The Zoya Factor by Anuja Chauhan Read Free Book Online

d'you have any shots left...?'
    He did. Three vital shots with Shivee and Hairy for a promo we were going to run called OPEN YOUR ZING! COLA WITH THESE TWO OPENERS. I whispered to him what Khoda was saying and he said all he needed was the openers for forty-five minutes more.
    'Sorry,' said Khoda, when I told him this as nicely as I could. He got to his feet and suddenly loomed hugely above me. 'The boys have to leave now - practice. And Harry has an appointment with the physio.'
    And that was it!
    In spite of the obscene amount of money we put into this stupid sport, they all just grabbed their kitbags, muttered goodbye, and left! Lokey, the snake, who pockets this huge commission from Zing! Co. as well, didn't say a word! And of course my idiot client Ranjeet just smiled weakly and thanked them in a servile way. The best part was, remember that dumbass Rawal? The one who'd caused us to lose a good half an hour at least? He took away three pairs of shoes with him! His own, the Montu-Nikes, and the pair he claimed didn't fit! What kind of cheapskate was he, anyway?
    Now I was stuck in bloody Dhaka, with a bunch of shots left to shoot and a deadline staring me in the face.
    Damn! I thought wildly. What the hell am I going to tell Sanks?
    ***
    4

    Neelo, Vishaal and I had a distress meeting after the players left and tried to figure out if we could manage without the opener shots. 'I could do some Photoshop, I guess,' Neelo said dubiously. 'Shoot some guys in office and stick Harry's and Shiv's heads on their torsos, but it'll look fake.'
    'Besides,' I reminded him, 'we cost separately for those shots and if we don't get them Zing! won't cough up that money.'
    That made Vishaal sit up and take notice. 'Fuck, do something, Zoya!' he pleaded. 'You're in servicing. This is your thing! You didn't just come to Dhaka to meet a lot of hot cricketers, you know.'
    Hello, that was so uncalled for! I had done nothing but concentrate on work the whole day. Okay, except for one quick peek at Nikhil Khoda's chest as he'd switched shirts (totally biteable, sculpted toffee, awe some). Still, these creative types panic easily, so I didn't take offence. Just looked into his wild staring eyes, patted his arm and told him reassuringly, with more confidence than I felt, 'Chill, okay? I'm on it.'
    That evening I took a long walk past the hotel property and down a tree-lined lane. I even did some jogging, and each time my feet hit the ground a voice in my brain went ' don't panic, don't panic ' in an insanely martial rhythm. But it was useless. I was completely and totally panicked. The shots I'd missed were actually vital. We needed them for a promo that was breaking ten days from now. Two litre and 600ml Zing! bottle labels had to go in for printing in three days' time.
    I collapsed onto a conveniently placed wooden bench as little pulse points twitched all the way up and down my legs. I twisted my sweaty hair, curling wildly in the humidity, into a knot at the nape of my neck and sighed. What was an unsporty person like me doing taking all this exercise, anyway?
    'Excuse me, is this seat empty ?'
    The inane question was uttered in a smoothly sing-song voice, which I recognized instantly. Sure enough, I looked up to see Hairy the opener smiling down at me. 'No, it's cool,' I managed to answer and he promptly folded up beside me. He'd obviously been out jogging too; he was all sweaty and smelly. He pulled out a bottle of Gatorade and chugged it down while I looked at him warily, not quite knowing what to make of the situation.
    'The batti went in the Sonargaon ,' he announced eventually. 'Instead of waiting for it to come back, I decided ki , chalo , ditch the treadmill and hit the road!'
    'Oh,' I said inadequately.
    Then, Hairy Harry started jerking one leg up and down, up and down, up and down. It is a very irritating habit. My brother Zoravar used to do it a lot when he was younger, but he stopped when one of his Military Academy instructors told