Free MY FAIR BILLIONAIRE by Elizabeth Bevarly Page B

that she had stumbled over them. She couldn’t be thinking about the same thing he was.
    “Thanks,” he muttered, the word sounding in no way grateful.
    “You’re welcome,” she muttered back, the sentiment sounding in no way generous.
    When he opened his eyes, he saw Ava glaring at him. Worse, he knew he was glaring at her, too. Before either of them could say anything that might make the situation worse, he went back to the mirror. Mr. Endicott took that as his cue to start with the measuring and adjusting again. He made a few notations on a pad of paper, struck a few marks on the garment with a piece of chalk, stuck a few pins into other places and told Peyton to go try on the next suit.
    When he returned in that one, Ava was near the mirror draping a few more neckties onto a wooden valet. Upon his approach, she hurriedly finished, then strode to nearly the other side of the room. Jeez, it was as though anytime the two of them spent more than an hour in each other’s presence, a switch flipped somewhere that sent a disharmony ray shooting over them. What the hell was up with that?
    This time Peyton tied his own damned tie—though not with the expertise Ava had—then turned for her approval. Only to see her still riffling through some neckties on a table that she’d probably already riffled through.
    He cleared his throat to get her attention.
    She continued her necktie hunt.
    He turned back to the tailor. “This one is fine, too.”
    Out came the tape measure and chalk again. The ritual was performed twice more—including Peyton’s futile efforts to win Ava’s attention—until even the tuxedo was fitted. Only when he was stepping down from the platform in that extraformal monkey suit did Ava look up at him again. Only this time, she didn’t look away. This time, her gaze swept him from the top of his head to the tips of his shoes and back.
    He held his breath, waiting to see if she would smile.
    She didn’t. Instead she said, “I, um, I think that will do nicely.” Before Peyton had a chance to say thanks, she added, “But you need a haircut.”
    All Peyton could think was, Two steps forward, one step back. What the hell. He’d take it.
    “I’m guessing that’s somewhere on our to-do list?” he asked.
    She nodded. “This afternoon. I made an appointment for you at my salon. They’re fabulous.”
    “Your salon? ” he echoed distastefully. “What’s wrong with a barbershop?”
    “Nothing. If you’re a dockworker.”
    “Ava, I’ve never set foot in a salon. A record I plan to keep.”
    “But it’s unisex,” she said, as if that made everything okay.
    “I don’t care if it’s forbidden sex. Find me a good barber.”
    She opened her mouth to argue, but his unwillingness to bend on the matter must have shown in his expression. So she closed her mouth and said nothing. Not that that meant she would find him a barber. But at least they could bicker about it after they left the tailor’s.
    And why was he kind of looking forward to that?
    When it became obvious that neither of them was going to say more, Peyton made his way back to Endicott, who led him back to the fitting room.
    “Don’t worry, Mr. Moss,” the tailor said. “You’re doing fine.”
    Peyton looked up at that. “What?”
    “Miss Brenner,” Endicott said as he continued to walk, speaking over his shoulder. “She likes the suits. She likes the tuxedo even more.”
    “How can you tell?”
    The tailor simply grinned. “Don’t worry,” he repeated. “She likes you, too.”
    Peyton opened his mouth to reply, but no words emerged. Which was just as well, because Mr. Endicott continued walking, throwing up a hand to gesture him forward.
    “Come along, Mr. Moss. I still need to pin those trousers.”
    Sure thing, Peyton thought. Just as soon as he pinned some thoughts back into his brain.

Five
    A fter addressing Peyton’s wardrobe and hair, ah, challenges, Ava turned his attention to the appreciation of life’s finer