by CJ Turner
The Mountain Man and His Billionaire
CJ Turner
Copyright © 2021 by CJ Turner
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, by any electronic or mechanical means, without the written permission of the copyright holder, except in case of brief quotations and within critical reviews and articles.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Contents
Spoiler Alert:
Alister
Manu
Alister
Manu
Alister
Manu
Alister
Manu
Alister
Manu
Epilogue
Bonus Epilogue
Message from CJ
Sneak Peek
Also by CJ Turner
Spoiler Alert:
“The Mountain Man and His Billionaire” has a BONUS second epilogue available for free.
Simply go to this link ( https://bit.ly/38fGkCP ) and the second epilogue will be emailed to you.
The BONUS second epilogue contains spoilers.
Chapter One
Alister
“Daniel, I’m dying. Get me out of here.”
As Alister’s head pounded with a massive headache from drinking one too many lemon drop martinis on a hot day, he could hear the restrained huff of his personal assistant over the phone. With a groan, Alister sunk further into the sofa he sat in. The room, typical of his parents, was overly ornate and had too many furnishings for its function. But his parents never found excess a burden.
“You are not dying,” said Daniel with exasperation. “Where are you?”
“The bathroom on the first floor. I just couldn’t stand it anymore. Everyone is so damned happy. Livvy is in her glory because Carlton is home for the weekend barbecue. And Theo—” Here he sighed dramatically.
“And Theo, what?” said Daniel. “He’s like your big brother, for heaven’s sake.”
“Exactly! With a hunk of man on his arm, unlike me. Both my virtual big brother and my actual big sister are living their Happily Ever Afters while I’m crying over Insta.”
“Why are you looking at ‘he-who-should-not-be-named’s’ social media account? Have we not talked about this? Damn it. You shouldn’t have done all that free work for him on social media. If his sad little account petered out, you wouldn’t feel so bad.”
“I can’t help it if I’m a social media genius. It’s a natural talent.”
“That you got a master’s degree in. Who gets a Master in Communication?”
“Everyone these days,” sighed Alister.
“Stop looking at that skank’s Insta,” said Daniel. “Must I take your phone away?
“Please, you cannot confiscate my phone. Livvy tried that already.”
“That’s because you are a brat and memorized everyone’s safe combinations.”
“I am not,” Alister said haughtily. “I’m suffering here, Daniel. I can’t stay in Waterside one minute longer.”
“You could go to your family’s castle in Scotland and play golf.”
Alister sniffed. “It’s too cold there now, I suck at golf, and the locals do not think Primae Noctis is a fun idea.”
“That’s because you are not a feudal lord, and that only applied to women on their wedding nights.”
“Oh, yeah. That would be a problem.”
“You could go to your house on St. Croix.”
“The last time I went, I got sunburn and heartburn. Now I’m nauseated at the thought of it.”
Alister could hear Daniel rolling his eyes. “Besides,” continued Alister, “my family would know where to look for me.”
“And this is a problem?”
“No. The refugee from the SEALs is the problem.”
“He is not a refugee. He’s a highly qualified security consultant tasked with keeping you safe.”
“And therein lies the problem. How can I nurse a broken heart with wildly inappropriate men with Mr. Tall, Dark, and Forbidding standing guard in the corner?”
“First World problems, Alister. So many would like to have them.”
“Why do I put up with you?”
“Because I’ll do anything for you. Well, almost anything.”
“Then help me get out of here.”
“I can arrange a plane ticket and a car, but where do you want to go?”
Alister groaned and sunk his head to his hand. This caused more discomfort since his forehead hit his Vertu Bentley smartphone’s sapphire crystal face, reigniting his pounding headache. He stood and opened the medicine cabinet with a sigh to see if an analgesic hid within its bowels. Finding none, Alister rummaged through the drawers of the massive vanity. Here, frustratingly, he found only hand towels, a lipstick tube, a travel-size bottle of mouthwash, toothpaste, and a toothbrush.
“Great,” he groaned. “I see my family’s priorities. Forget your pounding head, but make sure you come to the dinner table with sparkling teeth and kissable breath.”
“What?” said Daniel. He sounded distracted.
“My family’s priorities are screwed up.”
“Alister! Pull it together. I’ve got another client blowing up my phone.”
“Ditch them.”
“You don’t pay enough to ditch this client.”
“Rude, rude, rude.”
“Truth and word, Alister. I can call you back.”
“No!” erupted Alister. He didn’t want to end this phone call with the only person that cared what Alister wanted.
“Where, then?”
Alister sucked on his lip and flipped through his emails.
“No, no, no,” muttered Alister as he thumbed through one message after another from friends sensibly ensconced in other countries enjoying their lives. It hit him another country would not do because he would need to retrieve his passport in his room upstairs. And Mr. Grim-With-A-Gun would follow him and figure out Alister’s plan. After all, he had been a SEAL and hunted terrorists or some such thing.
“Where can I go, Daniel?”
“Wait a minute,” Daniel said.
“What?” Alister huffed. He knew that traitor now texted another client at this minute, double-dipping on Alister’s time. So much for his Christmas bonus.
“Denver.”
“Denver?”
“Your friend Sebastian. He’s been after you forever to visit.”
“How do you know about him?”
“You told me last week he sent you an email inviting you to visit anytime.”
“You have the memory of an elephant.”
“Keep that in mind. I know where you buried all your peccadillos.”
“You leave my dildos out of this. Besides, I can’t go to Denver.”
“Why on earth not?”
“Sebastian lives at the top of a mountain. I’m no good with heights. What if I fall off?”
“Don’t tell me you never skied Aspen.”
“Please. With my delicate complexion? It’s too close to the sun.”
“Alister, the earth is still ninety-three million miles from the sun, even at Aspen.”
“Isn’t there a hole in the ozone or something?”
“That’s in Antarctica.”
“Well, isn’t Colorado close to Alaska?”
“You’re thinking of the Arctic. And no, neither the Arctic nor Antarctica is close to Colorado. The ozone layer is ju
st fine there. Alister, get a grip. I’m booking the plane now. And calling the car. Where do you want to meet it?”
“Wait. Why should I go to Denver?”
“Because there is alcohol on the plane.”
Alister considered the advantages of alcohol on the plane even if he had too many lemon drop martinis today.
“Fair point. But what will I wear?”
Daniel gave a long-suffering sigh. “Only you would worry about your wardrobe when making a jailbreak. I’ll order clothes from the Neiman in Denver and send them to Sebastian’s house. You need new clothes anyway.”
“Don’t I always?”
“It’s why you are my favorite client. You need to leave now. The car is on his way. Your flight leaves at 7:55 p.m. at JFK.”
“First class?”
“Please, you’re lucky I got you booked in business class, which is the highest upgrade you can get on this airline.”
“Oh, no—”
“Don’t say it. You’ll fly it and like it. I told the cab to meet you at the gate, so get walking. Do you have your ID?”
Alister patted the pockets of his pink flamingo print swim trunks. To his relief, his wallet rested in the right-hand pocket.
“Yes.”
“Then go. Now. Before the Grim Keeper discovers your nefarious plan to escape. And I’ll send a charger for your phone. I almost had a heart attack the last time you traveled and forgot it.”
“You did not.”
“Alister, I’m hanging up the phone now. And if you aren’t in Denver tomorrow, I’m charging you double for the time today. No. Triple.”
Alister huffed. “Fine. Bye.”
He clicked off the phone and stared at his face in the mirror. For all his heartache of the past two months, Alister looked fine despite the graduated orange button-down he wore. It was not his best fashion choice because he did not have enough of a tan to carry it off. But Alister sported no hollow cheeks from his grief, no red-rimmed eyes from his emotional pain. Maybe he lost five pounds? Alister shrugged. It was a hot summer, and he probably lost some water weight. No. The hurt that ran through Alister was the war with his emotions and his thinking. He missed Jesse, damn it, and felt that ache in every cell of his body. Jesse was a no-good, lying, cheating gigolo that no decent person had any business being with. That’s what Alister told himself. But Alister couldn’t deny that he fell for the jerk. And Alister wanted to forget how stupid he was to fall in love with Jesse’s impossibly handsome face.
Sebastian was a good friend. At least he had been at college. And it had been too long since Alister saw him.
Still, he couldn’t just leave, could he? His parents would freak out. They always did when he tried to disappear.
But he was an adult, damn it, and had the right to go anywhere he wanted.
Still, not leaving a message would be horrible. Alister loved his parents and didn’t want them to worry.
Alister opened the drawer that held the hand towels and pulled out the lipstick, mouthwash, toothpaste, and brush. He popped open the lip color’s cover and grimaced. It was a horrible shade of neon pink. Jeez, who would wear a thing like that? He decided it would be some demented blonde trying too hard. Then he remembered that Livvy wore this shade in her teenage years. Thankfully, she had matured in her tastes.
He considered writing the message on the mirror, but that was cliché and could be discovered too soon. Alister pocketed the mouthwash, brush, and toothpaste. He would need to pass through a security checkpoint. Unfortunately, they did not let obvious drunks on the plane.
A knock on the door shattered his reverie.
“Are you okay, Mr. Grant?”
It was the Grim Keeper, checking his pulse to make sure he still breathed. Now Alister felt irritated plus slightly drunk, so he didn’t regret his next words.
“I’m fine, damn it. Can’t a man take a dump in peace?”
“Sorry, Mr. Grant.”
The window was a Georgian sliding sash with six panes in each frame, but there was one problem. Alister’s parents had the windows sealed for security with bulletproof glass fitted to the outside window well.
Alister needed to be more creative.
He stepped to the commode to flush it, to hide his current perfidy, then figured that would be a bad idea. He needed time, and he wasted enough of it. But the commode gave him an idea.
He pulled open the door to the medicine cabinet again and wrote a message that his parents would hate. They would think him reckless and immature, and right now, he didn’t care.
“Sorry. I had to leave. Don’t worry about me. Will call.” He signed it with a big “A” with his usual flourish at the end, then closed the door. Someone would see it and tell his parents. But by that time, he’d be long gone.
Taking a hand towel, he stuffed it into the commode deep inside so no one could see it. Then he carefully washed his hands and dried them with another towel. Then Alister flushed the toilet.
Soon the water poured over the sides.
“Oh, my freaking God!” he yelled.
Immediately, the Grim Keeper dashed in.
“Look at that! Oh, my God. It’s a freaking mess. Try to stop it!”
While the Grim Keeper peered at the disaster Alister created, he dashed out the door and turned to the left to the front door of the mansion. The Grant family rarely used this door except for grand parties, of which a barbecue was not. Looking over his shoulder, he checked to make sure no one saw him, and he unlocked the front door and slipped out.
It was hot, and the sun beat down on him while wild bees buzzed around the holly bushes at the front of the house. Behind him, Alister heard people laughing and splashing in the outdoor pool and, for a second, he considered giving up his crazy plan.
“Hey, where’s Alister?” called a voice. That sounded like that ass, Carlton. And then in some game, the others yelled, “Alister, come here, Alister,” as if he was a lost puppy.
Alister picked up his black Gucci tiger pool slide sandals wet from commode water and ran for the front gate with the soles slapping his heels wetly. At the opening, he spotted the car waiting for him, and he yanked the door open and flung his body inside. The driver’s eyes went wide with surprise.
“Alister Grant?”
“Yes, that’s me. Don’t just sit there. Hit the gas. My destiny awaits.”
Chapter Two
Manu
Manu sighed as he dropped his head to his steepled fingers. People hustled to line up for the flight, but he sat there. His seat assignment didn't matter. He pressed his lips tight together. The day turned out to be a massive disappointment, and now he must make painful decisions about his flailing business.
With most seats around him emptied, he stuck out his foot, numb from holding the same position too long. He closed his eyes and considered boarding the plane.
“Last call for Flight 2101 for Denver,” the attendant at the door announced over the PA.
“Wait!” shouted a voice.
Manu jumped when hot liquid sprayed over him. A loud “ooff” filled the space near him. His eyes flew open to discover a slight man sprawled on the floor with a large coffee cup and a large quantity of the brew spreading on the carpet.
“What the ever-loving fu—” The man struggled to untangle his feet from Manu's leg. His slide sandals emblazoned with the Gucci logo flapped impotently on his feet. Then he flipped to land his ass on his coffee soaking into the carpet and cursed again. But Manu didn't see his face. No. His eyes went to the lack of underwear under the stumbler's swim trunks. His manhood flashed from under his purple swim trunks with printed pink flamingos, which revved Manu's imagination. To quash his inappropriate thoughts, Manu leveled his gaze to the man's face, which turned out almost as bad. Young, appearing in his middle twenties, he sported blond hair and startling blue eyes. Along with the swim trunks, he wore a short-sleeved button-down in graduated orange tones. Everything about the blond screamed “twink” to Manu, but one shouldn'
t make assumptions.
Involuntarily Manu guffawed and then couldn't stop his laughter.
The twink jumped to his feet with his eyes blazing. His gaze communicated a desire to tear Manu apart with his bare hands. Manu enjoyed the idea of the young man touching him.
“What are you laughing at?
Manu broke into a grin, which infuriated the twink more.
“An escapee from the fashion police. No wonder you were running.”
The man felt his bottom and grimaced. “I'm soaked! And it’s all your fault.”
Manu shook his head and covered his mouth with his hand to stifle another emerging chuckle.
“Nope. It's the vehicle in motion that's at fault in an accident.”
“You're heavily invested in law enforcement. Are you a cop?”
“No.”
“Final boarding call for Denver, Flight 2101.”
Manu rose and shouldered his backpack.
“Wait. Where are you going? What will you do about my pants?”
Manu raised an eyebrow. “I'm not at fault, so nothing.”
“I can't board the plane in this condition.”
“Gentlemen,” said the attendant by the door. “I'm about to close the door. If you're boarding, now's the time.”
The twink huffed. “Thanks for nothing.”
For a second, Manu focused on the twink's mouth, red and wet with his indignation. The desire to order the twink to kneel and show Manu what he could do with that mouth swept over him in a relentless wave. Manu swallowed hard. He rarely suffered such wild, impulsive thoughts. What is my problem?
Manu walked past the twink to the gate attendant, who took his boarding pass, to break the spell. He was too aware of the heat emanating from the twink behind him. The twink grunted noises of dissatisfaction and the sounds curiously affected Manu, and thoughts flashed in his mind of turning those sounds into squeals of pleasure.