Page 44 of White Collar Rancher

Percy was a fellow wolf and was probably using Gabrielle as much as she was using him. With the man’s established power and wealth and her tenacity and ambition, they were perfect for each other. Justin didn’t want to have anything to do with either of them.

“What did you call for?” This phone call wasn’t about small talk. She wanted something from him. He wasn’t the naïve twenty-year-old anymore, enamored of the sophisticated coed with big ideas and even bigger opinions.

He also didn’t want to fend off any advances, if she dared do that to Percy. It might slip out that he was kind of seeing someone. Gabrielle would sniff out any doubts he had and pounce on them like the predator she was.

He liked the way things were with Priya, and ironically, he had Gabrielle to thank. His ex had ruined him for relationships forever.

“It just so happens I wasn’t the only one thinking about you. The VP of Neumen, Fitz, and Ruper is now the CEO. Remember George Nowak? He called the other day, asking about you.”

“Send him my best wishes.” Landing the NFR account had been his grand finale, the reason Gabrielle had kept him around toward the end. Truthfully, it hadn’t been a hardship. George was a nice guy, a family man who wanted the best company for the marketing job, and it’d helped that Justin came from a small ranching community in the Midwest that reminded George of his own hometown in Switzerland.

“He’d love it if you sent them yourself. He arrives in ten days and would love to see you.”

And there was the reason she’d called. The first year of the deal he’d secured with George was over and Gabrielle wanted to make sure there were many more happy years of collaboration.

“Pass on my regrets. I can’t make it.”

“I’d really hate for you to miss out.” She peppered her words with a touch of flirty whine. “It hasn’t been that long since you’ve been back to Denver. I’m sure not much has changed.”

His hearty laugh ricocheted around the living room. Isaiah started and gave a gummy smile in return. Not much has changed. He’d lived a whole other life in the last year.

“I have a kid, Gabrielle.”

“Wha—” She was silent so long he wasn’t sure she was going to speak again. He relished the shock he’d given her. “I didn’t realize—”

“No, you didn’t. Because we’re through. I don’t work with you anymore, and it’s not my ring you wear on your finger. I’d love to see George, but you should be glad I’m not going to. I would tell him to find another company whose objectives don’t include acting like a chameleon to land big accounts. I would tell him to find a company that isn’t run by a sellout.”

“Justin, where is this coming from?”

“I’m not doing any work for you anymore. Not as an employee, not as a consultant, and not as a friend. I have a ranch to run and a kid to raise.” He almost said son, but he didn’t want to give Gabrielle details about his life.

“Are you married?”

He was tempted to answer, but she didn’t get more of his time. He was a jean-wearing, scruffy rancher who no longer had to answer to her. “Goodbye, Gabrielle. I mean it. Give George my best, but I’m done with that life.” He disconnected.

The expensive watch. A penthouse condo. A cleaning service to scrub away any evidence of his existence in a condo that had never felt homey. Gabrielle’s acid-tongued “jokes” about having to reset the clock each time he returned home. He’d been a starched white undershirt away from never visiting his family again.

His visits had started dwindling. That should’ve been a giant flag waving that he wasn’t comfortable with the guy he was turning into. He used to stop outside of Minnesota on his drive home and change into more casual clothing than his pressed slacks and cashmere sweater. He’d rent a pickup, too.

Pathetic.

He wasn’t that guy anymore. The impressionable young kid who’d wanted to prove himself and carve his own place in the world since his older brother had been handed a partnership in the family business. For other people, that life in Denver, the world-traveling businessman, was a perfect fit.

Not him. And he’d been too weak to accept himself.

That was no longer the case. He nudged the basket of laundry aside. It could wait and get wrinkled. He’d wear the clothing, creases and all.

He peeked at Isaiah, then beelined into his bedroom. In the closet, he didn’t bother turning on the light. All his old suits hung on one side. Sweeping his arms out and together, he pinched them into one bundle and lifted them off the rack. He dumped them on the ground. When he had time, he’d take the lot to a secondhand store.

He had no need for suits. No one was changing him again.

The words spilled out. Once Priya started, she couldn’t quit.

She’d entered the sitting room where Dad liked to catch up on the digital version of the Wall Street Journal and started talking.

Mom had wandered in halfway through the diatribe, but she’d stayed quiet.

“So, that’s where I’m at. What do I do?” She’d been standing the whole time. Flopping into the padded wicker chair, she ignored the creak. Her mom loved the set and refused to get rid of it.

---