Flirting With Disaster

She needs a divorce from her husband--but a hurricane threatens to dredge up their stormy, passionate past in this sizzling reimagining of It''s been years since Meena has seen her husband, Nikhil . . . years since they first laid eyes on each other back home in Texas, years since they eloped in Las Vegas and she felt true happiness. A high-powered lawyer on Capitol Hill, ready to move on (or at least, she thinks so) with another successful lawyer, Shake, Meena has returned home. This time, finally, to obtain a divorce.; But there''s one thing Meena couldn''t have accounted for: a hurricane;forming in;the Gulf, veering right toward them,;giving them;no choice but to hunker down in the home they had built together. Suddenly, she finds herself trapped amid gale-force winds and pelting rain with the man she once loved. As they spend more time together, Meena begins to remember everything that drew her to Nikhil: His small-town charm, his thoughtful nature. . . his;absurdly;good looks. But things make sense with Shake. He’s steady and ambitious and wants exactly what she wants. She’ll stick to her plan, come hell or high water. But will her windswept heart make the right choice, when the storm settles and the eye passes over?; With sharp observations about second chances;at love, ambition and Indian American identity, and with characters who share an undeniable chemistry,< Flirting with Disaster< is a modern romance;with the sensibility of a classic.

Autorentext

Naina Kumar is the bestselling author of Say You’ll Be Mine and Flirting With Disaster. She lives in Texas, close to her family, whose antics provide endless inspiration. When she’s not writing, she enjoys taking her rowdy rescue dog on walks, rewatching Gilmore Girls on a loop, and shopping at H-E-B.

Zusammenfassung
NATIONAL BESTSELLER • “This heartwarming and sexy novel is a beautiful, sometimes angsty examination of how a love story can be rekindled when one least expects it.”—Ali Hazelwood, The New York Times Book Review (Best Spicy Romance Novels)
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*“The most amazing rollercoaster of big feels and humor and heart.”—Hannah Bonam-Young, author of Out on a Limb*

She needs a divorce from her husband—but a hurricane threatens to dredge up their stormy past in this second chance romance from the author of Say You’ll Be Mine.**

It's been years since Meena separated from her husband, Nikhil . . . years since they first laid eyes on each other in their home state of Texas, years since they spontaneously wed in Las Vegas and she felt true happiness. Now a high-powered lawyer on Capitol Hill and ready to move on (at least, she thinks so) with another successful lawyer, Shake, Meena has returned to Texas. This time, finally to obtain a divorce.

But there’s one thing Meena didn’t account for: a hurricane forming in the Gulf, veering right toward them and giving them no choice but to hunker down in the home they had built together. Suddenly, she finds herself trapped amid gale-force winds and pelting rain with the man she once loved.

As they spend more time together, Meena begins to remember everything that drew her to Nikhil: his small-town charm, his thoughtful nature . . . his absurdly good looks. But being with Shake makes sense to her. He’s steady, ambitious, and wants exactly what she wants. So she’ll stick to her plan, come hell or high water. But will her windswept heart make the right choice, once the eye passes over and the storm settles?

With sharp observations about second chances at love, ambition and Indian American identity, and with characters who share an undeniable chemistry, Flirting with Disaster is a modern romance with the sensibility of a classic.

Leseprobe
**1

Present Day**

I step out of Houston’s Hobby Airport and walk straight into hell.

Literally. Figuratively. Emotionally. I’m in hell in all ways.

Part of me is tempted to turn right back around. Southwest has a steady handful of flights between here and D.C. I’ll just march to the counter, buy a new flight, and be on my way. No one will know about this out-of-character burst of irrationality. No one will know I was ever here, in my hometown, the one place I promised I would never return to. I’ll leave the past where it belongs and just . . . move forward.

Except, I can’t. That’s why I’m here.

I pull out my phone and check the Uber app. The ride I called the second the wheels made contact with the runway is still a good twelve minutes away. Of course. The universe knows how much I don’t want to be here, how quickly I want to get this all over with. So, it’s doing the exact opposite. Slowing things down. With my luck, we’ll end up hitting traffic on the way there, dragging things out even more.

I check my work email, firing off a few quick responses as I walk to the designated pick-up spot.

Call the Speaker’s office and ask for Sonia. If she can convince him to adjust the language on paragraph 3A back, he may just find that he has a majority for that highway bill he’s been dying to pass.

Yes to the meeting with the Section 8 housing nonprofit, and a hard no to the natural gas group. (Putting aside the fact that our climate advocacy clients might actually kill us, we’re just not that kind of firm.)

Just got confirmation that they’re pulling walking human nightmare Judge Bates off the short list for that opening on the 5th Circuit (thank god). Good work, everyone.

I’m moving to slip my phone back into my purse when something sharp collides with the middle of my back. I stumble, my phone falling out of my hand. I wince at the thwack it makes as it hits the concrete floor.

“Sorry,” a man’s voice calls. “Sorry about that.” I turn to face the perpetrator, but I only catch a glimpse of a dark-haired man, his hand holding tight to a young girl’s. They’re navigating through the crowd, walking quickly toward the entrance of the airport, and it’s only then that I notice the number of people that are moving alongside them.

Houston’s crowded. It’s a big city. It’s not unusual for the airport to be busy, but still, something in the air feels off. It kind of reminds me of my usual morning commute. People move at a quick clip, a slightly frenzied, caffeine-induced adrenaline spurring their steps. But it’s not the kind of crowd I expected to find here, on a Saturday morning. The energy is strange. Almost . . . frenetic.

I squat down to pick up my phone, dusting it off and grimacing when I flip it over and see the large crack now running across the screen. Great. The universe strikes again. Or maybe I really am in hell. The blistering heat from the sun and the slight scent of sulfur invading my nose certainly make it seem that way.

I swipe toward the rideshare app, trying to see how much longer I’ll have to wait for my car. The image is all blurry, the screen distorted because of the fall. The phone buzzes in my palm, some kind of notification banner flashing across the top. I squint, but the text is unreadable. I think it’s an emoji or icon. Something gray and round. Maybe a cloud? I pull it closer to my face, trying to make it out, but before I can the phone vibrates again, a little green symbol popping up. An incoming call. I answer, even though I can’t quite read who it’s from.

“Hello?”

“Meena, why the hell is your location set to Houston?”

“Shake, what—” I break off, completely shocked. I haven’t heard from my ex since he dumped me about three weeks ago. I’d concocted this whole plan right after our breakup, intending to cal…