Total pages in book: 35
Estimated words: 31579 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 158(@200wpm)___ 126(@250wpm)___ 105(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 31579 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 158(@200wpm)___ 126(@250wpm)___ 105(@300wpm)
I don't want to do it. But I have to. Dammit.
It doesn't even feel like we're the same people, back in our professional clothing, ready to do our jobs. We almost didn't make it out of the room when Drake saw me in my slate gray pencil skirt—apparently his favorite item of clothing on the planet—but I retained enough of my professionalism to get us out the door.
Now we're backstage as Drake prepares for his speech. Being one of two keynote speakers, the crowd is enormous. None of us mention that Claude is speaking after him, technically the final speaker for the entire convention. Every time it's brought up, I remind Drake that it was simply done that way because of alphabetical order, but I can tell that doesn't help ease his anger at having to precede the climber he hates so much.
But he manages to put that out of his mind, and I straighten his tie, fighting the urge to kiss him. Drake didn't have time to shave this morning, and the stubble on his jaw is driving me wild. "I'm going to go find a seat. Good luck."
He gives me his trademark smirk, lopsided and dashing. "Luck has nothing to do with it. I've got this."
"Of course you do. Don't forget you've got the interview for the New York Times with Kenneth Hopper after this. You're meeting at the hotel cafe. I'll catch up with you afterward."
"Ellie…" His laugh is low and soft. "I know, baby. I know. We've been over this a million times."
"Fine. Fine." I give in to the urge to touch him one last time, resting my hand on his forearm and squeezing gently. Drake gives me a small smile and turns to chat with the stage manager, and I walk out into the crowded auditorium.
I've been to a lot of big meetings and conferences over the years, and I'm usually excited by the energy. There's something about being surrounded by a bunch of people who are all passionate about the same thing that just feels right.
But today, it just feels stifling. I'm hot and cramped in a chair in the middle of the auditorium, surrounded by climbers waiting for Drake's speech to begin. It's a huge crowd, and I'm starting to feel claustrophobic. I look around and try to figure out if there's an easy escape route, and then I catch sight of a familiar head of golden hair. Claude. Ugh.
I'll deal with feeling crowded. There's no way in hell I'm going to stand and risk him noticing me, especially after Drake knocked him senseless last night. I do glance back long enough to see the purple bruise on his jaw sloppily covered with makeup and allow myself a satisfied smile.
Introductions are finished, and it's finally time for Drake to go on. He wrote his own speech, which I went over and carefully edited for public appropriateness. One instance of 'fuck' in a speech is funny; five instances are bordering on insane. But despite my editing, the speech oozes Drake Evans, climber, CEO and unwilling heartthrob—confident, blindingly intelligent, and maybe just a little arrogant.
It's brilliant. He's brilliant. I love him.
Wait, what?
I'm so distracted by my own thoughts that I miss the entire first half of Drake's speech. I've seen it dozens of times, anyway. I know how it begins, a story about how he started climbing as a kid, and then progressed from there to the summit of Mount Everest. I know how it ends, too, with an inspirational quote about dreams and working hard.
It's the middle where he's really got the audience on edge. He's talking about climbing the Dawn Wall, a particularly difficult climb that earned him his reputation as a rockstar climber. I remember when he told me about this particular climb, about the difficulties he faced, and the determination he needed to make it to the top. I remember his enthusiasm and passion as he told the story.
Drake is in his element. He's passionate and bold, his eyes bright and his hands gesturing wildly as he tells the story. It's hard to believe that just a few hours ago, he was standing in our suite, completely naked, with me in his arms.
He finishes his speech, and everyone claps. There's a quick break, and the moderator takes the stage again. "Next, we'll hear from the star of the new documentary, ‘The Ecstasy of the Summit’, Claude Vanderhoven. That captivating speech will start in thirty minutes. Don't miss it!"
My eyes snap to where Claude is standing, and my stomach twists at the sight of him. He's in the middle of the room, just a few rows in front of me. His blond hair is perfectly styled, his suit immaculate. Luckily, the crowd is standing from their seats and moving, many of them desperate for a drink or a bathroom break between the speeches, and I figure I'll be able to slip out before I'm noticed.