My Fair Billionaire(39)
Author: Elizabeth Bevarly

Catherine looked flummoxed by Ava’s graciousness. Anyone else might have, if not apologized, at least backed off. But not a queen bee like Catherine. Once again, she recovered her sovereignty quickly.

“And your father?” she asked. “Will he be coming up for parole any time in the near future?”

“Four years,” Ava said with equanimity. “Do give my regards to your father as well, won’t you?”

Even though Ava had had little regard for Mr. Bellamy since he’d cornered her at Catherine’s sweet sixteen party and invited her to his study for a cocktail and God knew what else.

Catherine narrowed her eyes in irritation that Ava was neither rising to the bait nor whittling down to a nub. Really, being polite and matter-of-fact was the perfect antidote to someone so poisonous. It drove Catherine mad when people she was trying to hammer down remained pleasantly upright instead.

“And it sounds like your little shop is just flourishing,” she continued tartly. “Why, Sophie Bensinger and I were talking just the other day about how many crass little interlopers we’ve been seeing at our functions lately. Like tonight, for instance,” she added pointedly. “All of them dressed in clothes they couldn’t possibly afford, so they had to be rented from your pretentious little shop.” She scanned Ava up and down. “I had no idea you were one of your own customers. And it is nice of you to clothe the needy, Ava, but honestly, couldn’t you do it somewhere else?”

“What, and miss running into all my old friends?” Ava replied without missing a beat.

Now Catherine turned to Peyton. Knowing there was no way to avoid it, Ava did, too. She told herself she was ready for anything when it came to his reaction—confused, angry, smug, even stung. But she wasn’t ready for a complete absence of reaction. His expression was utterly blank, as if he were meeting her for the first time and had no idea who she was. She could no more tell what he thought of everything he’d just heard than she could turn back time and start the evening over.

Where Catherine’s voice had been acid when she spoke to Ava, it oozed sweetness now. “Peyton, I’m sure you remember Ava Brenner from Emerson.” After a telling little chuckle, she added, “I mean, who could forget Ava? She ruled that school with an iron fist. None of us escaped her tyranny. Well, not until her father was arrested for stealing millions from the hedge funds he was supposed to be managing, not to mention the IRS, so that he could pay for his coc**ne and his whores. He even gave Ava’s mother syphilis, can you imagine? And herpes! Of course they took everything from him to pay his debts, right down to the Tiffany watch Ava’s grandmother gave her for her debut, one that had been in the family for generations. After that, Ava had to leave Chicago and go… Well. She went to live with others of her kind. In Milwaukee. You know the kind of people I’m talking about, Peyton, of course.”

As if Catherine feared he might not realize she was talking about the very sort of people he’d grown up among—but whom he’d had the good taste and cunningness to rise above—she shivered for effect. And so well had Ava taught him manners, Peyton hesitated only a microsecond before smiling. But his smile never reached his eyes. Then again, neither did Catherine’s. Or Chelsea’s. Or Deedee’s. Wow. Ava really had taught him well.

“Of course I remember Ava,” he said as he extended his hand. “It’s good to see you again.”

Ava tugged her arm free of Chelsea’s and placed her hand in his, trying to ignore how even that small touch made her stomach flip-flop. How even that small touch made her remember so many others and made her wish for so many things she knew she would never have. Before she could even get out a hello, Catherine chimed in again.

“Of course you remember Ava,” she echoed Peyton’s words. “How could you forget someone who treated you as atrociously as she treated you? And have I told you, Peyton, how very much I admire your many accomplishments since you graduated?”

Still looking at Ava, still holding her hand, still making her stomach flip-flop, he replied, “Yes, you have, Catherine. Several times, in fact.”

“Well, you have had so many accomplishments,” she gushed. “All of them so admirable. All of us at Emerson are so proud of you. Of course, we all saw your potential when you were a student there. We all knew you would rise above your, ah, meager beginnings and become an enormous success.” She looked at Ava. “Well, except for Ava. But then, look how she turned out. A criminal father and an unstable mother, and not a dime to her name.” She waved a hand negligently. “But there are so many nicer things to talk about. I’m sure she was on her way out. If not, we can find someone who will show her the way.”

For one taut, immeasurable moment, Ava thought—hoped—Peyton would come to her rescue and tell Catherine she was here as his guest. She even hoped he would ignore every lesson she’d taught him about manners and tell all of them that furthermore, they could all go do something to themselves that no gentleman would ever tell anyone to do. But she really had taught him well. Because all he did was release her hand and take a step backward, then lift his drink to his mouth for an idle sip.

A small breath of disappointment escaped her. Well, what had she expected? Not only was he behaving exactly the way he was supposed to—the way she had taught him to—but it wasn’t as though Ava didn’t deserve his dismissal. Back in high school, she would have done the same thing to him. She’d said herself that karma was a really mean schoolgirl. After all, it took one to know one.

Very softly, she said, “I can find my own way out, thank you, Catherine.” She turned to Peyton. “It really was nice to see you again, Peyton. Congratulations on your many admirable accomplishments.”

She was following her own lesson book, turning to make a polite exit, when she thought, What the hell? They weren’t in high school anymore. She didn’t have to stay on her side of the social line the way she had at Emerson. Nor did she have to silently suffer the barbs of bullies as she had at the Prewitt School. She wasn’t part of either society anymore. She was her own woman.

And this society had tossed her out on her keister sixteen years ago. She didn’t have to rely on them to further her business or her fortune. On the contrary, any success she saw would be because of people who were like her. People who hoped for something better but were doing their best with what they had in the meantime. People who didn’t think they were better than everyone else while behaving worse. Normal people. Real people. People who didn’t care about social lines or what might happen when they crossed them. care about social lines or crossing them.