The Man Ban Read online

  Praise for

  The Boy Toy

  “An enchanting interracial rom-com. . . . Marsh eschews intense drama in favor of slow-burning anticipation, drawing readers in with vivid descriptions, witty dialogue, and a fleshed out depiction of Indian family culture. The result is a winning romance.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  “Fun and sexy with just the right dash of family drama.”

  —PopSugar

  “This tale of a one-night stand that becomes something more finds surprising depth and manages to spin an often-clumsy subject into gold.”

  —Entertainment Weekly

  “If you’re looking for a fun and sexy read that features an older woman and a younger man, the challenges of a multicultural relationship, and also a fair share of family drama, look no further than The Boy Toy. It’s sure to please!”

  —The Bookish Libra

  “Not only was this book a hilarious read but it was very relatable.”

  —Harlequin Junkie

  Praise for novels by Nicola Marsh

  “Full of twists and turns, tension and suspense, I’ve no doubt that [The Scandal] will get your heart beating just that little bit faster!”

  —Stardust Book Reviews

  “Marsh takes the reader on a thrilling journey in her latest as one woman unravels a family’s lies, deceptions, and hidden secrets. . . . What makes this novel engaging is Marsh’s ability to instill her story with a horde of twists, as well as a healthy dose of suspense. The book will appeal to fans of light domestic thrillers.”

  —The Prairies Book Review

  “Stripped by Nicola Marsh is a sexy and enjoyable workplace romance. . . . An entertaining island-set romance!”

  —Harlequin Junkie

  “I couldn’t put this one down! What a delicious read, filled with secrets and suspicion. . . . A twisty, tense family noir. Dysfunction at its best!”

  —Jan’s Book Buzz

  “Nicola has crafted a well organized, page-turning plot that is full of lies, secrets, and deceit. . . . The Last Wife is one hell of a read. It is wickedly twisted, highly addictive, utterly deceptive.”

  —Once Upon a Time Book Blog

  Jove titles by Nicola Marsh

  The Boy Toy

  The Man Ban

  A JOVE BOOK

  Published by Berkley

  An imprint of Penguin Random House LLC

  penguinrandomhouse.com

  Copyright © 2021 by Nicola Marsh

  Penguin Random House supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin Random House to continue to publish books for every reader.

  A JOVE BOOK, BERKLEY, and the BERKLEY & B colophon are registered trademarks of Penguin Random House LLC.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Names: Marsh, Nicola, author.

  Title: The man ban / Nicola Marsh.

  Description: First Edition. | New York: Jove, 2021.

  Identifiers: LCCN 2021010500 (print) | LCCN 2021010501 (ebook) | ISBN 9780593198643 (trade paperback) | ISBN 9780593198650 (ebook)

  Subjects: GSAFD: Love stories.

  Classification: LCC PS3613.A76986 M36 2021 (print) | LCC PS3613.A76986 (ebook) | DDC 813/.6—dc23

  LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2021010500

  LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2021010501

  First Edition: July 2021

  Book design by Katy Riegel, adapted for ebook by Kelly Brennan

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  pid_prh_5.7.1_c0_r0

  For the Anglo-Indian community around the world: our unique culinary dishes like devil fry, ball curry, pepper water, and beans foogath are the best.

  Contents

  Cover

  Praise for Nicola Marsh

  Titles by Nicola Marsh

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Chapter 62

  Chapter 63

  Chapter 64

  Chapter 65

  Chapter 66

  Chapter 67

  Chapter 68

  Epilogue

  Author’s Note

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  1

  Harper didn’t believe in karma.

  Unlike her best friend Nishi, the most beautiful bride she’d ever seen, who waxed lyrical about how meeting Arun at a Diwali celebration in southeast Melbourne had been fate, how they’d taken one look at each other and fallen madly in love, how a psychic had predicted this when doing her chart at the time of her birth.

  Nishi had been her best friend since high school, so Harper didn’t disillusion the loved-up bride. Her cynicism could easily explain Nishi’s version of “fate”: meeting Arun was random, it was lust at first sight considering they ended up shagging the night they met, and the tall, handsome, rich doctor the psychic predicted was a generic promise given to thousands of hopeful Indian parents after the birth of a daughter.

  But Harper had to admit, being maid of honor and witnessing Nishi and Arun exchange vows earlier today, there’d been something almost magical about the couple so sure of their love they’d committed to each other in front of five hundred guests.

  Five hundred guests who would hopefully take one look at the food she’d styled and gush on every social media app.

  Harper needed work. Food styling m
ay be her passion, but it didn’t pay the bills half as much as her previous career in catering. She needed a big break, and Nishi had assured her that among the throng of five hundred were many online influencers. All it would take was one photo, one perfect pictorial image of her beautiful bondas, precise pakoras, or vivid vadas, and she’d be on her way.

  As the guests mingled in the outer foyer of the Springvale Town Hall, she cast a final critical eye over the buffet tables. Two trestles lay end to end along an entire wall of the hall, laden with enough food to feed a thousand. The crimson tablecloths were barely visible beneath gold platters piled high with delicious Indian finger food, with squat ivory candles casting an alluring glow over everything.

  She’d never styled a job this big and had balked when Nishi first asked. But her bestie had insisted, and it had been her gift to the happy couple. Everything looked perfect, and she blew out a breath, rolling her shoulders to release some of the tension. The edge of her sari slipped, but before she could pull it up, a hand tugged it back into place.

  She turned and locked gazes with one of the groomsmen. She couldn’t remember his name after being introduced earlier in the day, what felt like a lifetime ago, but she remembered his eyes, a mesmerizing, unique gray and currently lit with amusement.

  “Can’t have you unraveling and distracting the guests,” he said. “Though personally, I wouldn’t mind a little entertainment along with my entrée.”

  Harper bit back her first retort, that his flirting was wasted on her. She had a firm man ban in place, ensuring the last twelve months had been angst-free, leaving her to focus on her career and not a never-ending parade of dating disasters.

  “Sorry to disappoint, but the only entertainment you’ll be getting tonight is from the ten-piece band playing later.”

  If he heard the bite in her words, he didn’t show it. Instead, he grinned, and something unfamiliar fluttered deep. That was the only downside to her ban; she missed the sex.

  “Too bad.”

  His glance flicked over her, a practiced perusal from a guy who probably flirted with anything in a skirt. At six-two, with thick, wavy black hair, sharp cheekbones, broad shoulders that hinted at gym workouts, a killer smile, and those stunning eyes, this guy would be used to women preening under his attention.

  When she frowned and didn’t respond, an eyebrow quirked and he thrust out his hand. “We met earlier. Manish Gomes, but my friends call me Manny.”

  “Harper Ryland.” She shook his hand and released it quickly. “Don’t you have to go help the groom, Manish?”

  He laughed at her sarcastic emphasis. “Arun’s got everything under control. Besides, we’re not exactly best buds. I think the only reason he asked me to be a groomsman was because we pulled two all-nighters in a row around the time he proposed to Nishi and I had biryani leftovers I shared.”

  Figured. Manish’s confidence came from saving lives alongside Arun in the ER.

  “Nishi’s my best friend.”

  Her response sounded judgmental, like she couldn’t figure out why Arun would ask some fellow doctor to be part of his wedding party when they obviously weren’t close.

  “You work together?”

  She shook her head. “Best friends since high school.”

  “Right.”

  They lapsed into a silence that bordered on awkward. She may not be the most extroverted at the best of times, but she could hold her own in social settings. But something about this guy had her on edge, and she didn’t like it. Not his fault he was gorgeous and charming; her latent insecurities made her want to rush to the bathroom and check her hair and makeup.

  “Well, if you have any further sari emergencies, you know where to find me,” he said, pointing at the head table, set below the stage. “I’m chivalrous that way, in case you were wondering.”

  “I’m not,” she muttered, earning another grin. “Besides, you should be thankful I didn’t slap you for fixing my sari when I didn’t ask for your help.”

  His eyebrows arched in surprise at her snark as he held up his hands in apology. “You’re right. My bad. I’ll see you later.”

  Harper bit back a sigh as she watched him stride toward the foyer, all long legs and impressive shoulders shifting beneath a perfectly fitted kurta. She’d been envious when Nishi had told her what the guys were wearing; the slim-fitting pants and flowing top combo looked a lot more comfortable than the saris chosen for the women. She’d been in a perpetual state all day for fear of tripping over and causing the unraveling Manish had mentioned. But she had to admit the bridesmaids looked stunning in the cream silk shot through with gold thread, and she’d never felt so glamorous, even if she was one step away from a revealing disaster.

  She’d been curt with Manish to the point of rudeness, and he hadn’t deserved her brusque treatment. She blamed her nerves. This job meant everything to her, but deep down she knew better.

  His perfection rattled her, and a man hadn’t unnerved her in a long time.

  Not that it mattered. Once this wedding was done, she’d probably only see him at the occasional function Nishi and Arun hosted: birth of their first child, baptism, that kind of thing. By then, she’d feign forgetfulness of their first meeting.

  What Manny thought of her didn’t matter. She had a job to do, and with the revelers soon lining up for the food, that’s where her focus should be.

  Bold men with unusual slate eyes should be forgotten.

  2

  “Manish, why are you sitting here talking to your old grandmother when you could be mingling and finding a wife?”

  Manny slid an arm around Isadora Gomes and squeezed gently. “Because you’re my plus-one and the most beautiful woman in the room.”

  “Get away with you.” Izzy, as he’d called her since he could talk, slapped his chest but bestowed a warm smile on him. “I’m not getting any younger, you know, and it will be the happiest day of my life when you marry.”

  And the worst of his, considering he had no intention of ever entering the constricting bonds of matrimony.

  “We’ve had this conversation many times, and it always ends the same,” he said, pecking her cheek. “So let’s enjoy Arun’s wedding without the lecture, okay?”

  Izzy puffed up in outrage, as expected. “I do not lecture. I merely point out you’re forty and single when you could have your pick of women and make me a great-grandmother before I journey into the next world.”

  “Heard it all before.” He rolled his eyes, a reaction that served to narrow hers.

  “Manish, you need a wife.”

  “I need peace at the end of a long shift in the ER, so coming home to a nagging wife who resents my job because it takes me away from lavishing her with attention . . . no thanks.” He shook his head, earning another narrow-eyed glare from a determined Izzy.

  “You are too picky.”

  “And you are too fixated on marrying me off when I’m more than happy with my life.”

  It was the truth. He loved saving lives in a bustling ER in an inner-city Melbourne hospital, he loved his contemporary apartment in Prahran, and he loved being able to date freely.

  His grandmother tsk-tsked. “Happiness comes with sharing your life with someone.”

  “Or from a bottle.” He raised his glass, quarter filled with two-hundred-dollar whiskey. He hated to think how much Arun had spent on this wedding. The bride’s parents might’ve paid for it, but Arun had contributed more than six figures if his boasting to a resident at the hospital had been right.

  Manny would rather invest in real estate. Or a luxurious car. Just as many sleek curves without the hassle.

  “You’re incorrigible.” Izzy whacked him on the chest again, but she snuggled closer under his arm. “But I love you.”

  “Right back at you.”

  Manny tightened his arm around his gran’s shoulders, surprised
to find her fitting more closely into him. Had she lost weight? But before he could quiz her, she straightened out of his embrace and pointed to a group of giggling twentysomethings poring over their cells.

  “Go mingle.”

  The last thing he felt like doing was talking with a bunch of women over a decade younger than him, but he saw the determined glint in Izzy’s judgmental stare. That’s when he spotted Harper near the buffet table. She’d been prickly and standoffish and completely immune to his charms, which only served to intrigue him.

  And she’d been right; it was totally inappropriate to snag the material of her sari and place it on her shoulder, but it had been an instinctive reaction, something he’d done for his mom countless times before she’d died.

  He owed his grandmother so much, but if he had a choice between fake flirting with a bunch of immature women and verbally sparring with a recalcitrant maid of honor, he knew which he’d pick any day of the week.

  “All right, have it your way.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I’m off to talk with a woman.”

  Izzy beamed as he stood, before waggling her finger at him. “Make sure she’s suitable bride material.”

  He shook his head, shooting his grandmother a fond glance before heading in Harper’s direction. Spending time with her would definitely get Izzy off his back, at least for tonight, though considering her nationality, maybe not. He knew when Izzy discussed his future bride she envisaged an Indian woman, not an Australian. Crazy, as he’d been born here and embraced it as much as his Anglo-Indian culture.

  But he wasn’t marrying anyone, least of all a woman who radiated serious hands-off vibes, so spending an hour or two seeing if he could charm her held a certain allure. With those big blue eyes, brown hair hanging halfway down her back in artfully styled waves, and curves highlighted by the sari, he knew exactly what Harper’s allure was.

  He’d been working manic hours in the ER lately and hadn’t had a date in forever, so some harmless flirting with Harper beckoned.

  He made a beeline for her, surprised she seemed to be hovering near the buffet table. The guests hadn’t been directed to the food yet, so her positioning was odd. Either she was starving and wanted to be first in line, or she was avoiding the bridal table, where most of the wedding party now sat, apart from the two of them.