“In other words, the woman wants more.”
“Yeah, that’s right. The woman wants more. I don’t. Some days I go into work at six and I don’t get home until ten, twelve, two. I’ve got a career and it’s damn demanding. My personal life has always come second, but a woman never wants to hear that.”
“Tell me something, Gil. Is your career just a ready excuse not to get involved with anybody?”
“You tell me. Don’t you do the same thing?”
“Not anymore. As I said, I’m not even looking at the dating pool. I’ve found other ways to enjoy life. But you like parties. You like going clubbing.”
The waitress brought them mugs of beer and Gil raised his to Alan. “You’re right. I do. I like having fun.”
“That’s why you shut down and make an exit when a woman wants more?”
Gil’s eyes narrowed and he lifted his mug. “Uh-oh. We’re getting way too deep here. Maybe you’re asking me all these questions because you’re looking for answers yourself.”
Was he looking for answers to the void in his life that would yawn wide open when Christina went to college? Why hadn’t he gotten involved with anyone seriously since his divorce? Why had meeting Lisa Sanders shaken him up in a way he didn’t understand at all?
“One more question, then we can move on to how the Mariners are going to do this year,” Alan promised.
Gil took a few swallows of beer, then set down his mug. “Shoot. But I reserve the right to remain silent.”
“Have you ever dated a younger woman?”
Gil smiled. “How much younger?”
“I don’t know, maybe ten, twelve, fifteen years younger.”
“I’ve dated a few women in their mid-twenties, but we seemed to run out of things to say. Our reference points were different. Do you know what I mean?”
Alan understood what Gil was saying, yet when he talked with Lisa, he didn’t feel any of that.
“Are you thinking about dating someone younger?” Gil asked.
Now wasn’t that a million dollar question. Alan lifted his mug, too. “I was just hypothesizing.”
“You don’t hypothesize. You act. You’re a doer, not a ponderer. So if there’s a younger woman who’s making you ponder, you could be in big trouble already.”
Gil was an intelligent man and thought of himself as a cynical reporter feeding the public’s right to know. He had a sixth sense about a good story and could be perceptive about everybody but himself. This time Alan hoped Gil’s insight into what was going on with him was all wrong.
But the devil on Alan’s shoulder told him his friend was on the money once again.
Chapter Four
“Brian left about a half hour ago, Alan.”
Lisa kept her voice completely professional as they spoke over the phone late Monday afternoon. On Saturday, during breakfast with Alan after her interview, she’d let Carrie lead the conversation. However, her gaze had locked with his too many times and her heart had beat much too fast whenever he’d spoken to her…whenever she’d spoken to him.
“I was hoping I could catch him before he left.” Frustration edged Alan’s tone. “I have the schematics he wanted for that San Diego resort. I suppose I could have them messengered to his house.”
“No! I mean,” she added quickly, “I can come over and pick them up.”
She had to convince Alan not to interrupt Brian tonight. Brian had shown her the flowers he’d picked up at lunchtime to take home to Carrie, a dozen long-stemmed red roses. Since they were leaving Wednesday for the trip to Texas, and tomorrow night would be busy with last minute preparations, Lisa suspected he and Carrie were going to have some quality time tonight after Timothy went to bed. If they were interrupted by a messenger service, their evening could be ruined. She had a key to the house. She could pick up the materials from Alan and drop them off without Brian and Carrie even noticing. She’d leave them in Brian’s office with a note and slip out again before they even knew she had been there.
“I hate to take you out of your way. If I can’t find a service to do this tonight, I could drive them over to Brian myself,” Alan offered.
“Aren’t you working on the presentation for the investors?”
“Did Brian tell you that?”
“He gave me a schedule of our meetings with clients, what he was covering and what you’re covering. I know you’re busy. My evening’s free. I really don’t mind stopping by. Just give me directions and tell me exactly where you live.”
After a brief hesitation, Alan did just that.
A half hour later, the security guard at Alan’s building showed Lisa to a private elevator that went directly to the penthouse floor. Alan had apparently given the man her name and told him she’d be arriving within the hour.
The elevator was smooth and speedy, rushing her to the seventh floor in a matter of seconds. When the doors parted, she stepped out into a hallway with plush wine carpeting. The paintings that hung along the corridor were watercolors of ranch scenes.
When she stopped before one and studied it, she saw Christina Barrett’s signature in the corner. Obviously Alan was proud of everything his daughter did.
Lisa had almost reached the paneled mahogany door of the penthouse when it opened and he stood there, looking like neither a businessman nor a Texas rancher. Dressed in khakis and a long-sleeved, black Henley shirt, his rough-hewn face shadowed by a beard line, he looked too sexy for words and not altogether glad to see her. His blue eyes assessed her. She knew he couldn’t see much, because she’d buttoned and belted her coat against the inclement weather.
“Didn’t you park in the garage?”
“I found a spot across the street and just dashed over. I’m not fond of parking garages. They make me feel claustrophobic.”
“That surprises me. You give the impression you’re not afraid of anything.”
“I didn’t say I was afraid of parking garages. I just prefer not to park in them.”
He held up a staying hand. “I shouldn’t have made the observation. I don’t really know you. I’ve just gotten a few impressions.”
She’d gotten a few impressions of her own. Alan, for all his charming Texas manners, was a bit of a loner. How she knew that she wasn’t sure. Maybe he was different around family. Maybe his daughter knew the real man underneath. But Lisa didn’t suppose many people did.
He motioned her inside. “If you want to warm up a bit before you dash back out there, I have a fresh pot of coffee brewing.”
Having coffee with Alan—in his apartment, no less—wasn’t a good idea. Coming here had been a bad idea. Still, she looked around with interest. “No, I’ll just pick up whatever you want Brian to look at, then I’ll be going.”
Alan’s condo was a showplace. The same rich carpeting from the hall covered the living room. A navy leather couch and huge recliner were arranged across from a high-tech entertainment center, plasma screen TV, stereo system, CD player. Other electronic gadgets sat on the shelves—an iPod and an Xbox, along with a rack of CDs. The buttered plaster walls were devoid of art. She could see into the dining room with its shiny mahogany table that looked as if it had never been used. Alan might stay here when he was in Portland, but he didn’t really live here. It was too uncluttered, too clean, too polished.
He went to the library table along one