21. Suited
TWENTY-ONE
Suited
CARTER
Was this suit always this uncomfortable before? I tugged at the custom neckline of the silk shirt. The tie was too tight, too. I grumbled about it all the way from my penthouse into the boardroom at my lawyer’s office.
Jackson Pierce sat there. My long-time legal representative, on whom I could always count to get me out of trouble. But for the shocker of my life—Hugh sat there with him, his own lawyer by his side.
“Jackson, what the fuck is my brother doing here?” I shouted and pointed.
“Good to see you too, Carter,” Hugh grinned, his fingers laced in front of him on the table.
“I thought you were out in India on sabbatical, trying to find God or something.”
“No. But I found a woman who enlightened me in ways I could never verbally explain.” His sly, devious smile took over his entire face.
“What are you doing here?” I shook my head.
“Hugh has brought a lawsuit against your inheritance claim,” Jackson explained.
My blood boiled. “That’s bullshit. I served my thirty days.”
“Using Chris’s help? Really?” Hugh shot back.
I cut a sharp glance at Jackson. “You said Chris could be the technicality?—”
“I’m betting a court will side with me that using him violated the challenge.” Hugh smirked.
I stalked away to the window, my hand digging through my hair, regretting the haircut and shave I’d gotten yesterday at my old stylist’s place. And this damn tie… I yanked it out of the knot and off.
This morning I’d checked my trust fund balance—what was left of it before it all went away on my birthday. I had exactly nine hundred thousand—and two hundred and fifty dollars. Two-fifty.
To a woman in Montana, that amount would mean a lot to help pay for the trip of her dreams.
Then again, Sage made it clear that money meant little to her. She wanted the cowboy, not the man with money.
What if the cowboy was the man with the money?
What if the cowboy returned and did whatever he could to win her back?
“It’s all or nothing, brother. No hard feelings. You have your challenge from Dad. I have mine.” Hugh’s challenge from Dad had been to stop each of us from winning ours. Oh, the evil shit Dad liked to pull as a multi-billionaire asshole.
“You’re not exactly succeeding, are you? Only with Oliver’s claim were you able to stop it.” I shot back.
“Until you. I feel pretty confident I have a solid case.”
All or nothing? Well, I had almost a million in my trust fund still.
Over the past month, I’d proven I could survive on nothing, create a new life out of very little.
The surprising thing was how settled I’d felt doing the work, spending time with Sage, taking part in church on the ranch and Thanksgiving and the niceties of a small town.
Dare I admit it? My time in Montana had become the closest thing I imagined home to be.
That made this decision all the easier.
I headed toward the door.
“Carter, where are you going? We still need to deal with Hugh’s suit,” Jackson called.
“All or nothing? Fuck the money.” I left the room.
“What are you doing? Come back here, you idiot,” Hugh stormed after me. “You’re not even going to fight for your inheritance?”
“Nope. I have something better to fight for waiting for me in Montana.” I pressed the down arrow of the elevator.
“Think about what you’re giving up,” Jackson implored, rushing to my side. “A billion dollars. We can fight Hugh, at least try.”
“From the moment I stepped foot back here in New York, that’s all I’ve been doing—thinking about what I gave up.”
“But-but what will you do? How will you survive?”
Poor Jackson. After my father’s death, he stepped in, always there for me, always getting me out of difficulties.
I stepped inside the elevator car and looked past him to Hugh, standing all smug there because he had won. To me, he really didn’t. I only hoped that I’d be the winner if I could get Sage back into my arms and really give Montana a chance.
I placed a hand on Jackson’s shoulder. “All these years you’ve looked after me. I don’t think I once said thanks. So—thank you.” The doors closed on his grin spreading across his face, and that was that.
Down in the lobby, I pulled out the new phone I’d just purchased this morning, the latest model, with all the expensive features. Hell, for the cost of it I should have bought an old flip phone.
I was on a budget now. How slowly could I spend almost a million dollars and make it last in Montana?
My thumb scrolled until I found the number for the Magnus private jet crew, but froze.
The cost of a private flight to Montana was too much now. A quick internet search and I found the cheapest flight leaving today and booked it.
“Need a car, Mr. Magnus?” The doorman asked as I exited the building for the very last time.
“To JFK, thanks.”
While I waited, I inhaled the stale city air. Too much exhaust and sewage, and maybe a hint of fresh bagels from down the street. Yuck and fuck this. I couldn’t get to Montana fast enough, where a man could breathe again.
The entire flight I sat cramped in a seat in the very back row with two mothers and their crying babies beside me. My knee jiggled, eager to get to Sage.
Over and over I rehearsed what to say to her, changed my mind, tried different wording; none of it sounded right. I prayed like hell—while helping each mother entertain their babes with my goofy faces. Cute little things.
I’d be thirty in a month. A good time to leave behind my younger days and try to settle down.
Finally, in Billings, I took a cab to the nearest used car lot. The salesman’s eyes lit up when he saw me coming in my crisp suit and leather shoes.
He tipped his cowboy hat, lifting a boot onto the nearest bumper. “Looking for something sharp, sir? I’ve got a beautiful late-model sedan over here—leather seats, low miles, perfect for the executive lifestyle.”
I glanced at the shiny sedan he was pointing to, then scanned the lot until my eyes landed on an older F-150 that looked like Jake’s, like it could handle Montana winters.
“Appreciate it, but I’ll take that truck instead.” I pointed.
The salesman balked. “The F-150? Sir, that one’s older, higher miles—the sedan would be much more comfortable for a man in your position.”
“I’m not in that position anymore. I need something that can handle dirt roads and snow. How much for the truck?”
He hesitated, then named a price. I countered low, and we went back and forth, haggling for a few minutes.
“Last offer,” I said. “Take it or I'll walk.”
He sighed, then grinned and stuck out his hand. “You drive a hard bargain. She’s yours.”
But this damn crisp shirt, suit pants, and Italian leather shoes…
The car dealer was about my size, wearing Wrangler jeans, a snap denim shirt, shined-up boots, and a cowboy hat. I about shocked him when I offered to pay him for his outfit.
“You can’t be serious?” he asked, eyebrows raised.
“Dead serious. Will you take two-fifty, and I’ll throw in my suit for you?”
He blinked, then grinned. “Deal.”
Within minutes, I’d changed and got behind the wheel of a truck, all mine. Cowboy Carter was back.