mean,” he said, “that you...that I...that we...” He blew out an irritated breath, sat up straighter, and looked her straight in the eye. “Look, Ava, I know we were never the best of friends...” Even if we were—for one night, anyway—lovers, he couldn’t help thinking. Hoping she wasn’t thinking that, too. Figuring she probably was. Not sure how he felt about any of it. “But I obviously need help with this new and improved me, and I’m not going to get it from some total stranger. I don’t know anyone here who could help me except you. Because you’re the only one here who knows me.”
“I did know you,” she corrected him. “When we were in high school. Neither of us is the person we were then.”
There was something in her voice that made Peyton hesitate. Although it was true that in a lot of ways he wasn’t the person he’d been in high school, Ava obviously still was. Maybe the adult wasn’t quite as snotty, vain or superficial as the girl had been, but she could still put a guy in his place. She was still classy. She was still beautiful. She was still out of his league. Hell, she hadn’t changed at all.
“So will you do it?” he asked, deliberately not giving her time to think it over.
She thought it over anyway. Dammit. Her gaze never left his, but he could almost hear the crackling of her brain synapses as she connected all the dots and came to her conclusions. He was relieved when she finally smiled.
Until she asked, “How much does the position pay?”
His mouth fell open. “Pay?”
She nodded. “Pay. Surely you were paying your previous stylist.”
“Well, yeah, but that was his job.”
She shrugged. “And your point would be?”
He didn’t know what his point was. He’d just figured Ava would help him out. He hadn’t planned on her being mercenary about it.
Wow. She really hadn’t changed since high school.
“Fine,” he said coolly. “I’ll pay you what I was paying him.” He named the figure, one that was way too high to pay anyone for telling people how to dress and talk and eat.
Ava shook her head. “No, you’ll have to do better than that.”
“What?”
“Peyton, if you want to make use of my expertise in this matter, then I expect to be compensated accordingly.”
Of course she did. Ava Brenner never did anything unless she was compensated.
“Fine,” he said again. “How much do you charge for your expertise?”
She thought for another minute, then quoted a figure fifty percent higher than what he had offered.
“You’re nuts,” he told her. “You could build the Taj Mahal for that.”
She said nothing.
He offered her 10 percent more.
She said nothing.
He offered her 25 percent more.
She tilted her head to one side.
He offered her 40 percent more.
“All right,” she said with a satisfied smile.
“Great,” he muttered.
“Well, I didn’t want to be unreasonable.”
This time Peyton was the one who said nothing. But he suddenly realized it wasn’t because he was irritated with their lopsided bargaining—as if Ava was any kind of bargain. It was because it felt kind of good to be sparring with her again. He remembered now how, despite the antagonism of their exchanges in high school, he’d always come away from them feeling weirdly energized and satisfied. Although he still sparred with plenty of people these days, none ever left him feeling the way he’d felt taking on Ava.
“But Peyton, you’ll have to do things my way,” she said, pulling him out of his musing.
Peyton hated it when people told him they had to do things any way other than his own. He waited for the resentment and hostility that normally came along with such demands to coil inside him. Instead, he felt strangely elated.
“All right,” he conceded. “We’ll do this your way.”
She grinned. He told himself it was smugly. But damned if she didn’t look kind of happy to have taken on the task, too.
Four
S carcely an hour after Ava agreed to be
“I did know you,” she corrected him. “When we were in high school. Neither of us is the person we were then.”
There was something in her voice that made Peyton hesitate. Although it was true that in a lot of ways he wasn’t the person he’d been in high school, Ava obviously still was. Maybe the adult wasn’t quite as snotty, vain or superficial as the girl had been, but she could still put a guy in his place. She was still classy. She was still beautiful. She was still out of his league. Hell, she hadn’t changed at all.
“So will you do it?” he asked, deliberately not giving her time to think it over.
She thought it over anyway. Dammit. Her gaze never left his, but he could almost hear the crackling of her brain synapses as she connected all the dots and came to her conclusions. He was relieved when she finally smiled.
Until she asked, “How much does the position pay?”
His mouth fell open. “Pay?”
She nodded. “Pay. Surely you were paying your previous stylist.”
“Well, yeah, but that was his job.”
She shrugged. “And your point would be?”
He didn’t know what his point was. He’d just figured Ava would help him out. He hadn’t planned on her being mercenary about it.
Wow. She really hadn’t changed since high school.
“Fine,” he said coolly. “I’ll pay you what I was paying him.” He named the figure, one that was way too high to pay anyone for telling people how to dress and talk and eat.
Ava shook her head. “No, you’ll have to do better than that.”
“What?”
“Peyton, if you want to make use of my expertise in this matter, then I expect to be compensated accordingly.”
Of course she did. Ava Brenner never did anything unless she was compensated.
“Fine,” he said again. “How much do you charge for your expertise?”
She thought for another minute, then quoted a figure fifty percent higher than what he had offered.
“You’re nuts,” he told her. “You could build the Taj Mahal for that.”
She said nothing.
He offered her 10 percent more.
She said nothing.
He offered her 25 percent more.
She tilted her head to one side.
He offered her 40 percent more.
“All right,” she said with a satisfied smile.
“Great,” he muttered.
“Well, I didn’t want to be unreasonable.”
This time Peyton was the one who said nothing. But he suddenly realized it wasn’t because he was irritated with their lopsided bargaining—as if Ava was any kind of bargain. It was because it felt kind of good to be sparring with her again. He remembered now how, despite the antagonism of their exchanges in high school, he’d always come away from them feeling weirdly energized and satisfied. Although he still sparred with plenty of people these days, none ever left him feeling the way he’d felt taking on Ava.
“But Peyton, you’ll have to do things my way,” she said, pulling him out of his musing.
Peyton hated it when people told him they had to do things any way other than his own. He waited for the resentment and hostility that normally came along with such demands to coil inside him. Instead, he felt strangely elated.
“All right,” he conceded. “We’ll do this your way.”
She grinned. He told himself it was smugly. But damned if she didn’t look kind of happy to have taken on the task, too.
Four
S carcely an hour after Ava agreed to be
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