He laughed. “I miss the salary! But this experience has forced me to look at life differently, which was no doubt what my granddad had in mind.” He grimaced. “I suppose I’ll have to admit it to him, too.”
Gwen met his eyes. “Were you…fired?” she asked hesitantly.
“No! Hey, didn’t I tell you about Granddad’s big challenge?”
“You just told me you were trying to start your own business.”
Alec took a deep breath and settled back on the sofa. It looked like it was going to be a long story. But that was okay. Gwen liked having Alec around. He wasn’t any trouble. At least not much.
“Granddad came to this country with something like forty bucks in his pocket—I don’t know, the amount is less every time he tells the story. But he started a little lunch-cart business, which grew and now we all work there. My dad and uncle really expanded the company. It was just strictly local and they worked their butts off taking it national.” He stopped talking and looked off into the distance. Gwen had never seen him this somber before.
“Dad wasn’t around much when I was little,” he said, exhaling heavily.
“It must have been rough on your mother, too,” Gwen said.
“I guess so.” The way he said it told Gwen that he’d never considered his mother’s point of view before. Well, he was now.
But apparently only for a second or two. “The thing that gets to me is that Granddad doesn’t even acknowledge what his sons did or what any of us are doing. According to him, we’re all just leeches benefiting from his hard work. And dad just…takes it. Drives me and my cousins nuts.”
“So you quit?”
“Only temporarily. We want to develop the Web site and maybe open some stores in the malls, but Granddad won’t listen to us, soooo…” Alec paused when the buzzer on the oven went off.
Gwen headed for the kitchen. “Keep talking. I can hear you.”
“So we decided that one of us would start a business from the ground up under the same conditions—or as close as we could get—and prove to the old guy that we’re not complete write-offs.”
“And you lost?” She glanced through the bar as she got out plates.
Alec stared down at the beer in his hands, then looked up at her with a half smile. “No. I won.”
Which was a pretty good insight into the male psyche, Gwen told herself. They liked challenges. Enjoyed them, even. She should start thinking that way about her promotion campaign.
“It’s been tough, I won’t kid you. I can’t imagine how desperate and scared my grandfather must have been. At least I’m in the same country—the same city, even.”
Gwen was cutting the pizza and trying to do so quietly so she could hear Alec, but managed to burn her thumb on hot cheese. She dropped the piece halfway between the plate and the cookie sheet and stuck her thumb in her mouth. Part of the topping was on the slice of pizza, the rest was on her counter. She nudged it into place, sort of, then looked up to find that Alec had left the sofa and was leaning his elbows on the bar as he watched her.
“Not much of a cook, are you?” He grinned.
“Like this never happened to you.” She handed him the plate with the good pieces on it.
“Actually, no. Your mistake was in using plates. I just eat from the pan.”
“Barbarian.”
“Bad pizza cooker.”
“That’s the worst thing you can call me?” Gwen sat down and shoved her papers aside, then propped her Scooby-Doo slipper clad feet on the coffee table.
“My brain is running on low.” Alec added his feet to the table, slouched down and propped the pizza plate on his stomach. His flat stomach. “I’ll think of something after a few bites. In the meantime, speaking of Scooby-Doo—”
“Were we?”
“No, but we are now.”
“Why?”
“Well, I’ve heard rumors of a New Year’s Eve marathon.” He gave her look out of the corner of his eye. “Got any party plans?”
Gwen’s heart gave an extra thump. If only he’d stopped right then and there, but no, Alec continued.
“’Cause if you’re going out, I wouldn’t mind keeping an eye on your television for you.” He grinned hopefully.
“I’m sure you wouldn’t.” Not, hey Gwen, let’s spend New Year’s together but I want to watch cartoons on your TV. Gwen took a moment to give herself a mental kick—she’d given up men. This was one of the reasons why.
“Won’t charge you, either.”
Oh no, not that smile, not the one he knew charmed women. She gave him a look to let him know she wasn’t charmed. “Don’t you have any plans? What about your friends? Have they abandoned you?”
Instantly, the smile faded and he looked down at his pizza. “They’re all going to the Uptown Women’s Center benefit ‘gala.’” He used his fingers to make quote marks. “My girlfriend is on the steering committee. It’s occupied her every waking moment since October.”
Girlfriend? Girlfriend? Alec had a girlfriend? Not that it mattered to Gwen. It shouldn’t matter to her. Wouldn’t. Didn’t.
“Have you noticed how nobody just throws a party for the sake of a good time anymore?” Alec was speaking rhetorically, which was a good thing since Gwen had frozen beside him. He hadn’t noticed, which was also a good thing.
“It always has to benefit some organization. Why should we justify wanting to have a good time?”
“The Women’s Center is a very worthy cause,” Gwen managed. She also managed to sound tight-lipped. She wrapped her tight lips around the beer bottle and swallowed.
“Of course it is,” Alec grumbled. “That’s not the point here. The point is guilt-free partying.”
“And so, what? You’re boycotting?”
He mumbled something.
“What?” Gwen cupped her hand around her ear. “Is that a tiny tantrum I hear?”
“No.” He shifted until his head was resting on the back of the sofa. “Stephanie—”
“That would be your girlfriend.”
“Maybe, maybe not. Who knows anymore?”
“Well…this is just a thought…but if I spent hours and hours working on one of those charity things, I might be the teensiest bit put out if my boyfriend refused to go.”
Still leaning against the sofa, he rolled his head to face her. “I can’t afford to. My tux is back at my town house, along with my car, and I don’t have the money to rent either. So no gala-going for me this New Year’s.”
“Wait a minute—you mean you own a car and you have a town—”
Alec held up a hand. “Technically, yes—”
“Is there any other way?”
“My grandfather didn’t have a fancy place to live or his own—”
“It’s fancy?”
“Well…it’s…my cousin’s wife is a decorator and she did the place for me, so it’s okay.”
“It’s just okay.”
“Okay, better than okay.”
“Wood floors?”