The Bozeman Billionaire

Chapter 1

1

"Downtown Chicago is a world away from Montana," Trad thought to himself as he briskly walked down the street.

Trad stood out like a sore thumb, in his well worn cowboy boots, tight blue jeans, heavy Carhartt jacket and dark brown Stetson hat. Despite being in his thirties, his eyes had begun to show the signs of life on the ranch - crow's feet when he smiled. A girl once described his eyes as "a lost ocean", whatever that meant.

He was late as usual, and he knew his father would be furious. The quarterly meetings with the shareholders were very important - but since moving to rural Montana three years ago, time seemed more and more unimportant.

Sometimes he would smile thinking back to the life he had before becoming a rancher. Pushed by his father to excel, Trad worked both as an investment banker and an attorney. The youngest partner at the firm. He had a strict regimen for every aspect of his life. He woke at 3:30 in the morning, seven days a week. He worked until 11:30 each night, seven days a week. It left very little time for a social life.

Most of his s****l experiences came by way of high end prostitutes. It was just easier. No wasted time going on dates or using the latest hook-up app. In fact, in his "spare time", what little of it there was, he had actually developed one of the first hook-up apps, a dating tool that specialized in partnering the elite with call girls. Once launched and turning a profit, he sold his interest in the app and made quite a pretty penny.

Not that he needed it. Trad had no idea just how much his own personal worth was at this point. He knew it was easily in the billions. When his father was sick earlier that year, he handed the company over to him - making Tradrick Washington III one of the wealthiest men in America.

"Tradrick," he thought, "God, I hate that f*****g name."

In prep school he had taken to being called Trad. He would explode if anyone ever referred to him as Tradrick.

In fact, before moving to Montana, Trad's "explosions" had gotten so bad he was enrolled in court appointed therapy. He had learned some tools to help control his temper, but honestly, he rarely used them. He felt that his temper, his hotheadedness, his aggression - was his edge. Plus, it felt damn good to rip a room to shreds with just his words.

The last few months had been a whirlwind. He accepted his father's company, but refused to move back to Chicago. He hated Chicago. Montana was home now. This meant a lot of calls and an occasional fly in, but nothing he couldn't handle. Besides, he could always use these business trips as an excuse to visit some of his favorite upscale hookers in the Windy City. To put it mildly, Montana's working girls had a bit of a different "look" than what Trad was going for.

He had vowed long ago to never settle down. He refused commitment. The very word sickened him to his core. He saw the relationship his own parents had, and vowed he would never repeat the mistakes he witnessed firsthand while growing up.

Besides, no woman was interesting enough for him.

His mind continued to wander as he wove his way through the streets, finally making it to the Washington Building, a landmark of the Chicago skyline which had been in his family for four generations now.

Without realizing it, he had entered the luxury office high-rise with a Marlboro cigarette still dangling from his lips.

"Excuse me, sir," a security guard huffed, "you'll need to put that out!"

Trad ignored the pudgy middle-aged rent-a-cop as he briskly walked past.

"Sir!" The guard howled, "this is a smoke free building!"

Without turning his head, Trad screamed, "and I own this smoke free building, motherfucker!"

Another guard quickly motioned for his associate to politely sit back down as he began to speed walk his way to catch up to Trad.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Washington," the guard said. "Trevor is new here - he didn't recognize you."

Trad shot back, "Fire Trevor immediately. He is no longer welcome in my building." And with that he entered the elevator, flicking his cigarette at the guard just as the doors were closing. He snickered as he began the ascent to the seventy-ninth floor.

As per usual, the meeting was a bore and could have been done via Skype. Trad paid little attention to the board and even less attention to his father, who despite failing health was still able to sit in on these quarterly meetings.

Afterwards father barely said 'hello' to son. He did manage to get in one parting shot before leaving, "Jesus, Trad," his father barked, "you're not the f*****g Marlboro Man. Get a suit."

"f**k off, old man," was Trad's response.

Needless to say, father and son had a very strained relationship.

As the last of the board members made their way out of the boardroom, Trad surveyed the Windy City - the way a lion surveys its kingdom. Despite now being the "Billionaire of Bozeman", as local newspapers back home in Montana had dubbed him, Chicago was his true domain. The view from the seventy-ninth floor was breathtaking. He owned the city.

Trad left the confines of the boardroom and rounded the corner down the hall to his office. It hadn't been touched in months. He did all his work from his laptop in Montana.

Everything was neat and precise and exactly how it was left the last time he stopped through. Fumbling for his keychain, he fit the desk key into lock and opened the top drawer of the mammoth solid oak office desk which had a fine layer of dust on top. He refused to allow anyone in his personal office while he was away.

"I f*****g hate offices," he said out loud - despite being alone.

Paging through his black, Moleskin notebook he considered his options before flying out.

Candy, Jasmine, Rose, Grace...

Each girl had an entry in the notebook. A few key characteristics were written down beside their name. Not that he cared, it was simply to appear like he was a true gentleman.

Candy - blonde, 22y/o, stupid

Jasmine - blonde, 19y/o, big tits

Rose - mixed, young looking, good legs

Grace - brunette w/ dyed hair, tattoos, pierced tongue

The descriptions were helpful, but quite frankly, the women blurred together. What really mattered was what was scrolled on the line underneath name and description:

Candy - blonde, 22y/o, stupid

Great b*****b, swallows

Jasmine - blonde, 19y/o, big tits

Possible lesbian (?), down 4 3sums

Rose - mixed, young looking, good legs

Butt stuff

Grace - brunette w/ dyed hair, tattoos, pierced tongue

Anything goes, squirts, etc.

And so it went.

Page after page after page.

He sighed thinking about the options. s*x was a simple business transaction. He shopped around, found something (in this case, someone) he liked, made the purchase, and enjoyed the merchandise. It was just easy. No mind games.

He had been profiled by numerous newspapers and magazines over the years. Since his late teens he was consistently named one of the "most eligible bachelors". Women could smell the money and the power when he walked in a room, and consequently they threw themselves at him. But a relationship meant commitment and trust, and Trad vowed he would never fall for that trap.

He texted Grace and Jasmine. Scheduled a party at his penthouse suite for 9:00 PM that evening.

This will be fun! He thought to himself, before locking down his office for another few months.

By tomorrow morning, I'll be on a plane for Bozeman. And I'll have f****d two of the hottest girls in Chicago! He smiled, for the first time all day.

Lighting another cigarette in the elevator, Trad was greeted by the recently terminated security guard.

"I'm very sorry, Mr. Washington," the man said solemnly.

Trad smirked and blew a large puff of smoke in the man's face as he briskly walked past him and out the building.

The Chicago wind whipped him in his face and Trad was surprised by the sudden burst of cold autumn air. Turning left and heading down the street, he found his favorite coffeehouse and decided he needed to fuel up before the big night.

"One espresso," he muttered as he scrolled through his phone, not bothering to look up at the young barista.

"Long day?" The friendly woman asked.

Trad didn't bother to respond. He was quickly deleting all unnecessary emails from his inbox. He texted his assistant:

I want to receive NO more emails,

unless absolutely necessary.

Do your f*****g job -

keep my inbox clear you f**k!

He sighed and muttered, "worthless f**k" under his breath.

"Here's that espresso," the girl said.

Finally looking up from his phone, Trad grabbed the drink and made eye contact with the young woman.

Immediately he felt a strange sense of embarrassment by his behavior. The barista was cute, almost pretty in an unconventional way. But there was something about her eyes and her smile that he instantly felt compelled by.

"Sorry," he said, "long day, yes."

"Me too," she smiled, genuinely.

"Is it almost over for you?" He asked.

"No, I just started my shift an hour ago. But this is my second job. I already put in eight hours earlier today," she said.

"Well, you're done for the day," he said.

"What?"

Opening up his wallet, Trad motioned for the young woman's manager.

Trad began to pull hundreds from his wallet, he set a pile of ten on the counter.

"Here is one thousand dollars," he said.

"What's that for?" The manager asked.

"I am buying her freedom for the day," Trad said confidently, adding, "I am giving you a thousand dollars and she's going to leave right now. You are going to promise me she still has a job here - despite her leaving during a shift like this."

The young barista began to blush. She stammered, "Oh, ah, I can't, I..."

The manager said, "Claire, I'd like to split this with you," as he took five hundred for himself and handed the remaining money to the young woman.

"And I have your word she still has a job here?" Trad asked.

"You have my word," the manager said, "but do you mind me asking where a cowboy like you got this kind of money?"

Trad smiled and put his wallet in his back pocket. "Just luck, I guess."

Claire continued to look overwhelmed and in shock.

"Um, ah, I can't just leave."

"Sure you can, I just bought your freedom for the day," Trad replied with a crooked smile.

"You're not a serial killer are you?"

"Do I look like a serial killer?"

She blushed.

"Look, you can leave now and do whatever. You don't have to go with me anywhere. You said you had a long day, so I just paid to make it shorter for you." And with that, Trad turned and walked out the door.

Claire stood in shock as her manager pushed her to go thank the stranger in cowboy garb.

"Hey, mister!" She yelled out the door, "wanna have a coffee?"

Holding up his espresso, Trad replied, "no thanks - I already got one from this cute girl!"

It was strangely out of character for him to behave like this. It was fun playing the flirting game, but he knew it could only lead to heartbreak, divorce and losing half of everything. Yet, there was something about this bookish barista that compelled him to be flirtatious.

"Seriously," she smiled, "let me grab a quick cup and let's talk for a few."

Trad slowly walked back towards the coffeeshop and said, "ok, but I'm buying."

"I get it for free - plus you just spent a grand here!" She giggled.

"No ma'am," he replied, "it's my principle - I have to pay. What do you want?"

"I'd love a pumpkin spice latte," Claire added, "extra whipped cream."

Ordering again, this time with the barista by his side, Trad placed the order. "Pumpkin spice latte, extra whipped cream for my friend..."

"My name is Claire," she said, realizing they had not formally exchanged names.

"For my friend, Claire."

Watching the other barista make her drink, and thinking about the fun to be had at nine that evening with Grace and Jasmine, Trad reached for yet another hundred in his wallet.

Placing it on the counter, he said, "hundred bucks for the whipped cream dispenser."

The other barista looked strangely at Trad and then at her manager who quickly walked to the counter grabbing the hundred dollar bill while saying, "Done and done!"

Trad put the dispenser in his messenger bag and handed Claire her pumpkin spice latte.

"Let's walk," he commanded.