quality. And every one of us who works there conveys that image with our clothes, our grooming, our attitude.”
Hmm. That did kind of make sense. But…“How about those guys you date? You go for façade there.”
“I do not! I want substance. Depth.” The protest came quickly, then she pressed her lips together, frowning a little.
He waited, giving her time to reflect. To his mind, any guy with depth would see how amazing Kat was, and not let her get away.
Slowly she said, “Okay, maybe I do get blown away by style, charm, good looks. Successful, fascinating men with exciting careers. I suppose I’m a little, uh, dazzled.”
Dazzled into blindness so she didn’t look beneath the surface. “Gee, you think?”
“What’s wrong with wanting someone who’s attractive and presents themselves well?” she said heatedly. “Someone who does interesting things, who’s successful?”
Damn. Now she’d made him think. Yes, of course he found Kat attractive and there was no question she presented herself well, whether in stylish business suits, slinky evening wear, camisoles matched up with designer jeans, or the salwar kameezes he’d had made for her in New Delhi. Oh, yeah, he liked looking at her.
Of course he found her interesting, and no question she was successful. Grudgingly he admitted, “I guess there’s nothing wrong with that. But shouldn’t you look at personality first, not appearance? And if you care about someone, does it matter whether they’re beautiful or plain? Whether they’re an Olympic gold medalist or a, er…” He couldn’t say “photographer.”
“Schoolteacher? Ditch digger? Maybe it shouldn’t, but I want someone who’s more than just…average.” She muttered something under her breath that sounded like, “I’m average enough myself.”
He must have misheard. About to ask, he stopped when she said, “It’s like when I go window-shopping. It’s not the plain dresses that catch my eye, it’s the gorgeous ones.”
Gorgeous dresses and dazzling, successful men.
What was he thinking, with this crazy plan of his? Even if he did show up on the train in a suit, he’d still be Nav. A man three years younger than her, just starting his career, who was anything but dazzling. She’d give him the same old line about seeing him as a friend, yada yada.
Speaking of his career, he should stay at home and concentrate on the exhibit that might well launch it to the next level. Why put that in jeopardy to tilt at the windmill of winning Kat’s love?
Let’s face it, it was time to get on with his life. He should put his feelings for Kat behind him and give other women a fair chance. He’d thought he’d been doing that, but maybe his efforts had been doomed because he’d still been hoping Kat would one day return his love.
He was too sunk in his own gloom to realize she had been quiet for a while, too.
Then she said, “It’s not necessarily the gorgeous men I go for. It’s the ones who make the most of what they’ve got. The way I do. I’m not beautiful—”
He couldn’t hold back a sound of protest.
She chuckled. “Aw, that’s sweet, but I know I’m not. Jenna’s the beauty in our family. I have a decent build, okay features, nice hair. If I stay in shape, get my hair styled, wear a little makeup, and dress well, I look more attractive than I really am.”
“You always look great to me.” He tried not to sound hopelessly besotted and resisted glancing toward her, afraid his face would give him away.
“Spoken with the loyalty of a good friend.”
Nav gritted his teeth, buddy trap echoing in his head.
“A male friend.” She jabbed him lightly in the shoulder. “A woman would’ve made a detailed assessment of my strengths and weaknesses, like my sisters and I did when we lived at home. Women are more analytical and objective about appearances than men.”
“More obsessed.” He crossed his arms.
“But this stuff is important for guys, too.” She curled up on the couch, facing him. “Nav, you ought to be able to relate to this. Your work is all about visual representation and the message it conveys. What did you say the name of the exhibit is?”
He glanced at her. What was she getting at? “‘Perspectives on Perspective.’”
“Right. Perceptions, messages. Image, and what’s beneath it.”
His brain was trying to come to terms with what she was saying, but she rushed on. “Think about the opening night of your exhibit. That elegant gallery, your work on the walls, framed, lit, displayed to perfection.” Kat waved her hands, as if conjuring up the scene. “People with glasses of champagne.” She lifted hers in a toast. “Admiring your photos.”
Oh yeah, he had to smile at that vision.
“They want to meet the artist,” Kat said. “And there you are, ta da! Naveen Bharani, the brilliant photographer. Dressed in…sweats? An old rugby jersey?”
“Of course not.”
“What then? Jeans and a shirt?”
He hadn’t thought about it. But now that he did…“Not a business suit. Too stuffy.”
Her face lit up like he’d handed her a box of Godiva chocolates. “Exactly! Now you’re thinking about image. You shouldn’t look stuffy, nor like a starving artist. You need to look like a successful photographer. Jeans could be okay, but they need to be designer jeans. Paired with a classy shirt, or a light sweater. A V-neck sweater, maybe black. Something that shows off your great build, your wonderful coloring.”
She thought he had a great build and wonderful coloring?
“You need to do what I do,” she said. “Make the most of what you’ve got.”
He’d written off her obsession with appearance as the same kind of snobby thing he’d grown up with and hated. However, now that she was explaining, her viewpoint made some sense. Yes, he of all people ought to understand about perspectives and perceptions.
When he looked at his problem from that angle…from Kat’s perspective, he was an old friend. He needed to alter that perception and make her see him as someone different.
As…a stranger? Part of the mystique of trains was meeting a fascinating stranger.
Excitement rushed through him. This was brilliant. He could show up on the train as a stranger, the kind of man who dazzled her. Ritzy clothes, a haircut, a shave. The flashy diamond ring his parents had given him for his twenty-first birthday, which he kept stored in a safe-deposit box. He’d create a radically different image, not just Nav-in-a-suit.
She’d know it was him, yet it wouldn’t be him. Could he create a sexy “stranger on a train” game and persuade her to buy in?
He glanced at Kat, who was sipping champagne. Could he sweep her off her feet? Did he have the guts to do something so bold?
He
