Page 62 of The Billionaire's Fake Fiancée

He’s got two beverages and he sets them down. “Fresh-squeezed lemonade with basil. The stewardess just served it. So good.”

“Thank you, Marvin,” Gail says brightly.

Marvin gives Gail a very normal-looking smile. Does he reserve the weird faces for me? Is that it?

It seems strange that he’s even here, but Gail seems happy. Rex did say she was obsessed with family, and Marvin is her new family—her only remaining connection to her dead sister.

I’m not at all happy, and not just because he’s a freak. I was having fun talking with Gail, dreaming big with her. I’ve never done that with somebody so knowledgeable.

Marvin turns to me. His back is to Gail, and there it is, his unfriendly flat-eyed look that’s definitely not horndoggery—a woman knows.

“I wonder if you could fix this one area of my hair for me…” Pulling his sunglasses off his head, Marvin turns and points to a divot in the back of his really perfect feathered hairdo.

I take a look. “What happened?”

“Is it that noticeable?” he asks.

“No,” I say, and it’s mostly the truth; it’s not noticeable…unless you’re a stylist; then it’s just completely bizarre.

Sheepishly, he says, “I think my barber might’ve made a slip.”

I smile and nod. “Maybe come back in ten, fifteen minutes? I’ll do that while Gail’s oil treatment sets?”

“I’ll wait.”

“Please do!” Gail says brightly.

Ugh. I’d wanted to finish my conversation with Gail.

I finish up Gail’s cut, then use the fancy Parisian oil I found in one of the drawers to moisturize her hair while she talks to Marvin.

The divot reallyisweird—just this blunt sideways chunk. It’s a tiny cut to a layperson but a glaring error to somebody like me.

Other than the divot, his haircut looks very expensive. And even a cheap, incompetent barber would’ve at least tried to smooth it over.

Also, I would’ve noticed it earlier.

Did he just now cut that divot as a pretext to come up here? If so, why? No way is this about hitting on me—not in front of Gail, and not with stupid hair as a pretext.

I put the wrap on Gail’s hair and put her under the dryer and gesture for Marvin to take the other seat so that I can fix his freak divot.

Of course I take the opportunity to inspect it. The divot was cut within the past day or two; I can tell by the bluntness of the ends themselves—a newly cut strand of hair has a cleaner tip than a strand that was cut a week or two prior. But even more than that, I can tell by the blunt line of the cut. Hair strands grow at different rates. In other words, a blunt cut doesn’t grow out perfectly blunt.

The only scenario I can think of is Marvin cutting it himself as a pretext to join us. Why?

“We’ll get this perfectly integrated,” I say, snipping away, because as any watcher of soaps knows, you never tip off the bad guy that you’re onto him.

He wants to know what we’ve been talking about.

I stiffen. I don’t want Marvin knowing my idea. I just don’t trust him.

“Salon business stuff,” Gail tells him, nice and vague. “Style and so forth.”

Soon after, he engages Gail in a conversation about people they’d been with in Scottsdale. He’s heard news, some continuation of a conversation. He launches into a story that Gail is, admittedly, interested in. Which I have nothing to do with.

It’s almost as if he’s monopolizing her on purpose.

I’m thinking back to his seeming unhappiness about her delight in the cookies. Does he feel threatened and possessive of Gail? Like he doesn’t want us to be friendly or something? Does he not want Gail to like me?

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