Meant To Be Different Read online

  Meant

  to be

  Different

  Meant to Be Series

  Book Two

  By AMELIA FOSTER

  Meant to be Different

  Copyright © 2019 by Amelia Foster.

  All rights reserved.

  First Print Edition: July 2019

  Limitless Publishing, LLC

  Kailua, HI 96734

  www.limitlesspublishing.com

  Formatting: Limitless Publishing

  ISBN-13: 978-1-64034-843-1

  ISBN-10: 1-64034-843-3

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to locales, events, business establishments, or actual persons—living or dead—is entirely coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Epilogue

  Chapter One

  Wyatt

  Present Day

  “I’m retiring.”

  Just as Wyatt had anticipated, Jim’s jaw dropped and his pale complexion mottled. “Now son, this is a bit unreasonable. We don’t need to be hasty. Let’s just talk about this first. You’re only thirty years old—”

  Wyatt held his hand up, cutting off his manager’s bluster. “Thirty is damn near geriatric in this business. And I don’t want to wait until my body is broken and useless and my brain has turned to mush.”

  The older man tapped his pen on the desk several times in rapid succession, regarding Wyatt solemnly. “And what are you going to do with yourself? Write a book? Go on that celebrity dance competition show and learn the cha-cha?”

  He snorted and crossed his leg, resting his ankle on the opposite knee. “I’m not that desperate for attention. Although some of those girls are pretty hot.” He tilted his head back and forth a few times in mock consideration before giving it a definitive shake. “Nah, I’m done with being in the spotlight.”

  Jim leaned back in his office chair and folded his hands over his plump midsection, the whitening of his knuckles belying his relaxed posture. “So you’re going to work some middle management job and go home to your PTA wife and two-point-five kids at the end of the day and mow your picket fence-lined yard on the weekends? You’re just going to fade into oblivion in suburbia?”

  The confident smile Wyatt had walked in with slipped. His agent’s derisive questions were hitting a little too close to home. He wanted more than two kids and the only woman he’d ever considered marrying could be called a lot of things, but an average PTA mom wasn’t one of them.

  But everything else? Hell yeah. Jim had unwittingly described Wyatt’s version of perfect.

  He held no disillusions about the man’s motivations. While Jim had proven himself competent and capable over the years they’d worked together—despite all the warnings Wyatt had been given about the man from other competitors—Wyatt knew he was one of Jim’s highest-grossing clients. Which translated into a nice, fat percentage landing squarely in Jim’s bank account. He couldn’t care less if Wyatt would be bored by a career change, only that his influx of money would drop considerably.

  “My mind is made up. Five more competitions and then I’m done.” He stood and straightened the legs of his jeans. “Run whatever ads and promotions you need to run. Create whatever hype you can.”

  He pinned his manager with a knowing stare. Wyatt had made most of his important life decisions by trusting his gut and ignoring rumors, including the ones that Jim had some personal issues that were bleeding into his professional career, but lately his manager was making him uneasy. “And, by all means, get as many endorsements lined up as you can to pad your wallet with that fifteen percent you take off the top of all my deals.”

  With that parting shot, he grabbed the cowboy hat he was never without and jammed it on his head. He pointedly ignored the sputtering from Jim behind him, scrambling for another excuse as to why Wyatt shouldn’t retire.

  For more than a decade, his life had been a series of nondescript hotel rooms and nearly never-ending aches and pains. Not to mention interviews, flights, buses and…perpetual exhaustion.

  It was an unpleasant and sometimes irritating lifestyle, but it was also familiar and comfortable. And Wyatt’s new career path, hell, his new life, was uncertain, risky, and could easily fail long before he even had a chance to get off the ground.

  A slow smile spread across his face as he stepped out of the tall, gray office building and into the hot Houston sun. Yeah, he was taking a big chance. Sure, it was damn near terrifying to think of doing something new, something that required more thought than any endeavor before in his life, and something that could possibly end up as the second biggest mistake of his life.

  But it was also far more thrilling than eight seconds on any bull he’d ridden in his career.

  Once his plan began to take shape, he could finally correct the one thing that had been haunting him for nearly a dozen years. That was possibly the biggest draw of all.

  He slid into his truck, blasting the AC as high as it would go, and pulled his cell phone from the breast pocket of his black western shirt, his finger landing on the familiar name. Three rings later, a groggy hello greeted him.

  “Tanner, what the hell are you doing asleep?” He shot his arm out straight to view the time on the thick, stainless steel watch. “It’s almost nine o’clock on a Thursday morning!”

  “Remember, brother,” Tanner’s sleep-roughened voice came over the line. “I’ve got a new work schedule now.”

  Wyatt was just about to remind him that Tanner Carlisle wasn’t the kind of guy to put off work when he heard a giggle in the background that made him roll his eyes. “Yeah, and I’m sure my hot sister-in-law has absolutely nothing to do with it.”

  “You need to stop saying that.” Tanner practically growled, exactly the reaction Wyatt was hoping for, and he couldn’t help the laugh that spilled out.

  Before he could say anything else, a soft whisper from Izzy and Tanner’s nausea-inducing enamored response trickled through the phone, and Wyatt’s gut clenched. He’d always made fun of Tanner for the kind of relationship he had with his wife, but now Wyatt found himself wanting the same thing. Missing something he’d never had.

  If he were to be completely honest—something he usually avoided at all costs—he’d admit that he was jealous. Not of Izzy herself, although taunting his brother by shamelessly flirting with her was a favorite pastime. No, his green-eyed monster flared at ever
ything she represented. Everything he could have had years ago.

  “I need a favor, big brother.” He took a deep breath. “Can you find me some property? A lot of it. Think three hundred acres.”

  He heard some rustling, and Tanner’s voice suddenly cleared. “What for?”

  “I’m moving home.” The words felt even better to say out loud than to play on repeat in his head. He plunged ahead, laying out all his plans. “I’m going to open a training facility for kids who want to follow in my impressive footsteps, so I need a lot of acreage to build a house and a barn and a paddock and—”

  Tanner coughed dramatically. “Yeah, got it. Give you land, lots of land, under starry skies above. Listen, I’ll look around and call you back later, little brother, okay?”

  And without waiting for a response, Tanner ended the phone call and Wyatt was met with only silence. Yeah, they really were disgusting.

  But lately he found himself wishing he had a little of their kind of disgusting in his life.

  ***

  Georgia

  Present Day

  11:34 a.m.

  The daily alarm on her phone sounded, pulling Georgia from her frustrated musings over the latest design panel her team had delivered. She uncrossed her legs and stood, pausing just a moment to steady herself on the red-soled, spindly heels she had a love/hate relationship with. She walked to the door, closing it with a soft click, just as she did every day at this time.

  As soon as she was settled in her black leather office chair, she picked up the nameplate from the front of her desk and ran a finger over the gold script engraved into the dark wood.

  Georgia Marsh

  Marketing Director

  Being a marketing executive at thirty years old was practically unheard of, but adding in the fact that she was a woman, the title, the nameplate, and everything they represented were nearly impossible achievements.

  Every day she put all the clambering demands on hold to commemorate the moment Elias Joseph shook her hand after she’d accepted the position. She cradled the seemingly innocuous rectangle in her hand with reverence befitting the achievement. A moment to appreciate her position. And just a moment to wish her mom could see what she’d done with her life.

  Georgia’s gaze fell on the boards strewn across her desk once again, and she sighed. Her name carried weight, and she certainly wasn’t going to allow it to be attached to these fashion disasters.

  Joseph Boots and Apparel was built on creating family-friendly western-style clothing at affordable prices, offering choices that defied the cheesy clothes from other companies that looked better suited for an off-Broadway production of Oklahoma! than a retailer.

  The designs her team sent were neither chic nor family friendly. She frowned, gingerly replacing her nameplate, and threw the sketches in the trash. A few clicks on her keyboard cued up a blank email.

  To: Apparel Design Team

  Subject: Try Again

  While your attempts at creating something unique are appreciated, I feel you’ve all forgotten some of the cornerstones of this company. Mr. Joseph wants the image to be family friendly but still trendy. The sketches you’ve sent are completely opposite to both of these precepts. You have forty-eight hours to bring me something new and please keep these two things in mind:

  1. If it can double as a costume for a stripper, it is not family friendly.

  2. If Granny Clampett was your inspiration, it is not trendy.

  – Georgia

  Her finger hovered over the send button for several long minutes. She didn’t want to be that boss. The unreasonable, unapproachable, unlikable dictator.

  P.S. ~ Food is fuel. To get good out, we must put good in. Bagels, fruit, and coffee on me tomorrow morning and we’ll review the designs over pizza Thursday night.

  Not allowing herself to question or change her mind, she quickly sent it off just as her phone rang.

  “Georgia Marsh,” she answered absently as she scrolled through the emails in her inbox. It wasn’t even noon yet. How could she possibly have this many messages?

  “Georgia.”

  The deep voice booming across the line immediately made her sit up straighter in her seat, grab a pen and paper, and bring her mind into laser-sharp focus. “Yes, Mr. Joseph. How are you, sir?”

  If it were physically possible, she was certain the receiver in her hand would shake from his rumbling laughter. “Georgia, Georgia, when are you going to start callin’ me Elias?”

  She smiled at his thick Texas drawl that hadn’t lessened in all the years since he’d moved to North Carolina. “What can I do for you, Elias?”

  “I met a young man recently. Fine young man. He’s plannin’ on openin’ a business here soon, and I think if we could partner with him, help back his endeavor, well, I think it would be one of those win/win things you’re always lecturin’ me about.”

  Georgia scribbled out some notes on the blank page. Partner? New business? WTH??? “I’m sure it’s a great idea, but maybe you can give me just a little more information…”

  Elias’ booming laughter greeted her suggestion. “Georgia, I’ll do ya one better. We’re meetin’ this fella for lunch today.”

  Her eyes flicked over to the clock on her computer screen. 11:50 am. “Lunch? Today? Wouldn’t it be better if I had time to prepare? To pull together some ideas and suggestions and—”

  “Nope. We’re meetin’ him at 12:30 in the conference room. I’ve already ordered the food from Monte Cello’s. Just trust me, Georgia. I got a gut feelin’ about this guy.”

  A wry grin tugged at her lips, and she closed her eyes. Her boss was kind, generous, and gave her far more leeway than anyone else probably would, but then he’d make decisions based on a whim or a gut feeling…

  And she’d quickly learned to just go with it. She owed Elias a debt she could never repay. He gambled when he offered her a position that was more than just the golden door, but an opportunity to take care of her family. Again. “All right, Elias. Let me wrap up a couple of things and I’ll be right over.”

  Twenty minutes later, the tapping of Georgia’s heels echoed on the tiled surface as she walked down the hall. She paused for a moment outside the door of the conference room to tuck a strand of her straight auburn hair behind her ear, take a deep breath, and put on her most charming smile.

  Which promptly disappeared as soon as she pushed open the door and spied her boss’ guest.

  “Oh, hell no.” The words tumbled out of her mouth before she could stop them, followed quickly by a flood of memories she thought she’d banished to the furthest reaches of her mind, never to be heard from again. Wyatt Carlisle, her first love, sat at the same table as her boss, stupid, cocky, lopsided grin firmly in place.

  Chapter Two

  Wyatt

  Twenty Years Earlier

  Wyatt blinked several times, but the view didn’t change. He was certain his dad hadn’t taken a word he’d said seriously until this very moment.

  “Come on, son.” Mike Carlisle’s mammoth-sized hand clapped onto Wyatt’s much smaller shoulder, and he directed him up the bleachers to their seats.

  He didn’t know where to look first. His eyes darted from the half dozen jean-clad men lined up along the metal railing to the one racing the horse around the perimeter of the dusty oval that seemed only feet away. Every sound, sight, and even smell made the blood in Wyatt’s veins hum with pleasure.

  Thirty minutes later, they announced the bull-riding competition would start and Wyatt sat up straighter in his seat. He took in everything that happened in the six seconds the cowboy lasted. Immediately his little brain tried to figure out exactly what the older man had done wrong and what he would do better if he’d been the rider.

  “Daddy,” he finally said when he found the voice to speak. “I-I really wanna do this…really.” He turned his head and looked up at the man he saw as an indestructible giant. His father was his hero in every way, even more so after their excursion, but there w
as no way he’d be like his older brother and follow in Michael Carlisle’s intimidating footsteps.

  Mike smiled, wrinkles forming at the corners of the blue eyes that were identical to his two oldest boys. “I know, son. But you’re only nine. You’ve got a lot of years ahead of you to make those kind of decisions.”

  Wyatt shook his head vigorously. “No, Daddy. I wanna do this forever. I’m gonna start practicing and training and—”

  His father tilted his head and chuckled. “All right, son, we’ll talk about this more at home. But first how about we get something to eat?” He inclined his head down to the arena below them. “I think they are going to take a break for a little bit.”

  Standing in line, discussing lunch options listed on the white board hanging on the side of the food truck with his dad, Wyatt’s eyes kept getting pulled to the dirt-filled oval that was practically sacred. He couldn’t find the words to describe how right every part of this felt to him.

  On the way back to their seats, Wyatt couldn’t stop himself. “I mean it, Daddy. This is what I’m gonna do when I grow up.”

  His proclamation was met with a bark of laughter to his right. His eyes traveled up the walking, talking epitome of everything he wanted from life. Every bit, from the cracked leather boots to his oversized buckle and well-worn cowboy hat, was Wyatt’s vision of the future. Wyatt couldn’t speak, think, or remember how to blink in the presence of the older man.

  “What’s your name, cowpoke?” His idol had a gravelly voice and weathered face, but his genuine smile encouraged Wyatt to answer.

  He took a deep gulp. “W-Wy-Wyatt, sir. Wyatt Carlisle.”

  When the older man crouched down to his level, Wyatt tore his eyes away for long enough to meet his father’s encouraging smile.