band of the '80s.

What else? Oh yeah, forgot to mention I'm going to be rich and famous and find true love if I make the right decision. At least I didn't have to pay the fortune-teller. Though if you believe that, you believe LB is your one true love and you'll live happily ever after.

That's about it for now. Not long 'til I'm home, can't wait!

Ship the Manolos to my new apartment (a girl can dream, right?) and have the therapist waiting. Seriously, if I have another day like today, I'm going to need one.

Hugs, Shari xoxo After I'd clicked the send button later that evening, I wondered if I should email Drew. Wouldn't a quick, impersonal note to tell him the truth be so much easier than a face-to-face meeting?

And miss the priceless look on his face when he discovered I'd been stringing him along for the hell of it? Nah...

"Shari, letter for you."

Anjali's voice drifted upstairs, a few octaves lower than usual. Her near brush with nudity in front of the masses had subdued her, and she'd barely spoken a word during dinner.

Padding downstairs, I wondered who'd sent me a letter. Nobody did snail mail these days. Plus, no one knew I was here, apart from Rita, my folks, and U.S. Immigration. Weird.

"Go on, open it." Anjali thrust the large blue envelope at me as I reached the bottom stair. "This is too exciting."

Had I missed something? The way Anjali wrung her hands, receiving a letter ranked right up there with Ridge marrying Brooke for the tenth time on her favorite soap.

"Exciting?" I played dumb, knowing I'd get a verbose explanation one way or the other.

"Yes, yes, very exciting. The young man who delivered it was very handsome, very big, great body, make good husband." She clapped her hands like a hyperactive child while I resisted the urge to clap my hands over her ears in a swift judo chop.

I didn't want a husband, least of all one who delivered letters reeking of Brut 33.

Choosing silence as the best defense against Anjali at her matchmaking worst, I tore open the envelope and reeled back as the overpowering stench shot straight up my nostrils. Even if this guy was Will Shakespeare and Dan Brown rolled into one, I couldn't tolerate longer than a quick scan of his prose before I fainted from the fumes.

"What does it say?" Anjali peered over my shoulder and I took a subtle step away, her resident garlic odor warring with the letter's fragrance in a heady combination equal to chloroform.

To the woman of my dreams, You haunt me, you impress me, you inspire me.

Seeing you on the big screen was the highlight of my life, until you stepped down from the heavens and entered our mortal sphere.

I am in awe of your talent and can't wait until we are together, as was written in the stars many moons ago.

Yours forever, LR.

Short, sharp, not so sweet. Freaking great. In a week, I'd managed to capture the interest of some psycho.

"Is it good news?" If Anjali's eyes bulged any further, they'd pop and roll across the cracked ceramic tiles.

"Not really." I wouldn't mind being some guy's inspiration... if I knew who the hell he was. Being the muse of a weirdo who hand-delivered aftershave-drenched letters? No thanks. "What did this guy look like?"

Anjali puffed up with pride, as if seeing my stalker in the flesh was a privilege. "Very big." Her arms spread over a yard wide. "Shoulders this broad. Tall. Nice smile. White teeth."

I hated to disillusion her but so far, her description could've fit countless guys.

"And stylish clothes. Denim never looked so good." She gave me a lewd wink before continuing. "I've always had a thing for cowboys. That Stetson added a real authentic touch."

My blood chilled. I knew this guy. Had to be the one who'd been staring at me the other night.

"Can I read it?"

"Here." I handed her the letter, sneezing five times in succession as my nasal passages did their dandiest to expel the odor from my nose.

A tiny frown appeared between her perfectly sculpted eyebrows. (Despite my admiration, I hadn't braved the string-twirling, hair-pulling beauticians yet. Think I'd stick to wax for now) "He thinks you're an actress? He must have the wrong woman." Her shoulders sagged with disappointment while I perked up instantly. Perhaps Psycho Guy had made a mistake?

"And what does LR stand for? You'd think he would've used his real name at least." The frown deepened as she shook her head. "Dear, dear, the men of today."

"Probably stands for Loser Rat."

"Maybe Lonely Raj?"

"Lousy Reject."

"How about Lovely Rarity?"

"Living Refuse."

"Naughty girl." She wiggled her finger under my nose and handed me the letter, which I held at arm's length in case my nose rebelled again. "He's probably some lonesome guy who's smitten with you."

Lonesome... lonesome...

Couldn't be. LR... Lone Ranger? Could Psycho Guy possibly be emulating a screen legend? Way too spooky, considering I'd already dubbed him that the other night.

Could my stay get any weirder?

"What should I tell him if he comes again?"

"That I've reported him to the police."

"What nonsense. A nice young man like that?"

"Where I come from, there's a name for nice young men like that. It's 'stalker.'"

Anjali sniffed, affronted. "You girls of today are too picky. In my day if a young man like that came knocking on our door, our parents would've married us off before we could blink."

I refrained from pointing out the obvious, that her parents' choice in grooms seemed dubious at best. "Besides, he's made a harmless mistake. He obviously thinks an actress lives here. I'll set the young man straight if he visits again."

Not wanting to labor the point, I bid Anjali goodnight and climbed the stairs, holding the letter between my fingertips as if it were radioactive.

I didn't think there'd been a mistake, apart from a case of mistaken identity. This guy had been watching me, he knew where I lived, and he'd hand-delivered his fragrant missive. I should be petrified. Instead, a rueful chuckle developed into full-blown hysterics when I reached my room and fell facedown on the bed, getting tangled in the mosquito net and laughing harder.

Taking into consideration what I'd been through the last three months, my life could be scripted for Bollywood Boy's next epic: fired, dumped, evicted, played at fake fiancee, and now stalked.

Yeah, life couldn't get more interesting.