MY FAIR BILLIONAIRE (7 page)

Caroline’s eyes fairly bugged out of her head. “She’s
married?
”

“I’m afraid so,” Ava told her. “And living in Reykjavik with her husband, Dagbjart, last I heard. Which was about two weeks ago.”

“But she gave me an address here in Chicago,” Caroline objected, as if that would negate everything Ava had said.

“On Astor Street?” Ava asked.

Caroline went to her desk and tapped a few keys on a laptop sitting atop it. It was then that Peyton realized all the information on his pages was nonidentifying statistics such as age, education, occupation and interests. “Yes,” the matchmaker said without looking up.

“That’s her parents’ place,” Ava replied. “She does come home to visit fairly often.”

The matchmaker looked at Ava incredulously. “But why would she apply with a Chicago matchmaker if she’s happily married and living in...um, where is Reykjavik?”

“Iceland,” Peyton and Ava said in unison.

The matchmaker looked even more confused. “Why would she apply with Attachments if she’s married and living in Iceland?”

When Peyton looked at Ava, she seemed to be trying very hard not to grin. A smug grin, too, if he wasn’t mistaken. He knew that because she wasn’t doing a very good job fighting it.

“Well,” she began smugly, “maybe Vicki’s not as happily married as ol’ Dagbjart would like to think. And ol’ Dagbjart is, well, ol’,” she added. “He was seventy-six when Vicki married him. He must be pushing ninety by now. The Havertys have always been known for marrying into families even wealthier than they are, but clearly Vicki underestimated that Scandinavian life expectancy. Did you know men in Iceland live longer than men in any other country?”

The matchmaker said nothing in response to that. Neither did Peyton, for that matter. What could he say? Other than,
Hey, Caroline, way to go on the background checks.

The matchmaker finally seemed to remember she was with a client who was paying her a crapload of money to find him a mate—a mate who wasn’t already married, by the way—and returned to the sofa to snatch the folder out of Peyton’s hands and replace it with another. “An honest mistake,” she said. “I’m sure you’ll like this one even better.”

He opened that folder to find another sheet of vital statistics affixed to another four-by-six glossy, this time of a woman who wasn’t quite as breathtaking, amazing or incredible as the first, but who was still beautiful, gorgeous and dazzling. She, too, had auburn hair, a few shades lighter than the first, and eyes so clear a blue, they could have only been enhanced with Photoshop. Still, even without retouching, the woman was stunning.

“This young woman,” Caroline said, “is the absolute cream of Chicago society. One of her ancestors helped found the Chicago Mercantile Exchange and her father is on the Chicago Board of Trade. Her mother’s family are the Lauderdales, who own the Lauderdale department store chain, among other things. She herself has two college degrees, one in business and one in fashion design. Her name is...”

The matchmaker hesitated, glancing over at Ava.

As if taking the cue, Ava looked at Peyton and said, “Roxy Mittendorf. Roxanne,” she corrected herself when Caroline looked as if she would take exception. “But she went by Roxy when we were kids.”

Now Ava was the one to hesitate, as if she were weighing whether or not to say more. Finally, the weight fell, and she added, “At least until after that college spring break trip, when she came home with the clap. Then people started calling her Doxy. I’m not sure if that’s because they thought she was, you know, a doxy, or because her doctor prescribed doxycycline to treat it.” She brightened. “But I guess that’s really neither here nor there, is it? I mean, it’s not like she still has the clap. At least, I don’t think that’s one that flares up again, is it?”

She traded glances with both Peyton and Caroline, and when neither of them commented, she evidently felt it necessary to add, “Well,
I
never called her Doxy. I didn’t even find out about the clap thing until after graduation.”

Peyton closed the file folder and handed it back to Caroline without comment. Caroline fished for the third in her lap and exchanged it for the second one. When he opened this one he found—taa-daa!—another redheaded beauty, this one with eyes a lighter blue that might actually occur in nature. Interesting that the matchmaker was three for three with regard to red hair.

When he glanced back at Caroline, she seemed to sense his thoughts, because she said, “Well, you did indicate you had a preference for redheads. And also green eyes, but except for that first, all my other candidates for you have blue eyes. Still, not so very different, right?”

For some reason—Peyton couldn’t imagine why—they both looked over at Ava. Ava with her dark red hair and green, green eyes.

“What?” she asked innocently.

“Nothing,” Peyton said, grateful she hadn’t made the connection.

Had he actually stated on his application that he had a preference for green-eyed redheads? He honestly couldn’t remember. Then again, he’d been on the jet heading to Chicago at the time, surrounded by a ton of work he’d wanted to finish before his arrival. He’d only been half paying attention to how he was answering the questions. He thought about several of the women he had dated in the past and was surprised to realize that most of them had been redheads. Odd. He liked all women. He didn’t care if their hair was blond, brown, red or purple, or what color eyes they had, or what their ethnic, educational or economic origins were. If they were smart, funny and beautiful, if they made him feel good when he was with them, that was all he cared about. So why had he dated so many redheads? Especially when redheads were such a minority?

Instead of looking where he wanted to look just then, he turned his attention to his third prospective date. Before Caroline had a chance to say a word, he held up the photo to show Ava. “Do you know her?”

Ava looked almost guilty. “I do, actually. But you know her, too. She went to Emerson with us. She was in my grade.”

Peyton looked at the photo again. The woman was in no way familiar. Which was weird, because a girl that pretty he would have remembered. “Are you sure? I don’t remember her at all.”

“Well, you should,” Ava said. “You two played hockey together for three years.”

He shook his head. “That’s not possible. There weren’t any girls on the Emerson hockey team.”

“No, there weren’t.”

Understanding dawned on him then. Dawned like a good, solid blow to the back of the head. He looked at the photo again, shortening the hair and blunting the features a bit. “Oh, my God,” he finally said. “Is that Nick Boorman?”

“Nicolette,” Ava corrected him. “She goes by Nicolette now.”

Peyton closed the folder and handed it back to Caroline. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that,” he said. “But it would just be kind of, um...”

“Awkward,” Ava whispered helpfully.

“Yeah.”

Caroline took the folder from him and tucked it under the other two candidates that were a no-go. But she was looking at Ava when she did it. “Who
are
you?” she asked.

Ava shrugged. “I’m just Mr. Moss’s
assistant.
”

Caroline didn’t look anywhere near convinced. She lifted the last of her folders defiantly. She spoke not to Peyton this time, but to Ava. “
This
candidate has only lived in Chicago for four years. She’s originally from Miami. Do you have any friends or family in Miami, Ms. Brenner? Any connection to that city at all?”

Ava shook her head. “No, I don’t.”

Caroline opened the folder and showed the photo to Ava before allowing Peyton to look at it. “Do you know this woman?”

Ava shook her head again. “I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting her. Yet,” she added, seemingly pointedly.

“Good,” Caroline said. She turned to Peyton and finally allowed him to view the file. “This is Francesca Stratton. She started off as a software developer but is now the CEO of her own company. Her father is a neurosurgeon in Coral Gables, and her mother is a circuit court judge for the state of Florida. Their lineage in that state goes back six generations.
And
she’s a distant cousin to King Juan Carlos of Spain.”

Now Caroline looked at Ava, as if daring her to come up with something that might challenge the woman’s pedigree. When Ava only smiled benignly, the matchmaker continued, “Peyton, I think you and she would be perfect for each other.”

He tried not to think about how Caroline had considered the three candidates ahead of Francesca more perfect, and instead took the file to look over the rest of the woman’s particulars. He liked that she had built her own company, the way he had, and her knowledge of computers and software design could definitely come in handy with regard to his own work. She was outdoorsy—she cited a love of scuba diving, rock climbing and horseback riding. She preferred nonfiction over fiction, rock and roll over any other music, eating out over eating in. And she was a fan of both the Florida Panthers and Chicago Blackhawks. There wasn’t a single thing in her vitals to dissuade him from agreeing with Caroline. She really did seem perfect for him.

So why wasn’t he more excited about the prospect of meeting her?

A movement to his left caught his eye, and he found Ava trying to read the file from where she sat. Instead of making her work for it, he handed it to her.

“What do you think?” he asked as she turned to the final page.

“Ivy League–educated, accomplished pianist, member of the United States Dressage Federation, one of Chicago’s One Hundred Women Making a Difference. What’s not to love?”

Funny, but she didn’t sound as though she loved Francesca.

“So on the Jackie Kennedy scale,” he said, “where do you think she’d fall?”

Ava closed the file and returned it to the matchmaker. “Well, if Jackie Kennedy were a young woman today, I think she’d be a lot like Francesca Stratton.”

“So...maybe eight?”

With what sounded like much resignation and little satisfaction, she said, “Ten.”

That was exactly what Peyton wanted to hear. So why was he disappointed hearing it?

In spite of his reaction, he turned to Caroline and said, “Sounds like we have a winner. When can you set something up?”

The matchmaker looked both relieved and happy. “Let me contact Francesca to see what works for her, and I’ll get back to you. What evenings work best for you?”

“Just about any evening is fi—” Peyton started to say. But the delicate clearing of a throat to his left him kept him from finishing.

He looked over at Ava, who was shaking her head.

“What?” he asked.

“You said you didn’t think you were ready to meet any of your prospective dates just yet,” she reminded him.

“No, you said that.”

“And you agreed. We still have several lessons we need to go over.”

He said nothing. He had agreed. And really, he didn’t mind that much putting off the meeting. Odd, since he really did want to get out of Chicago and back to San Francisco. Maybe he hadn’t felt as antsy over the past few days as he had when he’d first arrived, but he did need to get back to the West Coast soon. So he and Ava needed to wrap things up pronto.

“How long do you think we’ll need to get me through them?” he asked. And for some really bizarro reason, he found himself hoping she would tell him it would be weeks and weeks and weeks.

Instead, she told him, “Another week, at least.”

“So maybe by the weekend after this one?”

She looked as if she wanted to say,
No, it will be weeks and weeks and weeks.
Instead, she replied, “Um, sure. If we work hard, and if you follow the rules,” she added meaningfully, “then we can probably get you where you need to be by then.”

Following the rules. Not his favorite thing to do. Still, if it would get him a date with a modern-day Jackie Kennedy...

He turned to Caroline again. “How about next Friday or Saturday if she’s available?”

Caroline jotted the dates down on the top of the file folder. “I’m reasonably certain that one of those days will be fine. I’ll let you know which one after I’ve spoken to Francesca.”

Great,
he thought without much enthusiasm. “Great!” he said with much enthusiasm.

He stood, with Ava quickly following suit, thanked Caroline for all her work, and they both started to make their way to the door. They halted, however, when the matchmaker called Ava’s name.

“Ms. Brenner,” she said tentatively, “you, ah...you wouldn’t happen to be looking for a job, would you? Something part-time that wouldn’t interfere with your work as Peyton’s assistant? You’d be an enormous asset to us here at Attachments, Inc.”

Looking a little startled, Ava replied, “Um, no. But thank you.”

Peyton told Caroline, “The reason Ava knew all those women is because she moves in the same social circles they do. Her family is loaded. She doesn’t have to work.” Unable to help himself, he added, “Never mind that she’s bleeding me dry for being my
assistant
at the moment.”

Caroline suddenly looked way more interested in Ava than she had when Ava was just a prospective part-timer. Funny, though, how Ava suddenly looked kind of panicky.

“I see,” the matchmaker said. “Well then, maybe
I
could help
you.
Introduce you to a nice man who has the same set of values you have?”

In other words, Peyton translated, a nice man who had the same
value
that Ava had.
Cha-ching.
For some reason, he suddenly felt kind of panicky, too.

“What do you say, Ava?” the matchmaker added. And it wasn’t lost on Peyton that she had switched to the first-name basis she evidently only used with her clients, not to mention the almost genuinely warm smile. “Would you like to fill out an application while you’re here?”

Ava smiled back, but somehow looked even more alarmed. “Thank you, Caroline, but I’m really not in the market right now.”

Her response made Peyton wonder again if she was seriously involved with someone, and if that was why she wasn’t currently in the market. During the week the two of them had spent together, she had never said anything that made him think there was a significant other in her life, and she seemed to have plenty of time on her hands if she was able to work with him every day. Call him crazy, but he didn’t think a guy who had a woman like Ava waiting for him at home—hell, who had
Ava
waiting for him at home—would be too happy about her spending so much time with another guy. If Peyton had Ava waiting at home for him, he’d sure as hell never—