My Fair Billionaire. Elizabeth Bevarly

obviously hadn’t heard how the Brenners of the Gold Coast had been reduced to a state of poverty and hardship that rivaled the one he’d escaped on the South Side. He didn’t know her father was still doing time in a federal prison for tax evasion, embezzlement and a string of other charges, because he’d had to support a drug-and-call-girl habit. He didn’t know her mother had passed away in a mental hospital after too many years of trying to cope with the anguish and ostracism brought on by her husband’s betrayal. He didn’t know how, before that, Colette Brenner had left Ava’s father and taken her to Milwaukee to finish high school, or that Ava had done so in a school much like Emerson—except that she had been the poor scholarship student looked down on by the ruling class of rich kids, the same way she had looked down on Peyton and his crowd at Emerson.

      Sometimes karma was a really mean schoolgirl.

      But that was all the more reason she didn’t want Peyton to know the truth now. She’d barely made a dent in her karmic debt. Spending her senior year of high school walking in the shoes of the students she’d treated so shabbily for years—being treated so shabbily herself—she had learned a major life lesson. It was only one reason she’d opened Talk of the Town: so that women who hadn’t had the same advantages in life that she’d taken for granted could have the chance to walk in the designer shoes of high society, if only for a little while.

      It was something she was sure Peyton would understand—if it came from anyone but Ava. If he found out what she’d gone through her senior year of high school, he’d mock her mercilessly. Not that she didn’t deserve it. But a person liked to have a little warning before she found herself in a situation like that. A person needed a little time to put on her protective armor. Especially a person who knew what a formidable force Peyton Moss could be.

      “There’s no one waiting for me at home,” she said softly in response to his question.

      Or anywhere else, for that matter. No one in her former circle of friends had wanted anything to do with her once she started living below the poverty line, and she’d stepped on too many toes outside that circle for anyone there to ever want to speak to her. Peyton would be no exception.

      When she looked up again, he was studying her with a scrutiny that made her uncomfortable. But all he said was, “So what did happen last night?”

      “You were in Basilio’s when I got there. I heard shouting in the bar and saw Dennis—he’s the bartender,” she added parenthetically, “talking to you. He suggested, um, that you might want a cup of coffee instead of another drink.”

      Instead of asking about the conversation, Peyton asked, “You know the bartender by name?”

      “Sure. And Basilio, the owner, and Marcus, the waiter who helped me get you to the car. I eat at that restaurant a lot.” It was the only one in the neighborhood she could afford when it came to entertaining potential clients and vendors. Not that she would admit that to Peyton.

      He nodded. “Of course you eat there a lot. Why cook for yourself when you can pay someone else do it?”

      Ava ignored the comment. Peyton really was going to believe whatever he wanted about her. It didn’t occur to him that sixteen years could mature a person and make her less shallow and more compassionate. Sixteen years evidently hadn’t matured him, if he was still so ready to think the worst of her.

      “Anyway,” she continued, “you took exception to Dennis’s suggestion that you’d had too much to drink—and you had had too much to drink, Peyton—and you got a little...belligerent.”

      “Belligerent?” he snapped. “I never get belligerent.”

      Somehow Ava refrained from comment.

      He seemed to realize what she was thinking, because he amended, “Anymore. It’s been a long time since I was belligerent with anyone.”

      Yeah, probably about sixteen years. Once he graduated from Emerson, all the targets of his belligerence—especially Ava Brenner—would have been out of his life.

      “Basilio was going to throw you out, but I...I mean, when I realized you were someone I knew...I...” She expelled a restless sound. “I told him you and I are... That we were—” Somehow, she managed not to choke on the words. “Old friends. And I offered to drive you home.”

      “And he let you?” Peyton asked. “He let you leave with some belligerent guy he didn’t know from Adam? Wow. I guess he really didn’t want to offend the regular cash cow.”

      Bristling, Ava told him, “He let me because you calmed down a lot after you recognized me. By the time Marcus and I got you into the car, you were actually being kind of nice. I know—hard to believe.”

      There. Take that, Mr. Belligerent Cow-Caller.

      “But once you were in the car,” she hurried on before he could comment, “you passed out. I didn’t have any choice but to bring you here. I roused you enough to get you into the apartment, but while I was setting up the coffee, you found your way to the bedroom and went out like a light again. I thought maybe you’d sleep it off in a few hours, but... Well. That didn’t happen.”

      “I’ve been working a lot the last few weeks,” he said shortly, “on a demanding project. I haven’t gotten much sleep.”

      “You were also blotto,” she reminded him. Mostly because the cow comment still stung.

      In spite of that, she wondered what kind of work he did and how he’d spent his life since they graduated. How long had he been in San Francisco? Was he married? Did he have children? Even as Ava told herself it didn’t matter, she was helpless not to glance at his left hand. No ring. No indentation or tan line to suggest one had ever been there. Not that that was any definer of status. Even if he wasn’t married, that didn’t mean there wasn’t a woman who was important in his life.

      Not that Ava cared about any of that. She didn’t. Really. All she cared about was getting him out of her hair. Getting him out of her apartment. Getting him out of her life.

      In spite of that, she heard herself ask, “So why are you back in Chicago?”

      He hesitated, as if he were trying to figure out how to reply. Finally, he said, “I’m here because my board of directors made me come.”

      Board of directors? she thought incredulously. He had a board of directors? “Board of directors?” she asked. “You have a board of directors?”

      The question sounded even worse coming out of her mouth than it had sitting in her head, where it had sounded pretty bad.

      Before she had a chance to apologize, Peyton told her—with a glare that could have boiled an ice cube, “Yeah, Ava. I have a board of directors. They’re part of the multimillion-dollar corporation of which I am chief shareholder, not to mention CEO. A company that’s named after me. On account of, in case I didn’t mention it, I own it.”

      Ava grew more astonished with every word he spoke. But her surprise wasn’t from the discovery that he was an enormous success—she’d always known Peyton could do or be whatever he wanted. She just hadn’t pegged him for becoming the corporate type. On the contrary, he’d always scorned the corporate world. He’d scorned anyone who strove to make lots of money. He’d despised people like the ones in Ava’s social circle. And now he was one of them?

      This time, however, she kept her astonishment to herself.

      At least, she thought she did, until he added, “You don’t have to look so shocked. I did have one or two redeeming qualities back in high school, not the least of which was a work ethic.”

      “Peyton, I didn’t mean—”

      “The hell you didn’t.” Before she could continue, he added, “In fact, Moss Holdings Incorporated is close to becoming a billion-dollar corporation. The only thing standing between me and those extra zeroes after my net worth is a little company in Mississippi called Montgomery and Sons. Except that it’s not owned by Montgomery or his sons anymore. They all died more than