Page 6 of The Boyfriend Experience

Zack gets up and walks back to the copy machine, gathering up his papers as I grab my briefcase. “This is gonna be fun,” he says. “Your stupid plan is the highlight of my life right now.” Then he disappears into his office and closes the door.

“Yup,” I say. “My life is looking pretty damn good compared to yours, you sorry fuck.”

Zack plays everything safe. He’s one of those people who buys a Porsche and then drives the speed limit. He’s one of those guys who never fouls another player in basketball. His motto is: Character is who you are in the dark.

Which I totally appreciate as a business partner, but no one follows that straight and narrow to perfection. Everyone wobbles as they walk the line. And I’m not lying to the Home TV people. I’m just… exaggerating my relationship with this woman, that’s all. Besides, by this time next week when I take that meeting, I’m sure we’ll be on the same page. We’ll be halfway through the game and we’ll know everything there is to know about each other.

Yup. In the bag, man. In. The. Bag.

I’m pretty sure this whole boyfriend experience is about sex. I mean, why else would she be doing this? She wants something weird—and that fits into Jordan’s whole game thing, right? Yeah, she wants something weird, something she can’t just get from any guy, and she wants a man to offer that to her so she doesn’t have to ask.

That’s pretty much how these games go.

At least I think that’s how they go. Jordan never talks much about them, but it’s all standard, I’m sure.

So the way I see it… I get free sex, a pretend girlfriend, the perfect interview with the Home TV people, and all I gotta do is bring her flowers and open her car door for two weeks.

My drive home is short because my loft is only a few blocks north in Lower Downtown, commonly called LoDo in these parts. Right now I’m living in an investment property I bought last fall when it was in foreclosure. I spent the whole winter fixing it up so I could sell it in the spring, but this is feeling a little more like fate than luck. I mean, that Oaklee chick’s brewhouse is practically right next door to me. I can fucking walk over there tonight.

By the time this whole boyfriend thing is over I’ll probably have a buyer and the TV show and… yeah. Rocky Mountain Millionaires living, here I come. I have a place in mind up in the foothills. Gonna sell all my properties down here in the city, buy that sprawling acreage, and start a whole new life as the Home TV go-to guy for mountain real estate. I’ll be just like that guy who sells the private islands on their channel.

I cannot fuckin’ wait.

I take a quick shower, finger-comb my hair, and stare at myself in the mirror, wondering if I should shave. I shaved this morning but there’s a shadow there. Kind of a sexy shadow if I do say so myself.

So I leave it. This girl runs a brewery. She probably likes a rough jaw.

At six forty-five I leave the loft, hop down the six flights of stairs to street level, and walk up the alley to her front entrance.

Even though my street address says Wynkoop Street, I’m kinda situated behind her building a little. I have a great view of that water tower. It’s like eye level with my penthouse when I’m on my rooftop terrace. And there’s a whole wall of windows just below it.

I wonder if that’s her apartment?

Her building is old. Like over a hundred years old. But now that I’m paying attention to it, I do remember there was a renovation going on last year. I was waiting for listings to come up, since I figured she was turning that place into apartments, but… that never happened.

The front side of her building faces Wynkoop Street. Which is kinda famous for the brewhouses. Hell, our former governor used to have a brewhouse down here on Wynkoop. And over the past decade or so, they’ve popped up everywhere.

The new competition didn’t seem to hurt Bronco Brews any. I see her labels and taps all over the LoDo bars. And that renovation must’ve cost her millions. So she can’t be doing too bad.

God, where has this girl been all my life? She’s so… perfect.

The front of the building has a street-level entrance, but I stop and look up before I go inside. There’s scaffolding up there and I wonder if she’s gonna do work on the façade?

But then the sound of people draws my attention back to the night’s goal and I go inside. The lobby is huge, two stories tall, and is flanked on both sides by elevators. Directly in back, just past the grand staircase winding up to the second floor, is a wall of windows that showcase several rows of giant copper brew tanks and staff bustling back and forth.

On my left is a small bar—presumably for people who are waiting for a table in the restaurant on the right.

Which is packed. I’m talking packed with people. I hit up one of the hostesses as she’s grabbing menus to seat a party. “I’m looking for Oaklee?” I say over the noise of the crowd. “I have an appointment with her.”

“Are you Lawton? She’s upstairs in her office. Take the elevators to the top floor. You’ll find her.”

“Thanks,” I say. But she’s already gone.

I walk over to the elevators, press the call buttons and then step inside. When the doors close the cacophony of conversation fades, then disappears completely as I ascend.

I used to be a party guy but the last ten years or so have mostly been about work. So this relative silence is a welcome relief.

A ding signals the opening of doors, and I step out into… an apartment? Jesus Christ, does this elevator lead directly to her apartment?