turned to look at his newly appointed business attorney and shrugged off the nearly overwhelming urge to shout his news across the office, out the window, down the phone to the New York fucking Times.
Ben cocked a suspicious eyebrow. “Okaaaay,” he said, closing the office door behind him. “Well, I thought you’d want to know the latest. Austin Ford has opened a consulting firm in Chicago.”
Carter frowned. “Chicago.”
“Apparently. I’m not sure what his business will be consulting for, or whether it’s a euphemism for shady shit, but I’ll do some more digging. Adam doesn’t seem to know much about it.”
Carter sat down and gestured for Ben to do the same. “Should I be worried?”
His cousin, Austin, was one slippery motherfucker but, surprisingly, had been off the business radar for a long time. As far as Carter was aware, and from the small snippets of information he gathered from Austin’s brother, Adam, Austin had been keeping himself busy spending his millions, traveling the world, which suited Carter just fine. As long as he stayed the hell away from Carter. And his wife-to-be.
Ben shook his head. “Nah. Don’t be worried. He won’t—can’t—touch you, Kat, or WCS. But I’ll keep my eye on him, find out who he’s dealing with.”
“I appreciate that.”
Ben had been an integral force in Carter’s reclaiming the family business from Austin. He was determined, loyal, and Kat trusted him implicitly. It hadn’t taken Carter long to realize that Ben would be an invaluable addition to his new staff at WCS. He’d pretty much offered the bastard all but the kitchen sink to lure him from his last position, but it had been more than worth it. As well as being outstanding at his job, over the past few months, thanks in no small part to Kat, Ben and Carter had also become good friends.
“Keep me updated will you?” Carter asked as he pulled off his biker boots.
“You bet,” Ben agreed with a smile, watching Carter remove his leathers, under which—Ben was relieved to see—were gray suit pants. Carter’s boots were replaced with more respectable shiny black Dior loafers, which he grabbed from underneath the desk.
“I can’t believe Kat lets you ride your bike to the office,” Ben said with a chuckle. “We have a car service, you know.”
Carter rolled his eyes and held up a finger. “First, I’m my own man and I make my own decisions. Kat doesn’t ‘let’ me do anything.” He paused. “Unless I ask nicely.” Ben laughed knowingly. “Second, my bike’s name is Kala, and the car service can eat a dick. I like traveling in style.” He smirked. “Besides, chicks dig leather.”
Ben snorted. “Fair enough. I also wanted you to know that the paperwork has been finalized on the O’Hare body shop.”
Carter sighed and nodded. “With all the clauses I stipulated?”
“Every one. Max will remain the primary owner. He’ll be paid a regular monthly income, as will his workers. The final debts have been wiped and the business is slowly creeping back into the black.”
It was hard for Carter to smile, despite the relief that warmed his chest. “Good. Max doesn’t need to be worrying about that place while he’s . . . recovering.”
“Agreed,” Ben affirmed. “You heard from him?”
Carter sat back in his chair, glancing out the window. “Yesterday.”
Ben didn’t push and Carter was glad of it. Hearing Max, his best friend, so distant, so tired and battle worn, had been very tough. He’d been at the rehab clinic for a little over three weeks, with no communication allowed for the first fourteen days. As much as he’d tried to hide it, Carter had been worried sick, frequently checking his cell phone for word that Max had busted out of the place, flipped out, or worse.
The first call he’d received had done little to ease his anxiety. Max was beyond low, lost in a depression so thick, Carter couldn’t bear to think what would have happened if he hadn’t
Ben cocked a suspicious eyebrow. “Okaaaay,” he said, closing the office door behind him. “Well, I thought you’d want to know the latest. Austin Ford has opened a consulting firm in Chicago.”
Carter frowned. “Chicago.”
“Apparently. I’m not sure what his business will be consulting for, or whether it’s a euphemism for shady shit, but I’ll do some more digging. Adam doesn’t seem to know much about it.”
Carter sat down and gestured for Ben to do the same. “Should I be worried?”
His cousin, Austin, was one slippery motherfucker but, surprisingly, had been off the business radar for a long time. As far as Carter was aware, and from the small snippets of information he gathered from Austin’s brother, Adam, Austin had been keeping himself busy spending his millions, traveling the world, which suited Carter just fine. As long as he stayed the hell away from Carter. And his wife-to-be.
Ben shook his head. “Nah. Don’t be worried. He won’t—can’t—touch you, Kat, or WCS. But I’ll keep my eye on him, find out who he’s dealing with.”
“I appreciate that.”
Ben had been an integral force in Carter’s reclaiming the family business from Austin. He was determined, loyal, and Kat trusted him implicitly. It hadn’t taken Carter long to realize that Ben would be an invaluable addition to his new staff at WCS. He’d pretty much offered the bastard all but the kitchen sink to lure him from his last position, but it had been more than worth it. As well as being outstanding at his job, over the past few months, thanks in no small part to Kat, Ben and Carter had also become good friends.
“Keep me updated will you?” Carter asked as he pulled off his biker boots.
“You bet,” Ben agreed with a smile, watching Carter remove his leathers, under which—Ben was relieved to see—were gray suit pants. Carter’s boots were replaced with more respectable shiny black Dior loafers, which he grabbed from underneath the desk.
“I can’t believe Kat lets you ride your bike to the office,” Ben said with a chuckle. “We have a car service, you know.”
Carter rolled his eyes and held up a finger. “First, I’m my own man and I make my own decisions. Kat doesn’t ‘let’ me do anything.” He paused. “Unless I ask nicely.” Ben laughed knowingly. “Second, my bike’s name is Kala, and the car service can eat a dick. I like traveling in style.” He smirked. “Besides, chicks dig leather.”
Ben snorted. “Fair enough. I also wanted you to know that the paperwork has been finalized on the O’Hare body shop.”
Carter sighed and nodded. “With all the clauses I stipulated?”
“Every one. Max will remain the primary owner. He’ll be paid a regular monthly income, as will his workers. The final debts have been wiped and the business is slowly creeping back into the black.”
It was hard for Carter to smile, despite the relief that warmed his chest. “Good. Max doesn’t need to be worrying about that place while he’s . . . recovering.”
“Agreed,” Ben affirmed. “You heard from him?”
Carter sat back in his chair, glancing out the window. “Yesterday.”
Ben didn’t push and Carter was glad of it. Hearing Max, his best friend, so distant, so tired and battle worn, had been very tough. He’d been at the rehab clinic for a little over three weeks, with no communication allowed for the first fourteen days. As much as he’d tried to hide it, Carter had been worried sick, frequently checking his cell phone for word that Max had busted out of the place, flipped out, or worse.
The first call he’d received had done little to ease his anxiety. Max was beyond low, lost in a depression so thick, Carter couldn’t bear to think what would have happened if he hadn’t
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