“Not exactly. They let me run things, because they have no choice. I own it.”

She set down the knife. She couldn’t believe it. “You ownActive Equipment?”

He nodded.

“How?”

He shrugged. “Hard work, intelligence and a few big financial risks along the way.”

“But-”

“You should stop being so surprised that I’m not a loser.”

He paused, but she didn’t know how to respond to that.

“Though it’s true that I can’t cook,” he allowed with a crooked smile. “I guess I concentrated on the things I was good at and muddled my way through the rest.”

“With filet mignon and baby potatoes. Poor you.” She kept her tone flippant, but inside she acknowledged he was right. She should stop being so surprised at his accomplishments.

“It wasn’t always that way,” he told her, tone going more serious. “In the beginning, it was cheap food, a crappy basement suite and two jobs.”

Then he straightened his spine, squaring his shoulders. “But I was never coming back here. I’d have starved to death before I’d have come back to Wilton with my tail between my legs.”

She found her heart going out to the teenager he’d been back then. “Was it that bad? Were you in danger of starving?”

His posture relaxed again. “No real danger. I was young and healthy. Hard work was good for me. And not even the most demanding bosses could hold a candle to Wilton Terrell.”

She retrieved the knife and scraped the tomato chunks from the wooden cutting board into a glass bowl. “So now, you’re a self-made man.”

“Impressed?”

Mandy wasn’t sure how to answer that. Money wasn’t everything. “Are you happy?”

“Delirious.”

“You have friends? A social life? A girlfriend?” She turned away, crossing the short space to the stove, removing the tortilla shell, setting it on the stack and switching off the burner. She didn’t want him to see her expression when he started talking about his girlfriend.