دانلود رمان انگلیسی “خانه ای که بی جی ساخت”

‘What the hell?’ Samar Vir Singh rears up in bed, looking around dazedly for the source of the cacophony, his head throbbing fit to burst. His phone glows green in the gloom and he lunges for it, thumb jabbing downwards to shut the damn thing up. There are sixteen missed calls from Zeeshan. But Zee never wakes up before noon. Is it that late already? Also, sixteen? Samar calls him back. ‘Hello?’ ‘What hello-hello, bastard,’ laments Zeeshan Khan hoarsely, his famous baritone barely recognizable. ‘Here our balls are on the chopping block and you’re saying hello? We’re fucked. We’re finished. We’re dead. Where the hell are you?’ ‘At home,’ Samar replies. ‘Stop being so dramatic, Zee. What happened?’ Zeeshan makes a weird gibbering sound. Samar stretches and shakes his head. ‘I didn’t get that. Speak slowly.’ ‘Get online and Google our names. Then call me back.’ ‘But—’ But Zeeshan has already hung up. Samar drops the phone onto the bed and looks about blearily for his iPad. It is nowhere in sight. The dark fitted suit he had worn last night is lying crumpled inside-out at the foot of the bed, along with the tight shoes his stylist insisted ‘went’ with it. Samar shudders. God, that outfit was uncomfortable. He walks over to the window and yanks open the curtains, wincing at the glare. Ah, there’s the iPad.