Sexy As Sin (Filthy Rich 2)

“Because I like clothes,” she said, picking up a razor and tidying the edge of my beard. “I like the colors and the shapes. I like to put them together and be creative about it. I like it when people look good, that moment when they put on an outfit and it makes them feel fabulous. I love that moment. It’s my favorite thing.”

It was an honest answer. Ava was brittle and tough, snarky and independent, but deep down she was this woman: sweet, smart, passionate about her work. “You shouldn’t live in New York,” I said.

“Oh, really? And why not?”

“Because it’s full of assholes, just like the fashion business.”

She huffed a breath, which I felt against my neck. The sensation tingled all the way down my spine. “I’m very happy with my life, thank you,” she said.

“No, you’re not.” I knew her so well—so fucking well. And the more time I spent with the new Ava, the more I could read her, just like I used to read the old one. “You hate your life.”

“That’s not true.”

“Isn’t it? Name one thing you like about it, then.”

She dropped her hands and glared at me. “Are you trying to be a jerk, or does it just shine through?”

I tilted my chin down. “Name one thing,” I said. “Go ahead.”

She put a finger on my jaw. “Turn to the right.” When I turned, she picked up the scissors again and snipped for a silent minute, and I knew she was thinking. “In New York, I don’t have to trim the beards of angry bear-men,” she said. “How’s that?”

“I’m not a bear-man. I just don’t like people much.”

“You like Chicago so much?” she shot back. “You know I hate this city. And it’s cold as balls in winter, which lasts like eight months.”

“I’m not always in Chicago,” I admitted.

“What does that mean? I know you don’t travel to make deals.”

“I don’t. I barely do deals at all, which makes me wonder why the other partners put up with me. But you’re right, the city gets to me sometimes. That’s why I have a house on Long Island.”

The scissors paused. “You do? Since when?”

“Since about three years ago.” I glanced at her, watching how her perfect brows frowned between her brown eyes. “It’s a beach place near the Hamptons, but it isn’t one of the showy, expensive ones. It’s just… nice.”

“Hmm.” The scissors started again. “You’ve never been a beach guy. Then again, you’ve always lived in Chicago.”

“This was an impulse, to tell the truth. My lawyer had a client who needed to sell it. To be honest, I bought it after only seeing a few pictures, and I never told anyone about it. Not even the other guys.”

“An entire house as an impulse buy, huh? That isn’t like you. So what happened when you went and saw it? Did you have buyer’s regret?”

I thought about the moment I’d first opened the front door, the way the tension had relaxed between my shoulder blades. “No regret at all. It’s one of the best things I ever did. I go out there every summer when I can get away. It’s a great place.”

I had no idea why I was telling her all of this. I hadn’t even told my closest friends, the men I thought of as my brothers. I hadn’t told the women I dated about the summer house, had never invited them there. The summer house was mine. It sounded weird to say it was a place I went to be alone, since I already spent most of my time alone. But it was.

“See, I’m a city girl,” Ava said. “I’d go stir crazy in the middle of nowhere. I need bars, theaters, clubs, all that good stuff. Lots of shopping. I’m not big on roughing it.”

Was she serious? “It’s Long Island, Ava. Not the Oregon Trail.”

“Whatever. Still not for me.” She put the scissors down, and she was avoiding my eyes, but I saw it: a shadow of hurt. What had hurt her? What the hell had I said?

But she looked up at me, and her eyes were bright again, the shadow of hurt gone. “All done,” she said. “You’re a little more presentable, except for the man bun.”

I said it for the dozenth time. “I’m not getting a haircut.”

“Right, angry bear-man. Let’s go eat raw fish.”

My phone rang in my pocket as we got out of the elevator in the parking garage and headed for the Lexus. It was Aidan.