Chapter 11
Dane
“Have you ever done this before?” I asked, tilting my chin and looking up at the ceiling.
“Sure I have,” Ava said. “It isn’t hard. Stop talking.”
“Your boyfriends had you trim their beards?”
We were in my bathroom, me sitting on the counter with a towel around my neck, Ava standing between my knees with barber scissors in her hand. She was very, very close to me, and I could have sworn her breath was coming a little shallow. Then again, maybe I had a big ego and she was just mad.
“The guys I dated did not have me trim their beards,” she explained, making a few careful snips. “Mostly it was models on set, needing a last-minute adjustment.”
That was just great. Now I had the mental picture of Ava and some sweaty, half-naked model, a guy from one of the covers of the romance novels she liked so much. “You know a lot of models?” I asked, unable to help myself.
“Enough of them,” she said, her tone unimpressed. “They’re pretty, but the straight ones are flighty, and there isn’t a model alive who would date a stylist over a size four.”
I blinked at the ceiling, processing all of that for a second. I didn’t know what to say to any of it, so I said, “What the actual fuck?”
The scissors snipped again. “You know, when you talk you move your jaw,” Ava said. “Not really the effect I’m going for.”
I sighed as she snipped along the line of my jaw. My beard really was a mess; even I could admit that. But I rarely left my penthouse, I didn’t meet a lot of women, and I hadn’t expected Ava.
I might have trimmed my beard if I knew Ava was going to show up.
“Why are you in the fashion business?” I asked, ignoring her sigh of frustration as I talked again. “It sounds like it’s full of assholes.”
“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 rangin my pocket as we got out of the elevator in the parking garage and headed for the Lexus. It was Aidan.
“I want an update,” he said when I answered. “What’s happening?”
Right. Ava’s brother. My best friend. “What’s happening,” I said, catching Ava’s eye, “is that your sister is taking me to learn to like sushi.”
“Okada will like that,” Aidan said with approval. “He used to run a chain of sushi restaurants.”
“Why does everyone know that except me?”
“Probably because you only care about his software achievements, and not all the other ones. Are you and Ava getting along?”
“Are we getting along?” I asked, looking at Ava, trying not to think of the fact that I’d kissed her raw last night. In response, she flicked her skirt above her knee, kicked out her high-heeled foot, and leaned back onto the hood of my Lexus, stretching her arms out and arching her back like she was about to get sprayed with water in a 1980’s music video. “Take me, bear-man,” she said, trying to goad me.
I shook my head. “Sure, we’re getting along. As long as I feed her margaritas, she stops complaining.”
“Hey,” Ava said from the hood of my car.
“Okay,” Aidan said. “Sounds like things are going smoothly. What are you wearing?”
Jesus. “Sorry, dude, but you’re not my type.”
“You know what I mean, asshole. Has she dressed you?”
“For fuck’s sake,” was my answer. I held out the phone to Ava. “He wants to know what I’m wearing.”
Still lying on the car, she took the phone from me and put it to her ear. “Italian pants in dark charcoal, Italian shoes, leather belt with a brushed-suede finish, shirt from the Zegna collection that dropped two weeks ago. He’s supposed to be wearing the designer underwear I bought him, but I refuse to check. Oh, and I trimmed his beard.” She paused as Aidan asked a question. “No, he hasn’t had a haircut yet. I’ve achieved miracles so far, Aidan. We are going to Nobu for sushi. Do you understand that? Dane Scotland is going to Nobu for sushi, wearing designer Italian clothes, and Okada doesn’t get here for five more days. You’re welcome.” She handed the phone back to me without waiting for an answer.
“Any other questions?” I asked Aidan.
“I guess not. Sounds like my sister is in her element. Just let her do what she wants.”
I held out my hand to Ava, helping her off the car before she could fall off. “She’s going to do that anyway.”
“I’ve been worried about her,” Aidan said. “She’s more fragile than she looks.”
I helped Ava get her balance, wobbling on her heels. She let go of my hand to adjust her dress, which had hiked up in the back during her little stunt. “You don’t have to worry when she’s with me.”
Ava looked up. Why had I said that? What did it even mean? Considering our history, Aidan probably should worry when his sister was with me. And Ava should, too.
“I trust you,” Aidan said, making me feel even worse. “You’ll look out for her like a brother. If she wants to visit our mother’s nursing home, talk her out of it. I think that’s a bad idea.”
“I don’t think there’s much chance of that,” I said, watching as Ava’s eyes narrowed in curiosity.
“You never know. She’s unpredictable. Just be nice to her, okay?”
Nice? I couldn’t take this anymore. “Say hi to Samantha for me,” I said. “I have to go.” I hung up.
“What?” Ava said as soon as I put the phone in my pocket. “What did my brother say about me?”
“Nothing,” I said.
“It wasn’t nothing. You got a pained look on your face. What did he say?”
I decided to tell her half of the truth. There was no need to bring up the topic of her mother when I didn’t have to. “He asked me to be nice to you.”
Her dark brown gaze met mine, and for a long moment all of our history passed between us. The good and the bad, the nice and the not-so-nice. And the spectacular.
“We’re going to have to tell him sometime, you know,” Ava said.
“I know.” Aidan was my best friend. My brother in everything but blood. We’d been cowards all this time, not telling him.
No, not Ava. It was me who was the coward for not telling him. She’d only held off because she thought I was embarrassed about the fact that we’d been together. Which I wasn’t.
Then why hadn’t I told Aidan, and the others? I knew the answer to that, didn’t I?
“We’ll worry about it later,” I said. “Get in.”