My Fair Billionaire

“What are you doing now? I remember you wanted to go to Wellesley. You were going to major in art or something.”

She couldn’t believe he remembered her top college choice. She’d almost forgotten it herself. She hadn’t allowed herself to think about things like that once the family fortune evaporated. Although Ava had been smart, she’d been a lazy student. Why worry about grades when she had parents with enough money and connections to ensure admission into any school she wanted? The only reason she’d been accepted at her tony private school in Milwaukee was that she’d tested so high on its entry exam.

How was she supposed to tell Peyton she’d ended up studying business at a community college? Not that she hadn’t received a fine education, but it was a far cry from the hallowed halls of academia for which she’d originally aimed.

“English,” she said evasively. “I wanted to major in English.”

He nodded. “Right. So where’d you end up going?”

“Wisconsin,” she said, being deliberately vague. Let him think she was talking about the university, not the state.

He arched his brows in surprise. “University of Wisconsin? Interesting choice.”

“The University of Wisconsin has an excellent English department,” she said. Which was true. She just hadn’t been a part of it herself. Nor had she lied to Peyton, she assured herself. She never said she went to University of Wisconsin. He’d just assumed, the same way he’d made lots of other assumptions about her. Why correct him? He’d be out of her life in a matter of minutes.

“And now you own a clothing store,” he said. “Good to see you putting that English degree to good use. Then again, it’s not like you actually work there, is it? Now that I think about it, I guess English is a good major for an heiress. Seeing as you don’t have to earn a living like the rest of us working stiffs.”

Ava bit her tongue instead of defending herself. She still had a tiny spark of pride that prohibited her from telling him the truth about her situation. Okay, there was that, and also the fear that he would gloat relentlessly once he found out how she’d gone from riches to rags.

“Have you finished your coffee?” she asked. It was the most polite way she knew how to say beat it.

He looked down into his mug. “Yeah. I’m finished.”

But he made no move to leave. Ava studied him again, considering everything she had learned. He’d achieved all his success in barely a decade’s time. She’d been out of school almost as long as he, but she was still struggling to make ends meet. And she would consider herself ambitious. Yet he’d gone so much further in the same length of time. That went beyond ambitious. That was...

Well, that was Peyton.

Still, she never would have guessed his stratospheric status had he not told her. When she’d removed his jacket and shoes last night, she had noted their manufacturers—it was inescapable in her line of work. Both could have been purchased in any department store. His hair was shorter than it had been in high school, but he didn’t look as if he’d paid a fortune for the cut, the way most men in his position would. He might be worth almost a billion dollars now—and don’t think that realization didn’t stop her heart a little—but he didn’t seem to be living any differently than any other man.

But then, Peyton wasn’t the kind of guy to put on airs, either.

When he stood, he hesitated, as if he wanted to say something. But he went to the kitchen without a word. She heard him rinse his cup and set it in the drainer, then move back to her bedroom. When he emerged, he was wearing his shoes and jacket, but his necktie hung loose from his collar. He looked like a man who’d had too much to drink the night before and slept in a bed other than his own. But even that couldn’t detract from his appeal.

And there was the hell of it. Peyton did still appeal. He appealed to something deep inside Ava that had lain dormant for too long, something she wasn’t sure would ever be able to resist him. Thankfully, that part of her wasn’t the dominant part. She could resist Peyton Moss. Provided he left now and never came back.

For a moment, they only gazed at each other in silence. There were so many things Ava wanted to say, so many things she wanted him to know. About what had happened to her family that long-ago summer and how her senior year had changed her. About the life she led now. But she couldn’t find the words. Everything came out sounding self-pitying or defensive or weak. She couldn’t tolerate the idea of Peyton thinking she was any of those things.

Finally—thankfully—he ended the silence. “Thanks, Ava, for...for making sure I didn’t spend last night in an alley somewhere.”

“I’m sure you would have done the same for me.”

He neither agreed nor disagreed. He only made his way to the front door, opened it and stepped over the threshold. She thought for a moment that he was going to leave without saying goodbye, the way he had sixteen years ago. But as he started to pull the door closed, he turned and looked at her.

“It was...interesting...seeing you again.”

Yes, it had certainly been that.

“Goodbye, Peyton,” she said. “I’m glad you’re—” What? she asked herself. Finally, because she knew too long a hesitation would make her look insincere, she finished, “Doing well. I’m glad you’re doing well.”

“Yeah, doing well,” he muttered. “I’m sure as hell that.”

The comment was curious. He sounded kind of sarcastic, but why would he think otherwise? He had everything he’d striven to achieve. Before she could say another word, however, the door closed with a soft click. And then, as he had been sixteen years ago, Peyton was gone.

And he hadn’t said goodbye.

Three

It wasn’t often that Ava heard a man’s voice in Talk of the Town. So when it became clear that the rich baritone coming from beyond her office door didn’t belong to anyone delivering mail or freight, her concentration was pulled from next month’s employee schedule to the sales floor instead. Particularly when she recognized the man’s voice as Peyton’s.

No sooner did recognition dawn, however, than Lucy, one of her full-time salesclerks, poked her dark head through the office door. “There’s a man out here looking for you, Ava,” she said, adjusting her little black glasses. “A Mr. Moss? He seemed surprised when I told him you were here.” She lowered her voice as she added, “He was kind of fishing for your phone number. Which of course I would never give out.” She smiled and lowered her voice to a stage whisper. “You might want to come out and talk to him. He’s pretty yummy.”

Ava sighed inwardly. Clearly, Peyton hadn’t lost his ability to go from zero to sixty on the charm scale in two seconds flat.

What was he doing here? Five days had passed since their exchange in her apartment, not one of which had ended without her thinking about all the things she wished she’d said to him. She’d always promised herself—and karma—that if she ever ran into any of her former classmates from Emerson whom she had mistreated as a teenager, she would apologize and do whatever it took to make amends. It figured that when fate finally threw one of her former victims into her path, it would start with the biggie.

So why hadn’t she tried to make amends on Saturday? Why hadn’t she apologized? Why had she instead let him think she was still the same vain, shallow, snotty girl she’d been in high school?

Okay, here was a second chance to put things to right, she told herself. Even if she wasn’t sure how to make up for her past behavior, the least she could do was apologize.

“Actually, Lucy, why don’t you show him into the office instead?”

Lucy’s surprise was obvious. Ava never let anyone but employees see the working parts of the boutique. The public areas of the store were plush and opulent, furnished with gilded Louis Quatorze tables and velvet upholstered chairs, baroque chandeliers and Aubusson carpets—reproductions, of course, but all designed to promote the same air of sumptuousness the designer clothes afforded her clients. The back rooms were functional and basic. Her office was small and cluttered, the computer and printer the only things that could be called state-of-the-art. The floor was concrete, the walls were cinder block, the ceiling was foam board and nothing was pretty.

Lucy’s head disappeared from the door, but her voice trailed behind her. “You can go back to the office. It’s right through there.”

Ava swiped a hand over the form-fitting jaguar-print dress she had donned that morning—something new from Yves Saint Laurent she’d wanted to test for comfort and wearability. She had just tucked a stray strand of auburn back into her French twist when Peyton appeared in the doorway, dwarfing the already tiny space.

He looked even better than he had the last time she saw him. His hair was deliciously wind tossed, and his whiskey-colored eyes were clearer. He’d substituted the rumpled suit of Saturday morning with faded jeans and a weathered leather jacket that hung open over a baggy chocolate-brown sweater. Battered hiking boots replaced the businesslike loafers.

He looked more like he had in high school. At least, the times in high school when she’d run into him outside of Emerson. Even in his school uniform, though, Peyton had managed to look different from the other boys. His shirttail had always hung out, his shoes had always been scuffed, his necktie had never been snug. Back then, she’d thought he was just a big slob. But now she suspected he’d deliberately cultivated his look to differentiate himself from the other kids at Emerson. Nowadays, she didn’t blame him.

He said nothing at first, only gazed at her the way he had on Saturday, as if he couldn’t quite believe she was real. Gradually he relaxed, and even went so far as to lean against the doorjamb and shove his hands into the pockets of his jeans. Somehow, though, Ava sensed he was striving for a nonchalance he didn’t really feel.

“Hi,” he finally said.

“Hi yourself.”

She tried to be as detached as he was, but she felt the same way she had Saturday—as if she were in high school again. As if she needed to shoulder the mantle of rich bitch ice princess to protect herself from the barbs she knew would be forthcoming. She was horrified by the thought—horrified that the girl she used to be might still be lurking somewhere inside her. She never wanted to be that person again. She never would be that person again. In spite of that, something about Peyton made the haughty teenager bubble up inside her.

Silence descended for an awkward moment. Then Peyton said, “You surprised me, being here. I came into the shop to see if anyone working knew where I could find you. I didn’t expect you to actually be here.”

Because he didn’t think she actually worked here, Ava recalled, battling the defensiveness again. She told herself not to let his comment get to her and reminded herself to make amends. The best way to do that was to be the person she was now, not the person she used to be.

“I’m here more often than you might think,” she said—sidestepping the truth again.

Then again, one couldn’t exactly hurry the appeasement of karma. It was one thing to make amends for past behaviors. It was another to spill her guts to Peyton about everything that happened to her family and admit how she’d ended up in the same position he’d been in in high school, and now she was really, really sorry for how she had behaved all those years. That wasn’t really necessary, was it? To go into all that detail? A woman was entitled to some secrets. And Ava wasn’t sure she could bear Peyton’s smug satisfaction after he learned about it. Or, worse, if he displayed the same kind of fake pity so many of her former so-called friends did.

Oh, Ava, they would say whenever she ran into them. Has your poor father gotten out of prison yet? No? Darling, how do you stand the humiliation? We must meet for lunch sometime, get you out of that dreary store where you have to work your fingers to the bone. I’ll call you.