𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐨𝐥𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 | ✓

58

He chuckles and leans to the counter on my right, crossing his arms in front of his chest. "If you're expecting to hear I ended up in prison, don't hold your breath."

"No, not that, but what happened? There has to be a conclusion... like an unexpected turn of events... and then you and your dad reuniting and happy ending."

A bitter smile curls his lips. "This isn't a movie. There won't ever be a reuniting."

My face falls. "But you said-" I stop myself midway, the glacial look he gives tells me he's done discussing this topic.

I sigh and angle myself towards him. "Fine, but I don't get it. If your rich dad is out of the picture, how come you can live here? I mean, no offense, but no professor gets paid that well to afford to live in one of the most luxurious skyscrapers of this city. Not to mention, you haven't even been teaching that long."

Spencer stares at me, his expression leaving me to wonder what's going on inside his head.

"You ask too many questions," he says after a while.

I shrug and sip the wine. "What can I say, can't help my curious nature."

He rolls his eyes and a small smile makes its way to my face. Truth be told, I enjoy annoying him too much. "You didn't answer," I probe and he throws an irritated look at me then glances at the pot on the stove before turning back to me.

"Teaching is not my only source of income."

My eyebrows jump high. "So you're saying, you did become rich all by yourself, with no one's support?"

"My only advantage was being a part of the business faculty in Harvard, the rest was just playing with numbers and pushing myself to experiment with every option."

My mouth shapes an O. Playing with numbers! That's one way of putting it.

We fall into a comfortable silence and I spend the rest of the time, drinking wine and enjoying the sight of Spencer Wright struggling to prepare our late dinner.

At this point, I'm convinced he has done nothing except turning on his microwaving, warming the food, eating it, and leaving the rest for his poor cleaner, housekeeper.

We eat the spaghetti in silence, changing small words once in a while until the ringing of his phone interrupts us.

He leaves his stool and answers the call, and instead of focusing on my own food, curiosity gets the best of me and I give in to it, deciding to listen to his conversation.

He leans to one of the chairs of the dining table before receiving the call.

"Saff?" he greets her with uncertainty as if he's not sure it's her. A beat later he awkwardly chuckles. "No, I'm just surprised. Why'd you call?"

Spencer pushes himself off the chair and paces the room. I return my gaze to my plate.

"And... good for you I guess... what else am I supposed to say? It's your gallery, you can put the opening in any city you want, it's not like I know anything about these things," he grumbles and I bite my lip to stop myself from giggling.

"Oh? Here? This coming Saturday? Um... actually I can't come... no... well no one told you to change your opening day's location last-second... what's that supposed to mean? Yeah, I have work to do... yes, on Saturday night... uh... I have," he pauses, and out of sheer curiosity, I turn, catching him rubbing his brow and scanning the table as if he'll find the excuse he's looking for on there.

"To prepare for my classes' exams, I have to hand it to the faculty in a couple of days... That's another perfect reason for me to not come... so? Seriously? What's that even supposed to mean? So what Julia will be there?"