Page 44 of Faking It with my Bestie's Billionaire Brother

I could hustle and put the tarp over my creations, but what was the point? He would still insist of seeing it, knowing him.

"Ava? What are these?" he asked, and I couldn't decide if there was censure in his voice or just confusion.

I felt myself growing hot all over. I dreaded this exact moment ever happening. I should've sent these pieces back to my apartment the second they came through that door. But I was too attached to them, and I had to have them close by.

"What do you think they are?" I asked lamely, stalling for time.

He looked down at the face that I had just been cradling moments before. "It looks like me," he said softly in wonder.

There was that curious tugging sensation in my chest again, and internally, I batted it away frantically.

It was bad enough to experience the mortification of being caught immortalizing somebody in clay, who'd up until that point had absolutely no knowledge of it. But I didn't want to think about the fact that I'd been caught by somebody who I had very troubling feelings for…somebody who I had no future with.

So, I went on the defensive.

"Look, don't let it go to your head. It's pretty normal to find inspiration and run with it. It just happened to be you. I can't expect you to understand the quirks of an artist. You do numbers and make big-time business decisions, it's a totally different lifestyle. I just ask that you don't judge how I go about my art."

He looked up from the sculpture, then watched me carefully as I rambled, and I knew I was blowing it. But I was embarrassed and frantic, and in all honesty, I really just wanted to be left alone, so I could keep working on my sculpture without the eyes of somebody else watching me, let alone the person that the sculpture was actually modeled after.

He looked at me with that typical stern and critical gaze of his that I never appreciated, especially not right at that moment in my vulnerable state. I fully expected him to say something scathing or sarcastic, but instead, he turned on his heel and walked out of the room, leaving me standing there mortified with my mouth hanging open.

Chapter sixteen

Spencer

So, Ava didn't think I understood the quirks of an artist. As soon as she said the words, I'd had to fight back a smile.

I knew she was just embarrassed. Although, truly, she had nothing to be embarrassed about. The work she was doing on that bust was spectacular.

The fact that she could get such fine details on a facial expression with just her hands and that one tool was impressive. But with her pushing me to not be judgmental, she was making some dangerous assumptions, so much so that I felt driven to prove her wrong, even though it meant exposing a part of myself that I had not shown to anybody in years. It wasn’t because I was embarrassed by it, but rather, it hurt to open them up sometimes. It hurt getting a glimpse of the life that I could no longer have, the one that I had to give up to raise Penny.

Once I found what I was looking for, I marched back to Ava's room and plopped down three large portfolio books at her feet.

She looked down at them curiously.

"Go ahead," I told her in a challenging voice. "Go ahead and see how little I understand about art, my sweet Ava."

Cautiously, she bent down and retrieved the portfolio books, hefting them onto the table next to the bust. She gave me one last furtive look before she flipped one open and peered at the pictures that I hadn't looked at in so very long but that were forever engraved in my mind.

She flipped through them with what I hoped was a reverent look on her face.

"Spencer…these are amazing. Wait a minute, the pictures on your wall…you took those?" she asked in disbelief, and I tried to not let that sound in her voice wound me. Of course, she wouldn't think that I'd taken those. I was suit and tie Spencer Ashbury for as long as she had known me, just like how everybody else was supposed to view me.

I nodded curtly in the affirmative.

Her eyes widened further, and then, she went back to absorbing the pictures. "I mean, these are professional grade."

I huffed out a dry laugh. "That's because I was a professional once upon a time."

She ran her fingers over the glossy prints, carefully studying the images.

I had traveled the world in my youth, taking pictures of the rainforest, the Alps, and old settlements. But most of my pictures were fixated on small villages. I liked the shots of people just doing their everyday chores and living their lives.

"I don't understand," she said quietly, "how come I never heard about this before? I mean, you're such a fantastic photographer. Why aren't you out there with the camera more often?"

I smiled bitterly. "Who would run the company, Ava?"

Her brow furrowed stubbornly. "I mean, for God's sake, Spencer, you're the CEO. You can take a break when you'd like, can't you?"

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