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My life is worth ten million dollars.
“This is an annual sum,” he elaborates. “You’ll be paid this every year until the commercial is no longer on the air. It’s the same kind of contract as your other ones.”
Sam finally speaks up. “Do you think there’s a cliff that you can climb that has the same…appeal as Yosemite but is easier for you?”
“I spent years practicing before I free-soloed the Triple Crown. I can’t just fucking emulate the same thing without time.” Challenging ascents usually tempt me, but the prep time for this kind of climb is not appealing right now.
I’m at a different place in my fucking life. I’d rather free-solo rock faces that don’t take years to map out—that aren’t mentally exhausting.
Greg leans forward in his leather chair. “We can’t wait more than a year to film this.” He laces his fingers together, brows knotted in contemplation. “What’s the risk if you free-solo climb something on par with Yosemite?”
He doesn’t fucking realize? I scratch my jaw and just say it. “Death.”
His gaze fixes to his hands, color draining from his face. Everyone’s watching him. Everyone’s fucking quiet.
“I want to help you out here,” I tell them as my phone buzzes.
I think it’s someone chastising me for being late. I’m already worked up about it, my chair pushed back from the table, ready to storm out of here. Today isn’t just an ordinary day.
I need verification that you’re my boyfriend. Send me proof. – Daisy
I almost smile, but really, the text causes me to stand the fuck up.
“Wait,” Greg says, gesturing for me to take a seat.
“It’s Daisy’s fucking birthday,” I remind him. We had breakfast with her parents this morning and they’re not a part of tonight’s events, so I’m not surprised that he thinks her birthday has already passed.
“Can you give us a list of comparable climbs that you think are doable in the allotted time frame?” Greg asks me.
I grip the back of my chair, still standing. “If you want me to do anything on the scale of the Triple Crown, I need more than a year and time that I don’t fucking have.”
“What are you doing?” Greg asks. “Once your wedding is over, you should be available.”
My jaw hardens.
I’m trying to have a fucking baby.
I can’t say it.
I’ve been helping Daisy with the early stages of her summer camp.
I can’t say it.
In my spare time, I’d rather rock climb things that I’m pretty fucking sure won’t kill me.
I can’t say it.
“If this isn’t important to you, just let me know,” Greg says off my silence. “We can find another person to be the face of Ziff.”
Is he fucking kidding me? “Do you want me to die?” I ask point-blank.
“Ryke,” Sam warns like I’ve crossed a line. If anyone’s crossed one, it’s Greg.
“I want you to be committed to this company,” Greg explains. “You have no other job but this one, and it’s important to me that you have motivation. You’re about to marry my twenty-one-year-old daughter.”
All I hear is a father saying: I don’t want my youngest daughter hitched to a bum.
I have drive for the things I fucking love, and I have medals, awards, and articles about races I’ve won, climbs I’ve done. None of that matters to him. Not even my passion for running or rock climbing.
He just cares about the check.
And he’s the one supplying it.
I keep shaking my head, disagreeing with him on so many fucking points. I know my limits. I’m always confident I can make an ascent when I begin one. Anything less is fucking suicide.
“This is bullshit,” I say aloud.
Greg flinches in surprise, but I don’t care.
“I’ve said yes to practically everything you’ve thrown at me since I signed onto Ziff, and I’m fucking here on my fiancée’s birthday. I’m saying no right now, and you’re going to fucking hear me.”
Sam covers his face with his hand.
I don’t care about him either.
The oldest man in the room clears his throat. “How about we do more research? We can find a rock face that we all agree on?”
“It’s ten million dollars a year,” another businessman says like I’m an idiot.
Don’t think about the money, I tell myself. My phone buzzes again.
Do you know where I can find my wolf? – Daisy
“I have to go,” I say, and as I turn towards the door, Greg speaks.
“Can you check your email and answer the phone when Sam calls? We’ll try to find something comparable but safer. I don’t want to lose you on a climb, Ryke. I’m just trying to understand.”
I nod, agreeing to this, but I know my brother will fucking hate it, even if the rock face is to my standards.
After I leave, I start walking down the carpeted hallway towards the elevators. I text Daisy back: proof and add a photo in my camera roll that I took a couple days ago for her. Naked, a close-up on my abs and cock, beads of water rolling down after my shower.
I press send.
My phone vibrates quickly.
Omg you’re totally my boyfriend! – Daisy
And then another text.
I remember that cock inside of me. I remember touching those abs. – Daisy
I almost fucking harden. While I wait for the elevator, I text her again: I’m your fucking fiancé.
I need another picture to verify that title ;) – Daisy
Cute, I text her and then I send her another picture that I’ve taken, similar to the other one, only with more of my face.
She’s asked me before if I want her to send photos back, but I’d rather risk nudes of me appearing online. I won’t fuc
king care if the world sees my cock, but she’d care if the world sees her body. She’s really visually stimulated, so I fucking love doing it.
Just as the elevator doors open, my phone buzzes again.
You’re him. I would recognize that super handsome scowl everywhere. (Even on the moon.) – Daisy
My lips rise, ready to be near her. Then I remember the plans to turn her birthday into a joint bachelor and bachelorette party.
I just hope everything about tonight doesn’t go fucking wrong.
DAISY CALLOWAY
I stand outside Connor and Rose’s house while Coconut sniffs for a good place to do her business. I bounce on my toes, trying to warm myself since I left my green cargo jacket inside.
Coconut proudly pees on the Cobalt’s frozen fountain.
“Let’s just keep that between you and me,” I tell Coconut.
Her tail wags, liking our secret.
Tulip trees on either side of the driveway stand skeletal in February’s cold winter, but Rose and Connor’s ten-bedroom mansion still captures a storybook aura that I’ve never felt or seen before. White siding with gray stone, colossal double doors, regal molding, and rose bushes.
I can’t imagine anything fitting them better, and it’s on the same street as Lily and Lo’s eight-bedroom cozy house. Where I currently live.
Ryke and I haven’t really talked about moving out.
Not because we don’t want to or are afraid to say goodbye to my sister and his brother. It’s just that there’s not much for sale right now—not only on Whisper Ridge Road but in the whole gated neighborhood. For security reasons, we don’t want to take our chances anywhere else.
A motorcycle revs up the driveway just as Coconut finishes peeing. She skips around the fountain.
As he slows to a stop, Ryke removes his helmet, his dark brown hair disheveled. He scans my bare arms like I’m insane. “It’s fucking freezing.”
I suddenly recall the pictures he sent me in text, and my neck heats. “I have this theory…” I begin.
He leans his Ducati on its kickstand. “Are you fucking barefoot?” he asks, edging up to me.
I glance at my unpolished toes. “Maybe next time I’ll remember them, huh?”
