Billionaire Mountaineer Love

The gravel of the trailhead parking lot crunches under my tires with a sound that’s far too loud for how late I am. I kill the engine, and for a second, the silence of the Montana wilderness is deafening. I check my reflection in the rearview mirror, huffing a stray blonde curl out of my eyes. “You can do this, Amber,” I whisper to the glass. “One trek. Seven
days. A thousand photos that make the world believe you’re basically a mountain goat.”

I look down at my phone. No signal. Of course. I’m at the edge of the world, and my career is currently hanging by a fragile, costly thread. This charity trek isn’t just about the scenery; it’s my Hail Mary. After the breakup with Mark and the absolute nosedive my engagement metrics took when I stopped posting those ‘perfect couple’ travel reels, I need this. If I don’t land a major sponsor by the time I reach the summit of Peak 14, Amber’s Adventures is going to be Amber’s Unemployed Apartment Search.

I throw open the door, and the air hits me—sharp, pine-scented, and thin. My lungs do a little dance of protest as I haul myself out. Now comes the hard part. I march to the trunk and pull it open. My backpack, a neon-teal monster I’ve nicknamed ‘The Beast,’ is shoved in next to a rolling suitcase that I definitely shouldn’t have brought. But a girl needs options, even in the woods.