Berlin, Germany

The first she heard his name was in Berlin. She had been working at a luxury five-star hotel for about six months since she left Mumbai. The job was satisfactory and she had enough mind-numbing distractions that when she went to bed she fell asleep nearly instantly. No time for thoughts or dreams to invade her mind. The guests were decent enough and the haughty ones were rewarded with her wide customer service smile.

Her German had been improving and she was already halfway fluent. Her colleague Avery complimented her efforts each time. "You're very willing for an Indian." Mishti couldn't even be offended by that. She'd dealt with enough Indian guests to know they didn't like compromise most times.

It was a good job. She liked working the night shifts especially. They were just as rowdy as the day sometimes when late flights came in and she was dealing with a very jet-lagged guest who couldn't remember where they stuffed their passports into. But mostly it was quiet, the atmosphere filled with nothing but the sound of clicks from the desktops and mutterings from whoever was manning the front desk with her too. The only other Indian who worked there was a sous chef called Manish. He was sweet and made her apple strudel sometimes. Apples only, no walnuts. She couldn't stand them. A childhood habit that followed her to adulthood.

Sometimes Manish got them into parties at the Indian Embassy since he knew someone on the staff. There Mishti drank champagne that was too bubbly and reminisced about college football and barbecues with the other expatriates. They usually invited her to hang out with them at one of the bars and beer gardens they frequented but she declined each time.

There was no need.

Mishti enjoyed her own company. Traveling had not been what she wanted to do after college where she studied Linguistics but after her mother had died, her father remarried her mother's best friend. He had another child and Kolkata felt too small all of a sudden. Then India too.

She'd gotten a job as an interpreter for an Indian company in Paris. It was exciting. She was twenty-one and properly on her own for the first time in a foreign city. The sort of thing a lone adventurer craved. Then when the branch moved to Brussels, so did she. It had been a good run for about a year then the itch came again and she moved to the UK.

Mishti went to Delhi and got a gig as an assistant to the UN ambassador. Her old boss had happily recommended her and her language skills came very useful. It was interesting; she got to meet world leaders and activists. Politicians weren't her favorite but one or two weren't so bad.

In all honesty, being a manager at a hotel was probably a downgrade but she didn't miss the politics and added stress that came with that job. There was also the matter of one of the ambassadors' aides being too familiar with her despite her firm discouragement but thankfully it didn't escalate. It did leave her with a deep sense of shame and an instinct to flinch automatically to touch for the months that followed after. It still came up occasionally even though she'd buried it in concrete coated with a cheerful smile.

Working at the hotel was better.

Until one day when a woman came in. She was tall, thin, and lovely in an out-of-reach model-esque manner. She wore a short tight dress that hugged her figure and six-inch red heels. It shouldn't have gotten her attention. But it was her manner and everything else about her.

"Good evening Madam, how may I help you?" Mishti greeted in German with a polite smile ready to serve.

"I have a reservation under the name Mallishka Sherawat," She declared in English pulling her sunglasses down her delicate nose. She was Indian. Her honey-brown eyes were striking. It was the first time she'd thought that of brown eyes. She was most likely a model or an heiress traveling alone.

Mishti consulted the guest book on her desktop, "Ah yes. You're booked for the Royal Suite. It's 233."

"Have your staff take my bags up. I would like to have a coffee in the lounge," Mallishka instructed.

"Of course ma'am," Mishti agreed, already calling the bellboys and ordering a coffee from the kitchen.

Mallishka was facing the window in the business lounge when Mishti arrived with a steaming cup of coffee. She watched her pour it so intensely that it made her uncomfortable. She took a deep breath before plastering the smile back, "Will that be all Madame?"

"You're an Indian," Mallishka ignored her question.

"Yes, I am. From Kolkata," Mishti concurred.

"The Indians in Germany are all so annoying," Mallishka mused dropping a cube of sugar into her coffee, "You know Shakti Arora at the embassy?"

Mishti blinked wondering how the hell this random woman knew that. Shakti had been the friend Manish knew who got them into the parties all the time. "I-I do. How did you know that?"

Mallishka elegantly stirred her coffee. Her eyes were trained on the window sill, "I saw you at a party two, three months ago? You looked quite close."

Mishti shrugged, "Not very close." They spoke occasionally a few times. Shakti was charming and interesting enough. They'd nearly hooked up once before but he declined at the last minute. He wasn't over his ex-wife Nandani. Like everything in her life, Mishti took it in stride zipping up her dress and making him tea as a friendly gesture. They never brought it up again.

"Well perhaps you're close enough that if you told him you found something illegal, he'd believe you," Mallishka said casually taking a sip. She wrinkled her nose at the taste. Too sweet.

Mishti's eyebrows furrowed, "Illegal? I'm sorry Madame, I don't understand."

"Do you know who's paying for my room?" She asked, suddenly glancing at Mishti.

She shook her head. It certainly fits the profile of a wealthy man's mistress. Mishti didn't want to judge. The royal suites were certainly good enough to stomach sucking some dick for. She'd been tempted once or twice.

"Ronobir Chatterjee," Mallishka announced gauging Mishit's reaction. It took her a moment to remember why the name sounded familiar. He was one of the richest men in the world under 40. He was the head of the Grey conglomerate which headed everything from pharmaceutical companies to kitchen appliances. They had their fingers in every pie.

She'd seen his picture on the cover of Time magazine. The article about him escaped her but she remembered how he looked in the black and white tone. Handsome no doubt, mouth curled into a seamless half-smile that was both infuriating and attractive. To her, he had looked like a man who was used to winning, bored with it.

"Oh," Mishti said awkwardly unsure of what to do with the information.

"Yes," Mallishka looked distant. "Don't let the magazines and charity donations fool you. He's the worst man in the world." Her expression was weary and worn. For a moment underneath the beautiful cheekbones and flawless makeup was something shaken to the core. Mishti was tempted to ask, to know if he had anything to do with it.

"You may go Miss. Mishti," She dismissed finishing her coffee. "I'll be in my room shortly.

"Yes Madam," Mishti left for her desk. From then till 3 am when her shift ended, it was all she could think about.

She didn't see Mallishka until the next evening. It was a slow night. Avery had been complaining about how her boyfriend didn't seem ready to move in and Mishti had given her all the usual platitudes for relationship advice when the phone rang.

Mishti answered, "Front desk. How may I help you?"

"Mishti, so lucky you're working tonight," Mallishka crooned.

"What do you need madam?" Mishti asked, hoping to keep their conversation as professional as possible. Avery gave her a questioning look.

"Well I'd like to put some items in the safe but the combination isn't working. Could you come up and take a look at it?" She inquired. Her voice was low and alluring. Mishti bit her lip.

"Of course. I'll be right there." The call disconnected.

Mishti tried to ignore how her heart sped in the elevator and as she got closer to room 233. She waited for a second or two once she reached the door and knocked softly. The door opened immediately. Mallishka was wearing nothing but a silk red negligée. Her smile was slow and easy as she leaned against the door frame.

Mishti swallowed hard.