My Fair Billionaire

Nine


The second time Peyton awoke in Ava’s bedroom, he was just as disoriented as he’d been the first time. Only this time it wasn’t due to overindulgence in alcohol. This time, it was due to overindulgence in Ava.

Like that first time, he lay facedown, but today he was under the sheet instead of on top of it. And today he was sharing Ava’s pillow, because his, he vaguely recalled, had been thrust under her hips during a particularly passionate moment, only to be cast blindly aside when he turned her over. Her face was barely an inch from his, and her eyes were closed in slumber, one of them obscured by a wayward strand of dark auburn. She was lying on her side, the sheet down around her waist, her arm folded over her naked breasts, her hands burrowed under the pillow. She looked tumbled and voluptuous and sexy as hell, and he swelled to life, just looking at her.

Probably shouldn’t bother her with that again, though. Yet. A body did need some kind of refueling before it undertook those kinds of gymnastics a second—third? Fourth? They all got so jumbled together—time.

As carefully as he could, he climbed out of bed, halting before going anywhere to make sure he hadn’t woken her up. Coffee. He needed coffee. She doubtless would, too, once she was conscious. He located his boxers and trousers and pulled both on, shrugged into his shirt without buttoning it, then made his way to the kitchen. He still couldn’t get over the smallness of this place and wondered again where Ava’s main residence was. Wondered again, too, why she was so determined that he not find out where it was. Maybe she would take him home with her, to her real home, now that the two of them had—

He halted the thought right there. There was no reason for him to think today would be any different from yesterday, especially considering the history the two of them shared. The last time he and Ava had spontaneously combusted like that, not a single thing had changed from the day before to the day after. They’d both gone right back to their own worlds and returned to their full-blown antagonism. Nothing had been different. Except that they’d both known just how explosive—and how amazing—things could be between them. Physically, anyway.


Which, now that he thought about it, might have been why they had both been so determined to return to business as usual. It had scared the crap out of him when he was a teenager, the way he and Ava came together that night. Not just because he hadn’t understood why it had happened or how it could have been so unbelievably good, but because of how much he’d wanted it to happen again. That had probably scared him most of all. Somehow he’d known he would never have enough of Ava. And talk about forbidden fruit. He’d had to work even harder after that night to make sure he stayed at arm’s length.

It hadn’t made any sense. He’d still disliked her, even after the two of them made love...ah, he meant had sex. Hadn’t he? He’d still thought she was vain, shallow and snotty. Hadn’t he? And she’d made clear she still didn’t like him, either. Hadn’t she? So why had he, every day during the rest of his senior year, fantasized about being with her again? Sometimes he’d even fantasized about being with her in ways that had nothing to do with sex—taking in a midnight showing of The Rocky Horror Picture Show at the Patio Theater or sledding in Dan Ryan Woods. Hell, he’d even entertained a brief, lunatic idea about inviting her to the Emerson senior prom.

Sex, he told himself now, just as he’d told himself then. He’d been consumed by thoughts of Ava after that night because he associated her with sex after that night. He hadn’t been a virgin then, but he hadn’t seen nearly as much action as his reputation at Emerson had made others believe. Adolescent boys in the throes of testosterone overload weren’t exactly picky when it came to sex with a willing participant. They didn’t have to like the person they hooked up with. They only had to like the physical equipment that person had. Hell, even grown men weren’t all that discriminating.

In high school, with Ava, it had just been one of those weird chemical reactions between two people who had nothing in common otherwise. Who would never have anything in common otherwise. Great sex. Bad rapport. There was no reason to think last night had changed that. Yeah, the two of them got along better these days than they had in high school—usually. But that was only because they’d matured and developed skills for dealing with people they didn’t want to deal with. Sure, they could burn up the sheets in a sexual arena. But in polite society? Probably still best to stay at arm’s length.

Yeah. That had to be why they’d ended up in bed together last night. So it made sense to conclude that today’s morning after wouldn’t be any different from their morning after sixteen years ago. Except that he and Ava probably wouldn’t yell at each other the way they had then, and he was reasonably certain he wouldn’t have to climb out the bedroom window to avoid being seen. He was likewise certain that Ava would agree.

A sound behind him made him spin around, and he saw her standing in the doorway looking like a femme fatale from a fabulous ’40s film. She was wrapped in a robe made of some flimsy, silky-looking fabric covered with big red flowers, and her hair spilled over her forehead and danced around her shoulders.

“You’re still here,” she said, sounding surprised.

“Where else would I be?”

She lifted one shoulder and let it drop, a gesture that made the neck of the robe open wider, revealing a deep V of creamy skin. It was with no small effort that Peyton drew his gaze back up to her face.

“I don’t know,” she said. “When I woke up and you weren’t there, I just thought...”

When she didn’t finish, he said, “You thought I climbed out your bedroom window and down the rainspout, and that you’d see me at school on Monday?”

He had meant to make her smile. Instead, her brows knitted downward. “Kind of.”

In other words, Ava was thinking last night was a repeat of the one sixteen years ago, too. That, once again, nothing had changed between the two of them. That this morning it was indeed back to business as usual. Otherwise, she wouldn’t look as somber as she did. Otherwise, the room would have been filled with warmth and relief instead of tension and anxiety. Otherwise, they would both be happy.

“Coffee?” he asked, to change the subject. Then he remembered he hadn’t fixed any yet. “I mean, I was going to make coffee, but I don’t know where it is.”

“In the cabinet to your right.”

He opened it and discovered not just coffee, but an assortment of other groceries, as well. He remembered from his previous visit how well stocked the bathroom was, too. Just how often did Ava use this place, anyway?

Neither of them said a word as he went about the motions of setting up the coffeemaker and switching it on. With each passing moment, the silence grew more awkward.

“So,” Peyton said, “what’s on the agenda for today? It’s Saturday. That should leave things wide open.”

For a moment, Ava didn’t reply. But she looked as if she were thinking very hard about something. “Actually, I’m thinking maybe it’s time to make a dry run,” she finally said.

The comment confused him. Wasn’t that what they’d done last night? And look how it had turned out. All awkward and uncertain this morning. “What do you mean?” he asked, just to be sure.

She hesitated again before speaking. “I mean maybe it’s time we launched you into society to see how things go.”

He felt strangely panicked. “But you said we still had a lot of stuff to go over.”

“No, you said that.”

“Oh, yeah. But that’s because there is.”

Once again she hesitated. “Maybe. But that’s another reason to go ahead and wade into the waters of society. To see where there might still be trouble spots that need improvement. Who knows? You might feel right at home and won’t need any more instruction.”

He doubted that. As much as he’d learned in the last couple of weeks, he wasn’t sure he would ever feel comfortable in Ava’s world, even if they spent the next ten years studying for it. And why did she sound kind of hopeful about him not needing any more instruction? It was almost as though she wanted to get rid of him.

Oh, right. After last night, she probably did. But then, he wanted to get rid of her, too, right? So why was he digging in?

“What did you have in mind?” he asked.

“There’s a fund-raiser for La Rabida Children’s Hospital at the Palmer House tonight. It will be perfect. Everyone who’s anyone will be there. It’s invitation only, but I’m sure if news got around that Peyton Moss, almost billionaire, was in town, you could finagle one.”

“Why can’t I just be your guest?” No sooner did he ask the question than did it occur to him that she might already be taking someone else. His panic multiplied.

Her gaze skittered away from his. “Because I wasn’t invited.”

His mouth dropped open at that. Ava Brenner hadn’t been invited to an event where everyone who was anyone would be making an appearance?

“Why not?” he asked.

She said nothing for a moment, only pulled the sides of her robe closed and cinched the belt tight. She continued to avoid his gaze when she replied. “I, um...I had kind of a falling-out with the woman who organized it. Since then, I tend not to show up on any guest list she’s associated with.” Before he could ask for more details, she hurried on, “But a word in the right ear will put you on the guest list with no problem.”


Wow. It took a brave soul—or someone with a death wish—to exclude the queen bee of Chicago’s most ruthless rich-kid high school from a major social event. Whoever organized this thing must have come to Chicago recently and didn’t realize what kind of danger she was courting, ignoring Ava.

“Then who’s going to put that word into the right ear?” he asked.

“A friend of mine who’s attending owes me a favor. I’ll have her contact the coordinator this morning. You should get a call by this afternoon.”

Of course. No doubt Ava had lots of friends attending this thing who owed her favors that could get done at a moment’s notice. Favors to pay her back for not walking all over them at Emerson and grinding them into dust.

“But...”

“But what?” she asked. “Either you’re ready or you’re not. If we can find that out tonight, all the better.”

Right. Because if he was ready, then the two of them could part ways sooner rather than later. And that would be for the best. He knew it. Ava knew it. They didn’t belong together now any more than they had sixteen years ago.

“Will you come, too?” he asked.

“I told you. I wasn’t invited.”

“But—”

“You’ll be fine going solo.”

“But—”

“You can report back to me tomorrow.”

“But—”

“But what?”

This time, it was Peyton’s turn to hesitate. “Couldn’t you come with me as my guest or something?”

He’d thought she would jump at the chance. Wouldn’t it be the perfect opportunity to stick it to whoever had kept her off the guest list, showing up anyway? Invited, nonetheless, even if by default? She could swoop in with all that imperiousness that was second nature to her and be the center of everything, the same way she’d been in high school. Peyton even found himself kind of looking forward to seeing the old Ava in action.

But she didn’t look or sound anything like the old Ava when she replied, “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“Then I’m not going.”

She drove her gaze back to his, and for an infinitesimal moment, he did indeed see a hint of the old Ava. The flash of her eyes, the ramrod posture and the haughty set to her mouth. But as quickly as she surfaced, the old Ava disappeared.

“Fine,” she said wearily. “I’ll go. But only as an observer, Peyton. You’ll be on your own when it comes to mingling.”

“Mingling?” he repeated distastefully. That sounded about as much fun as taking tea.

“And anything else that comes up.”

He wanted to argue, but backed down. For now. It was enough that he’d convinced her to come with him to this thing. Okay, to come, even if it wasn’t technically with him. They could work on that part later. What was weird was that Peyton discovered he actually did kind of want to work on that part. He wanted to work on that part very much. Which was totally different from how he’d felt on that morning after sixteen years ago. In a word, hmm...

So now that he had the who, the when and the what, all he had to do was figure out the why. And, most confounding of all, the how.

* * *

Ava studied her reflection in the mirror of a fitting room at Talk of the Town, feeling the way her clients must. Mostly, she was wondering if she would be able to fool others into thinking this was her dress, not a rental, and that she was rich and glamorous and refined like everyone else at the party, not some poser who was struggling to make payments on the business loan that had bumped her up—barely—to middle class.

That was why most women came to Talk of the Town. To look wealthier and more important than they really were. Sometimes they wanted to impress a potential employer. Sometimes it was for a school reunion   where they wanted to show friends and acquaintances—and prom queens and bullies—that they were flourishing. Others simply wanted to move in a level of society they’d never moved in before, even if for one night, to see what it was like.

Fantasies. That was really what they rented at Talk of the Town. And a fantasy was what Ava was trying to create for herself tonight. Because only in a fantasy would she be welcomed in the society where she had once held dominion. And only in a fantasy would she and Peyton walk comfortably in that world together. Sixteen years ago, that would have been because no one moving in her circle wanted to include him at the party. Today, Peyton was welcome, but she wasn’t.

Before Peyton’s return to Chicago, Ava hadn’t given a fig about moving in that world again. But since his arrival two weeks ago—and making love with him last night—she’d begun to feel differently. Not about wanting to rule society again. But about at least being welcome there. Because that was Peyton’s world now. And she wanted to be where he was.

Over the past two weeks, she’d begun to feel differently about him. Or maybe she was just finally being honest with herself about how she’d always felt about him, even in high school. She’d remembered so many things about him that she’d forgotten over the years—things she had consciously ignored back then, but which had crept into her subconscious anyway. Things that, for that one night at her parents’ house, had allowed her to let down her guard and feel for him the way she truly felt and respond to him the way she truly wanted to respond.

She’d remembered how his smile hooked up more on one side than the other, making him look roguish and irreverent. She’d remembered how once, in the library, he had been so engrossed in his reading that she’d enjoyed five full minutes of just watching him. She’d remembered how he’d always championed the other scholarship kids at Emerson and acted as their protector when the members of her crowd were so cruel. And she’d remembered seeing him stash his lunch under his shirt one day to carry it out to a starving stray dog behind the gym.

They were all acts that had revealed his true character. Acts that made her realize he was none of the things she and her friends had said about him and everything any normal girl would love in a boy. But Ava had chosen to ignore them. That way she wouldn’t have to acknowledge how she really felt about him, for fear that she would be banished from the only world she knew, the only world in which she belonged.

Even with the passage of years and the massive reversal in his fortune, Peyton was still that same guy. He still grinned like a rabble-rouser and could still hone his concentration to the exclusion of everything else. He still rooted for the underdog, and he couldn’t pass a busker on the street without tossing half the contents of his wallet into the performer’s cup. He hadn’t changed a bit. Not really. And neither had the feelings she had buried so deep inside her teenage self.

She expelled a soft sound of both surprise and defeat. Sixteen years ago, she and Peyton couldn’t have maintained a relationship because their social circles had prohibited it—his as much as hers. No one in his crowd would have accepted her any more than her crowd would have accepted him. And neither of them had had the skill set or maturity to sustain a liaison in secret. Eventually it would have ended, and it would have ended badly. They would have burned hot and fast for a while, but they would have burned out. And they would have burned each other. And that would have stayed with them forever. Now...

Now it was the same, only reversed. Peyton’s success had launched him to a place where he wanted and needed the “right” kind of woman for a wife—the kind of woman who would boost his image and raise his status even more. Someone with cachet, who had entrée into every facet of society. Someone whose pedigree and lineage was spotless. He certainly didn’t want a woman whose father was a felon and whose mother had succumbed to mental illness, a woman who could barely pay her own way in the world. He’d fought hard to claw his way to the level of success he had—he’d said so himself. He wasn’t going to jeopardize that for someone like her. Not when the only thing she had to offer him was a physical release, no matter how explosive.


Maybe there was emotion, even love, on her part, but on Peyton’s? Never. There hadn’t been when they were teenagers—he hadn’t been able to get out of her bedroom fast enough, and his antagonism toward her for the rest of the school year had been worse than ever—and not now, either. This morning he’d said nothing about last night, had only wondered what today’s lesson would be, as if their making love hadn’t changed anything. Because it hadn’t changed anything. At least, not for him.

Nerves tumbled through her midsection as she surveyed herself in the mirror one last time. On the upside, the fund-raiser tonight was one of the biggest ones held in Chicago, so there was an excellent chance she and Peyton wouldn’t run into anyone from the Emerson Academy. On the downside, the fund-raiser tonight was one of the biggest ones held in Chicago, so there was an excellent chance she and Peyton would run into everyone from the Emerson Academy.

Maybe if she wore a pair of those gorgeous, gemstone-encrusted Chanel sunglasses...

She immediately pushed the idea away. Not only was it déclassé to wear sunglasses to a society function—unless it involved a racetrack or polo match—she couldn’t afford to add any more accessories. As it was, the form-fitting gold Marchesa gown, along with the blue velvet Escada pumps, clutch and shawl, and the Bulgari sapphire necklace, were going to set her back enough that she would have to exist on macaroni and cheese until July. Still, she thought as she turned to view the plunging back of the dress and the perfect French twist she’d managed for her hair, she looked pretty smashing if she did say so herself.

When she stepped out of the fitting room to find Lucy waiting for her, Ava could tell by her look of approval that she agreed.

“You know, I didn’t think the blue shoes and clutch were going to work,” the salesclerk said, “but with that necklace, it all comes together beautifully. I guess that’s why you’re the big boss.”

Well, you could take the girl out of society, but you couldn’t take society out of the girl. Not that some of her former friends hadn’t tried.

The thought made her stomach roil. She really, really, really hoped she didn’t see anyone she knew tonight.

“I have to go,” she said. “Thank you again for working so many hours this week. I’ll make it up to you.”

“You already have,” Lucy told her with a grin. “You’ve made it up to me time and time and a half again.”

Ava grinned back. “Don’t spend it frivolously.”

Not the way Ava had spent so frivolously with this outfit. She wished she’d had the foresight to charge Peyton for expenses.

“Have fun tonight!” Lucy called as Ava made her way to the door. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”

Not to worry, Ava assured her friend silently. She’d already done that. By falling in love with a man who would never, ever love her back.