Kamila Knows Best Read online

  He laughed, turning to look at the food on the counter. “Is there an issue with how that child you’re dating looks at you?”

  “Ernesto is twenty-three. And we were hooking up, not dating. It was an FWB situation.”

  “FWB?”

  “Friends with benefits. But the benefit period has now ended. His internship is done and he’s heading back to Brazil today. That’s why he left before the movie last night.”

  Rohan’s head tilted in what looked like genuine concern. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know. You okay?”

  Kamila shrugged. “We had fun, but like I said, casual.” She frowned when she remembered Ernesto’s goodbye last night. “It’s probably for the best he’s leaving now—the guy was growing a little too…enamored. I would have had to have broken it off anyway.”

  “Honestly, Kam, I don’t get how you can only want casual. You don’t want people feeling things for you?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Of course I want people feeling things for me. Just not, like, permanent commitment-type feelings. Casual is the new exclusive.” She exaggeratedly looked around the empty room before lowering her voice and stepping closer to him. “It’s pretty great to only have shiny new-relationship sex and never boring routine sex. Nothing like that new man smell.” She licked her lips, watching a cute shade of pink rise up Rohan’s cheeks.

  This was fun. “Although…” she continued. “I am going to miss Ernesto. We had a private final date on Thursday, and let me tell you, that man is talented. He could do this thing with his fingers and his tongue in sync—”

  Rohan slapped her hip with a tea towel to stop her. Probably best. She loved knowing she could unravel Mr. Buttoned-Up like that, but she knew he wasn’t getting much action. It was cruel to rub it in.

  “Anyway,” she said. “You know why I only do casual. I have no intention of abandoning Dad, and that’s what a serious relationship would do. All a girl needs are friends, companionship, and sex. I have plenty of the first two, and I always know exactly where to find the third.”

  Her father wasn’t over Kamila’s best friend, Asha, who’d lived just around the corner, moving four kilometers away into her new wife’s McMansion. Bad enough that Kamila’s sister, Shelina, and her husband, Zayan, who happened to be Rohan’s brother, moved two hours away to London, Ontario, with their sons a few years ago.

  Rohan was still a touch pink, so she decided to see how frazzled a CEO could get. “You should think about having casual sex sometime, old man. You’ve been divorced for what—a year now? I saw an ad for a seniors mixer at the community center. Want me to get the deets for you?”

  He looked comically affronted and almost said something before shaking his head, smiling. “Kamila Hussain, you are trouble. Capital T. I have no idea why I put up with you.”

  She smiled her sweetest smile and ran her finger over that scruff on his cheek. “Because I make you feel young again.”

  At thirty-two, Rohan was only five years older than her twenty-seven, so hardly an old man. With his rock-climber’s body, chiseled jaw, and seriously intimidating demeanor, he was the perfect example of a high-powered King Street executive. Except, of course, on Saturday mornings when he was in his pajamas and swatting Kamila with tea towels. Rohan would have a lineup of women happy to be casual, committed, or anything in between if he wanted it. But he didn’t seem to be interested after his wife left him.

  Dad reappeared then, a small box of bandages in his hand. “Sorry, beti, I had a phone call.”

  Kamila took the box from him. “Go, sit, drink your tea.” She could handle this. Her blood thing was usually only a problem at the first sight of her own blood. Rohan looked back at her, concerned. “I got this. Go sit,” she told him.

  “Okay, but I’ll be right here if you need me to put out any fires.”

  After bandaging her own hand, she finished slicing the sweet potatoes and put two slices in the toaster.

  “That was Rashida on the phone,” Dad said to Rohan. “Jana Suleiman is returning from Tajikistan soon.”

  What? No. Kamila must have misheard. Jana Suleiman’s fancy contract at an international aid agency was supposed to go on for a few more months.

  “Her contract is over already?” Rohan asked.

  “Apparently she’s left her post early,” Dad said.

  They continued talking about Jana the Great, while Kamila’s mind was reeling. Fudge. Kamila did not like Jana Suleiman.

  She took a breath. This wasn’t a big deal. Her focus should only be on Dad’s health and growing her client list at Emerald. So what if her secret nemesis was moving back to town? She felt a throbbing in her finger, a reminder that she’d already had one mishap here and didn’t need another. But it was fine. One cut finger was hardly a fire to be put out.

  Dad suddenly stood, knocking his chair to the floor. “Kamila! The toaster’s on fire! You need to put it out!”

  Damn it.

  Chapter 2

  Kamila put that little kitchen inferno out of her mind because her client meeting today was beyond important. It had to go well—this was a dream client. It was exactly the type of large, complicated account Kamila needed to prove to Dad that she could manage things fine if he went down to part-time at Emerald. But if there was one thing Kamila prided herself on, it was her ability to brush off setbacks and forge ahead, usually with impeccable style. And style was something she’d need to wow this client—Nirvana Lotus Day Spa was a buzz-worthy establishment whose soothing bamboo and vibrant lotus flower decor was so Insta-worthy the place had risen to the top of Toronto spots to be photographed in. That was why Kamila hadn’t changed out of the full-skirted floral dress and matching heels.

  After arriving at the posh building, she gave her name to the receptionist and waited for one of the spa owners to meet her.

  Five minutes later, a woman appeared in the waiting room. “Ah! Kamila! Fabulous! Thank you so much for meeting me on a Saturday! I’m sorry I had to cancel yesterday. Can I offer you a manicure to make up for it? I was just about to get my weekly polish change.”

  This was Kacey McKinley, one of the owners of the spa. Kamila wasn’t about to say no to the manicure, as she’d discovered that business owners were easier to please when immersed in the services they provided. She’d signed a hairstylist client while getting her color done, and she’d secured Ink Girls, a chain of tattoo shops, while a watercolor-style peony was tattooed to the side of her right rib cage just last week.

  “So, tell me more about your company itself,” Kacey asked as the technician soaked off Kamila’s polish. “I’m always looking to support women-owned businesses.”

  “Well, we’re not woman-owned per se. My father owns Emerald. Dad is all about gender equality, though!” Kamila cringed, well aware that she sounded amateurish. She sat up straighter as a woman wearing a dust mask clipped her cuticles. “We each keep our own clients. He works mainly in the health-care sector, while I’m moving toward providing freelance CPA and financial-analyst services for small- to medium-sized service-industry businesses.”

  “You don’t look anything like any of the other accountants I’ve met with.”

  Kamila grinned. She knew she didn’t look or dress like most accountants. For some, that might be a negative, but for a client like Kacey McKinley, it was a strike in Kamila’s favor.

  “I’ll be honest with you, Kamila. I’m meeting with other accountants this week,” Kacey continued. “Bigger firms that have experience working with businesses at our level. We are planning to expand significantly in the near future, and the finance piece of it will get complicated. Plus, a conscientious accountant is important to us. We value sustainability and ethical commerce above all else. Did you know we work with a women’s collective in the Congo to make the herbal soaks in our vitality ponds?”

  The nail tech held out a tray of gel polishes, and Kamila picked a nude similar to the one Kacey was having applied. Not Kamila’s usual vibrant hues, but maybe she needed to play the part here. “I’ve done a lot of research on your business.” Kamila would normally have brought out a file folder with a full proposal for the client at this point, but her hands were, of course, occupied. Good thing she had a stellar memory. “On the phone you mentioned looking for new capital. Well, I found several grants for women-owned businesses in Ontario you can apply for. You can also leverage your work with the local college to get funding from the Ministry of Education. And there are opportunities if you register as a sustainable business. Another of my clients was able to get—”

  Kacey interrupted her. “I’m interviewing an intellectual collective next—a group of women who provide business services cooperatively. Every summer they pack up their business and work remotely while planting trees in the North.”

  Kacey continued talking about this collective, which progressed to her telling Kamila about her mind-opening trip to Thailand where the Buddhist Eightfold Path had enlightened her brain to the possibilities of conscious business, and how compassion and sustainability were driving the momentum forward in her spa.

  Kamila smiled and nodded, realizing that signing this client seemed unlikely at this point. She wished she’d gone with the red polish.

  * * *

  After first nearly burning down her house and having her unsustainable and inexperienced accounting practice rejected by a Buddhist white lady in palazzo pants and a headwrap, Kamila desperately needed a boost to her self-image. Thankfully, she had plans with her friend Asha that afternoon. The Norwegian colorwork sweaters she’d ordered for Darcy and Asha’s dog, Lizzy, had finally come in, so it was time for a photo shoot of the two dogs frolicking in the fall leaves wearing their Nordic attire. Darcy’s fans were clamoring for new glamour shots, and with any luck, she’d go viral again. After
rushing home to change and get the dog and her sweater, Kamila drove to her neighborhood dog park.

  “You look…autumnal,” Asha said as Kamila got out of her car. Kamila had changed into a full-skirted cream shirtdress covered with huge orange-and-yellow blooms. She’d paired the dress with an open mustard cardigan and knee-high boots in the softest brown leather imaginable.

  Kamila kissed her friend on both cheeks. “I’m so stoked it’s finally sweater weather. That septum ring new?”

  Asha grinned, tilting forward so Kamila could get a closer look at her ornate new nose ring. “Another gift from Nicole. She likes to adorn me like a Christmas tree, and I’m loving every second of it.”

  Asha looked effortlessly luminous, as she always did. Her riot of curls was barely held back with a yellow scarf today, and she was wearing her standard black-leggings-and-dress combo with a red lipstick that looked amazing against her rich brown skin. Kamila had known Asha for about four years, since Kamila had started volunteering at the nearby animal shelter where Asha was the operations manager. They’d chatted while Kamila cleaned up after puppies and cut carrots for rabbits, and Kamila was delighted to learn that Asha lived in the condo on the other side of the dog park. When Asha adopted a one-year-old corgi that had been surrendered to the shelter with the unfortunate name of Lizard-Monster, Kamila acknowledged that as the owner of a dog named Darcy, she had no choice but to be good friends with someone who had a dog named Lizzy. Their friendship had only deepened in the last couple of years.

  Kamila looked down at the sweater stretched over Lizzy’s back. “The sweater is a bit…”

  Asha frowned. “Tight—yeah, I know. Lizzy’s also getting spoiled these days. Two moms, double the treats. Twice last week he tricked Nicole into giving him a second dinner. We need to figure out a system.”

  Kamila patted the dog’s head with amusement, then looped her arm through Asha’s. “C’mon, let’s get some pictures by the trees before going to the off-leash area. If we get good shots, I want to photoshop them into this Norwegian Christmas market picture I found.”

  It was supremely basic to wax poetic about fall, but Kamila was happy to own her basic-girl status, because September was so excessively idyllic. The warm sun. The hollow hum of cicadas and laughing children excited to be reunited with their friends after summer holidays. Foliage transforming to the exact tones that best complemented Darcy’s pale-beige and white fur and brown eyes. These pictures would be epic, even unphotoshopped into Norway.

  But the moment Kamila unclipped Darcy’s leash for pictures, the dog jumped headfirst into a pile of leaves. Lizzy looked on, head cocked, knowing his mom wouldn’t approve of him joining his free-spirited friend. Lizzy might have had the fine eyes of Elizabeth Bennet, but they were paired with the dignified stoicism of Fitzwilliam Darcy. Kamila had often wondered if the two dogs should trade names.

  “Take pictures quickly. Darcy’s sweater will be caked in leaves in about three seconds. I’m not sure wool is best for active dogs,” Asha said, gently urging Lizzy to play with his friend.

  Kamila hurriedly took some pictures with her phone.

  “How did your client meeting go today?” Asha said as she picked up a suspicious Lizzy and attempted to deposit him in the leaves.

  “Terribly. Look at this profoundly drab manicure.” Kamila held up one hand to show off her nails. “I think this is all I’ll be getting from Nirvana Lotus Day Spa. Certainly not a freelance accountant retainer.”

  “Oh no! Why not?”

  Kamila sighed. “She didn’t seem that impressed with me. It’s fine. I’m not sure I want to work with a born-again Buddhist vegan anyway. I’m feeling a little wounded that she didn’t think I was righteous enough, though.”

  “Righteous? Is that what she said?”

  “She implied it. And she implied I couldn’t possibly have the experience needed to work with them on an expansion. It’s frustrating. I have loads of new clients, but they’re all pretty small. If I got a big client like this, maybe I could convince Dad to go part-time.”

  “Didn’t your dad’s client refer someone to you last week? How did that pan out?”

  Kamila snorted. “Even worse than the spa. He’s like this sixty-eight-year-old who owns a chain of medical walk-in clinics. I agreed to meet him so Dad wouldn’t take the new client, but that dude’s not going to hire me. I’m learning that I lack a certain something many of Dad’s older clients prefer in an accountant.”

  “A penis, I assume.”

  “Yep. Or at least glasses and sensible slacks.”

  Asha laughed. “Glasses might look cute on you, though.”

  “Of course they’d look cute on me.” Kamila snapped some more pictures as Lizzy sniffed Darcy’s nose.

  “If it’s any consolation, Nicole is technically one of your dad’s older clients, and she adores you. She’d switch to you in a second if he retired.”

  “Yeah, I don’t see that happening, anyway. Dad retiring, I mean. Honestly, if he’d just agree to go part-time, I’d worry less.” She put her phone down and grinned at Asha. “And of course Nicole loves me. I introduced her to the love of her life.”

  “And you’ll never let any of us forget it.”

  “Nope. I’m a matchmaking artiste. I’m very proud of my work.”

  Kamila had always enjoyed playing matchmaker for her friends, but she was particularly proud of Asha and Nicole. They were different races, religions, and tax brackets and had a ten-year age difference, and yet the moment that Asha told Kamila she was looking for something long-term, Kamila knew Dad’s client Nicole was for her. A quiet, Black, plant-loving ob-gyn and a self-proclaimed social-justice-focused Indian dog lover weren’t an obvious match, but as expected, it was practically love at first sight. It was their complementary dry and sometimes absurdist senses of humor. Plus, their love of cheesy movies and romance novels.

  Kamila snapped another picture of Lizzy. Darcy was still digging in the leaves, but Kamila at least managed to capture Darcy’s rear end in the shot.

  Asha’s text tone rang then. She glanced at her phone. “It’s Maricel. She’s bringing some shelter dogs here for a walk in a bit.”

  “Oh, good.” Kamila grinned. “I found some possible spaces for her puppy academy.” Maricel was one of Asha’s employees at the shelter, and Kamila was helping her launch a dog-training business. “I was totally going to call her earlier, but it slipped my mind after the calamity at breakfast.”

  “What calamity at breakfast? Your dad didn’t like the sweet potatoes?”

  “He’d have liked them fine if he’d actually eaten any.” She managed to get a few more pictures, some miraculously with both dogs’ faces in the frame. “The toaster went up in flames before I could serve anything.”

  “Holy shit, Kamila! Fire? How did that happen?”

  Kamila put her hands on her hips. “It wasn’t my fault. I’m pretty sure Mercury is in retrograde or something. It would explain a lot about my day. I was following the recipe and suddenly the sweet potatoes were on fire.”

  “The sweet potatoes were in the toaster?”

  She’d already put up with Rohan’s incredulous rant about why she’d put vegetables in the toaster—she didn’t need to hear it from her best friend. “Asha, it was sweet potato toast—how else was I supposed to toast them?”

  Asha shook her head, clearly straining not to laugh, so Kamila went back to photographing the dogs.

  “You should have at least kept an eye on them in the toaster,” Asha said.

  “I know. I was distracted. I’d just heard Jana Suleiman is coming back to town.”

  Kamila was fully aware that pettiness wasn’t an attractive character trait, so she’d kept her father’s best friend’s daughter’s status as her secret nemesis to herself. Asha had only met Jana a few times and barely knew her.

  “Oh. It’ll be great to have your old friend back in the neighborhood.”

  Kamila shrugged. Old friend? Hardly. Not when Jana had always been smug about clearly being a better daughter to her parents than Kamila was. But there was more to Kamila’s dislike of Jana. When Kamila and Jana were both in their last year of high school, the nosy aunties in their circle told Kamila’s parents that they saw Kamila in a parked car outside Jana’s house with the neighborhood bad boy, Bronx Bennet, when she was supposed to be at school. That was bad, because Kamila had been forbidden to see Bronx since the last time she’d been caught in a parked car with him.