MY FAIR BILLIONAIRE by Elizabeth Bevarly Read Free Book Online Page B

frowned. “Ava, I didn’t get where I am today by studying etiquette books or comporting myself—whatever the hell that is. I did it by knowing what I want and going after it.”
    “And that’s obviously worked in the past,” she agreed. “But you admitted yourself that you’ll have to operate differently with the Montgomerys. That means using a new rule book.”
    “I like my rule book just fine.”
    “Then do your takeover your way.”
    Why was he here? she asked herself again. This was an odd conversation to be having with him. Still, they were getting along. Kind of. Maybe she should just go with the flow.
    He growled something unintelligible under his breath, but if she had to wager a guess, she’d bet it was more of that profanity he was supposed to be keeping under wraps.
    His voice gentled some. “All I’m saying is that this guy doesn’t know me from Adam, and he has no idea what’s going to work for me and what isn’t. I need to work with someone who can, you know, smooth my rough edges without sawing them off.”
    Okay, she was starting to understand. He wanted to see if she could recommend another stylist for him. Since she owned a shop like Talk of the Town, he figured she had connections in the business that might help him out.
    “There are several stylists in Chicago who are very good,” she said. “Some of them bring their clients to me.” She reached for a binder filled with business cards she’d collected over the years. “Just give me a minute to find someone whose personality jibes with yours.”
    Ha. As if. There wasn’t a human being alive whose personality jibed with Peyton’s. Peyton was too larger-than-life. The best she could hope for was to find someone who wasn’t easily intimidated. Hmm...maybe that guy who worked with the Bears before their last Super Bowl appearance. He’d had to have a couple of teeth replaced, but still...
    Peyton placed his hand over hers before she had a chance to open the binder. She tried to ignore the ruffle of butterflies in her midsection. Ha. As if.
    His voice seemed to come from a very great distance when he spoke again. “No, Ava, you don’t understand. Anyone you recommend is going to be in the same boat as Henry Higgins. They won’t know me. They won’t have any idea what to do with me.”
    She said nothing for a moment, only gazed at his hand covering hers, noting how it was twice the size of her own, how much rougher and darker, how his nails were blunt and square alongside her smooth, taupe-lacquered ovals. Their hands were so different from each other. So why did they fit together so well? Why did his touch feel so...right?
    Reluctantly, she pulled her hand from beneath his and moved it to her lap. “Then why are you...”
    The moment her gaze connected with his again, she began to understand. Surely, he wasn’t suggesting... There was no way he... It was ludicrous to even think... He couldn’t want her to be his stylist.
    Could he?
    She was his lifelong nemesis. He’d said so himself. Not to her face, but to a friend of his. She’d overhead the two of them talking as they came out of the boys’ restroom near her locker at Emerson. The seniors had been studying Romeo and Juliet, and she’d heard him say that the Montagues and Capulets had nothing on the Mosses and Brenners. He’d told his friend that he and Ava would be enemies forever. Then he’d ordered a plague on her house.
    Very carefully, she asked, “Peyton, why exactly are you here?”
    He leaned forward in the chair, hooking his hands together between his legs. His gaze never leaving hers, he said, “Exactly? I’m here because I didn’t know where else to go. There aren’t many people left in this city who remember me—”
    Oh, she sincerely doubted that.
    “And there are even fewer I care about seeing.”
    That she could definitely believe.
    “And I’m not supposed to go back to San Francisco until I’m, um—” he made a restless gesture with his hand,