Page 22 of Faking It with my Bestie's Billionaire Brother

I decided to take control then, to show her what she was in for. "When you're done worrying over whatever that is, clean up and we'll go out."

She stilled at my words, looking over her shoulder at me curiously, though the irritation was still evident in those big, brown eyes. "I'm surprised you're even up for that, with all the strange note business going on."

I shrugged. "We have security, and plus, we still need to be seen together. We don't want this plan all to be for naught, now do we? I figure that we can go to the store and pick up whatever essentials my guys might have missed for you."

She eyed me dubiously. "You want to go to the store in that?"

I looked down at my cuffed shirt and pressed slacks. After our supposed "meeting" that morning, I'd been hoping to squeeze in a meeting with a client, but then, of course, everything got upended. "What's wrong with my outfit?"

She sighed as if she was dealing with one of her students. "Listen, Duke, if you're really wanting to turn your image around so folks will buy into this whole family-friendly thing, you may want to look a little less... stuffy," she said, gesturing towards my freshly polished shoes.

I bristled, tilting my head in defiance. "You don't like the way I look?" I asked in a low voice, one that I knew typically kept employees on their toes.

It seemed to have no such effect on Ava, however. She rolled her eyes. "I never said that. You look fine to me—better than a man has a right to, actually," she blurted out. Her face reddening slightly, she then quickly added, "But people don't typically go for a casual Saturday date looking like they're about to take part in a corporate merger. Put on some jeans or a polo something. You do own those, right?"

I scoffed, "Of course I do." And it was true, I did...somewhere in the depths of my closet. I couldn't remember the last time I wore them, but I did own them.

Ava looked at me doubtfully, still carefully guarding her creation as she said, "Look, I'll clean up here while you go change. Then, we'll go make our first official appearance."

"Right," I said, the word coming out more of a growl than I'd intended. What was it about her that made me make those sounds?

I turned on my heel, trying to block out the vision of Ava in front of that window with the sun surrounding her, making her appear warm and soft and inviting.

It was thoughts like that one that I needed to get the hell out of my head if I was going to survive this whole ordeal. I especially could not afford to be distracted when there was someone running around out there taking pictures of the people I cared about and leaving behind menacing notes. I needed to keep my eye on the prize. After all, that was what an Ashbury did, no matter the cost.

Chapter eleven

Ava

I couldn't decide what was more disconcerting: the way Spencer Ashbury looked in a T-shirt and jeans, or the way he so naturally held my hand as we walked into the store.

I almost jumped when he grabbed my hand, causing him to look at me in a purposeful manner, so I forced myself to relax. We were supposed to look like a couple—an engaged couple, at that—so I couldn't be jumping like a scared cat any time he touched me. Still, it was strange that his hand felt good, big and warm and dominant. That last part was not something I ever suspected I would want or like.

But there were a lot of things that came with the territory of Spencer that had me questioning my wants and likes.

Once we were inside the store, however, I was all business. I had a lot of things to get. I couldn't really blame the movers for it, though. How were they supposed to know what to get for me?

No, I blamed Spencer for his harebrained idea of sending them over there in the first place. I informed him that once we were done at the store, we would need to swing by my apartment because there were just some things that I could not get from the store that I needed.

He let out a long-suffering sigh. "Then just tell me what they are, and I'll have them ordered. They'll be here by tomorrow."

I glared at him. "No dice," I said as I grabbed a cart and headed for the first aisle.

As I started grabbing the things that I needed, Spencer wouldn't let it go. "What's so important that we can't just order another one?"

"I think the better question is: why is it such a big deal if we go to my apartment? I seriously doubt that it's boobie trapped. Besides, you'll be with me, although at a respectful distance away, so I can gather my things without you being a busybody," I was careful to remind him.

"Who are you calling a busybody?"

I stopped in the middle of the aisle, looking at him with a raised eyebrow. "A man who sends strangers to my apartment to gather my stuff," I enunciated carefully, "without my permission. If that isn't the height of being a busybody and presumption, I don't know what it is." Grabbing a loaf of French bread, I tossed it into the cart.

That was when Spencer finally noticed all the stuff that was in the cart in the first place. "I thought you were talking about things like makeup or feminine products. This is a whole hell of a lot more than that."

I eyed him teasingly. "You getting chintzy on me, Mr. Money Bags?"

He gave me a droll look. "I think you know better than that. I was just under the impression that you were going to grab a toothbrush and things like that."

"Yeah, well, it just so happens that it's my turn to make the main dish for Sunday evening dinner with my family tomorrow. So, I'm about to break in that precious kitchen of yours."

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