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India.
I mean, who the fuck names their daughter India?
Hippies, that's who. Her parents are old hippies, professors at Stanford, which explains India's brains. Her mom waited until she was forty to have children. Her father plays bongo drums, for fuck's sake. Her mother has all these crystals lying around their house and is into yoga and eastern religions and took India to Machu Picchu when she was eight. You'd think that being exposed to all that airy-fairy stuff would warp a young mind.
Not India's. She's a straight arrow. Workaholic. Capitalist straight down the line.
Her parents must be so torn. They're typical flaky humanities professors. As a result, India didn't go to regular schools. No, she went to Montessori. She went into Stanford's Education Program for Gifted Youth and was doing a fucking engineering degree when she was six-fucking-teen. India’s beautiful and she's probably one of the smartest people in the room.
Today, she’s wearing a knee-length navy skirt and a white silk blouse. Over top is a blazer that hides curves like you wouldn't believe. Her dark auburn hair is pulled back into a bun and she's wearing black-rimmed reading glasses and not much makeup.
It's her disguise, as she calls it. She puts forward a totally professional demeanor but underneath, she's as crazy and geeky as the rest of us.
Here's the other secret she's trying to hide: She's five-foot-five-inches of babelicious woman. You should see her in a bikini.
Scalding hot. I mean, burn your retinas hot. Curves that would make a man kill to grab onto them and pump hard.
I know that each and every one of the men in the audience – the straight ones, at least – want to bang her despite the disguise. Their puny brains get all mixed up when they see a beautiful woman like India. They can't keep two thoughts in their swelled heads because all the blood's drained down to their dicks.
They all want to fuck her. Every straight guy I meet wants to fuck her.
Unlike them, I don't want to fuck her. I mean, sure, I could fuck her if the opportunity arose because she's sex on legs and beautiful, but it never does. On purpose.
I need her to do her job.
We need each other to be totally professional.
We're practically best friends and have known each other since our freshman year at Stanford.
I was an Army Ranger just returned from Afghanistan and was on the GI Bill, attending college to study business. Six-foot-three of hard-muscled killer. She was this pretty little brainy girl with a big laugh doing her engineering degree, and she stole my heart – in a brotherly-sisterly way – and put me in my place when I got too wild.
We took the same intro English class and the friendship began over coffee, and then beer in the student pub. We did our MBAs the same year. Now we're business partners.
I rely on her to run the technology department of Pacifica so I can focus on the financial side of things.
We're business partners and more importantly, we're friends.
People joke and tell us we should just give up the pretense and fuck each other's brains out, but no.
We don't go there.
I know what people think – they think I'm in love with India.
I'm not.
We're best friends. People say a man can't be best friends with a woman, and especially not a beautiful woman like India, but we are the exception that proves the rule.
She's not into relationships either. She looks up to me like the big brother she lost in the war. What we have is unique, and I'm determined to not let anything get in the way of our beautiful friendship, or Pacifica's success.
I listen with half an ear as she wows them with our latest roll-out, knowing her presentation on our latest satellite like the back of her hand. This one's destined for the military and will help soldiers on the modern battlefield. The contracts we're busy negotiating are huge. Huge.
Looking out over the audience, I can see the moment she finally wins them over and they're actually listening, their tongues rolled back up into their mouths. Behind her on the huge screen is her presentation, showcasing our technology.
I'm happier than ever. Stoked about the future
. Going into business with India was my best idea ever, but if I'm honest with myself, there's this tiny smidgen of doubt in my mind about her. Lately, she's been distant – too busy for our usual chats, coffee breaks, and the occasional dinner out.
She seems preoccupied. I heard her talking about Manhattan and how she wants to move to the East Coast one day. Maybe open up another office there.
