Then scan the numbers once more. Two years. Over a quarter million dollars.
I whistle low. “Two hundred seventy-five thousand?”
“Yep. Minus my fifteen percent, of course.”
“Of course.”
For a second, I don’t know what to think.
I’ve done sponsor campaigns. A photo shoot, standing in front of a restaurant chain. Celebrating with a certain beer after a win. A logo stitched onto my riding vest or chaps.
Nothing remotely close to this—commercial shoots, social media partnerships, appearances, and product endorsements.
Not even in the same universe.
“Fuck.”
Shawn laughs. “That’s exactly why I like representing cowboys. No tears. No celebratory handshakes. Nothank you, Shawn. Just afuckand a smile.”
I shake my head.
“Outlaw Heritage wants you as the face of their Western division,” he says, pointing toward the arena outside the window. “You’re one of the most talented bull riders in America, and after the coming season, you’ll be the most recognizable.”
“I wouldn’t go that far.”
Bryce walks into the room and parks his ass on one of the tables.
“Don’t worry, Bryce. You’ll still be beloved by the masses,” Shawn says.
I snort. “Yeah, we love to bring out our decrepit old legends and parade them around the arena from time to time.”
Bryce chuckles. “Let’s get this thing signed so Shawn can take us to lunch on that agent commission of his.”
I scratch my signature across the bottom of each page, each one making the whole thing feel more real.
When I finish, Shawn collects the documents.
“Well,” he says, pulling a new camel-colored hat with a dark leather trim from a bag, “you are officially a hat model now. You live in this thing.”
I take the hat, place it on my head, and adjust the brim.
Nice.
“I mean it. You even sleep and shower wearing Outlaw Heritage. I know you boys get sentimental about things like hats, boots, and belts, but you toss out every other one you own.”
“Got it.”
Bryce claps me on the back. “Congratulations.”
“Thanks.”
Shawn closes his briefcase. “Now that business is done, I want the grand tour before we eat.”
Bryce gestures toward the door. “Let’s go.”
Fifteen minutes later, we’re crossing the academy grounds.
The afternoon sun hangs high overhead.
