Chapter 5
780words
"Three hundred and forty-seven dollars," Alexander confirmed, equally shocked. "Apparently it was an especially cold month, and the heating costs doubled."
I collapsed into a kitchen chair, rubbing my temples. "Perfect. Just as one of my major clients canceled their commission."
Alexander frowned. "Which client?"
"That café owner who wanted a series of local landscapes for his new location." I sighed. "He decided to go with prints instead. Much cheaper."
We sat at the kitchen table, various bills and our meager income records spread before us. Alexander's bookstore job paid only minimum wage, and my art income had always been inconsistent. Now, the winter bills were adding further strain to our budget.
"We could cut some expenses," Alexander suggested, studying our spending list. "Cancel Netflix, reduce takeout, maybe—"
"I'm already cut to the bone, Alexander." I interrupted him. "I'm almost out of paint, but I can't afford new supplies because that money needs to go toward the heating bill."
He fell silent for a moment, and I immediately felt guilty for my outburst. This wasn't his fault. In fact, he'd been doing his best to adapt to this new life.
"I'm sorry," I said softly. "I'm just... stressed."
"No, you're right," he admitted. "We need more income." He thought for a moment. "I could get a second job. Maybe as a waiter at a restaurant, working evenings and weekends."
I looked at him, suddenly feeling a wave of warmth. Alexander Barrett, once a billionaire, now willing to work double shifts to help pay our bills.
"You'd really do that?"
"Of course," he said as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "We're a team, right?"
A team. The simple word made my heart race.
"Alright, teammate," I said, trying to mask my emotions, "let's think of other options. What are you good at? Besides spending money and looking handsome?"
He pretended to think. "Well, I do have a business school degree and actual experience at a Fortune 500 company."
"Those aren't skills, those are credentials," I pointed out. "What are you good at?"
He hesitated. "I... I'm good at analyzing business models. Spotting problems and opportunities. At Barrett Industries, I restructured several underperforming divisions and made them profitable."
"What about consulting, then?" I suggested. "You could advise small businesses."
"No one's going to hire a consultant with no references, no company backing."
"So start small." I had a sudden inspiration. "You know Margie's Café around the corner? She's always complaining about business being slow. Maybe you could offer to help, prove your value."
Alexander considered for a moment, then nodded, a new determination in his eyes. "Worth a try."
The next day, he went to Margie's Café. When he returned, he was both excited and frustrated.
"She doesn't trust me," he explained. "Thinks I'm a spy from some chain store. But she agreed to give me a chance if I can prove my worth within a week."
"So what's the plan?"
"First, analyze her menu and pricing. Second, research competitors. Third, present actionable improvements." He outlined his strategy, his eyes shining with an enthusiasm I'd never seen before.
For the next week, Alexander worked at the bookstore during the day and studied Margie's Café in the evenings. He created spreadsheets, analyzed costs and profit margins, and even conducted secret reconnaissance at competing cafés.
Watching him work, I realized this was the first time I was truly seeing Alexander Barrett's talent. Not as a privileged heir, but as a smart, strategic, passionate person.
A week later, he presented his findings and recommendations to Margie. That evening, he returned with a victorious smile.
"She hired me as a part-time consultant!" he announced. "Three evenings a week, helping her restructure the business. The pay isn't great, but better than the bookstore."
We celebrated this small victory, but the financial pressure remained. That night, I found Alexander at the kitchen table, staring at his father's phone number.
"Thinking of calling him?" I asked softly.
He looked up at me, conflict in his eyes. "Sometimes I consider it. Life would be so much easier."
"But?"
"But it would mean giving up everything I have now." His gaze met mine. "I'm not sure that's a price worth paying."
I sat across from him, reaching out to take his hand. "Whatever decision you make, I support you."
He squeezed my hand, and we sat like that, silent but understanding. The financial pressure was intense, but in that moment, I realized that what we were building—this partnership, this mutual support—might be worth more than any bank account.
