Page 9 of The Boyfriend Experience

I pop the top off the next beer—which is called Assassin Sour Saison and has a red ninja on a black label. I pour the light brew into the glass. It’s very bubbly. I take a sip as she watches. “Nah,” I say, setting the glass down. “Maybe some people like that, but I’m not one of them.”

She shrugs. “To be expected. Not everyone likes a sour, and this saison has so much carbonation it’s more like champagne than beer. It’s my favorite.”

“Figures,” I say. Because I get the feeling that’s how this is gonna go. Regardless of how much I like her kitchen design, her view, and her faux cowgirl-esque décor, we are opposites. “So did I pass, or what?”

“You might do. At least you’re honest.”

“So… tell me more about you.”

“No.” She snorts. “This is a job, Mr. Ayers. I paid for you and in return you do as I ask.”

“Wait, there’s something in this for me too. So don’t get too bossy, partner. I need you to be on your best behavior next week for my meeting with the Home TV people. Jordan explained?”

“He did. And that’s fine. I clean up nice.”

“I’m not talking about your looks. You look just fine. I’m talking about your attitude, which definitely needs adjusting.”

“You don’t get to adjust me.” She snorts. “I paid seventy thousand dollars for you.”

“Jesus fucking Christ. Are you serious? Who the hell pays that much for a sex fantasy?”

“It’s not a sex fantasy, it’s the boyfriend experience. There will be no sex, Mr. Ayers. Not between you and me anyway.”

What’s that mean? I wonder to myself. ‘No sex between you and me?’ Does she have a boyfriend already?

And I know it’s irrational—I mean, I don’t even like her, for fuck’s sake—but if she has a boyfriend… well, that might piss me off. “Call me Law, OK? No one calls me Mr. Ayers, not even my clients.”

“Fine. Law. I have very specific needs, OK? You might even call them… tasks. That’s what I’m paying for, so are you agreeable to that? Or what? Because I’m in a hurry and I need this game to start immediately. I’ve been patient with Jordan, but I’m not really a patient girl. So you’ll do. And in return for your signature on my contract I will be your… whatever it is you need for that meeting next week.”

It occurs to me that I should be getting paid for this. And for like two seconds I consider hitting Jordan up for a percentage of the profits.

But one more look at Miss Ryan’s scowling lips and I reconsider. She’s obviously wealthy, she’s professionally successful, beautiful in a way that’s hard to describe, smart, probably ruthless, and she’s one hundred percent local. In like every way. She’s the total package as far as my needs go. So I set my ego—and my sexual expectations—aside, and say, “I’m in. Where do I sign?”

CHAPTER THREE - OAKLEE

Lawton Ayers is exactly what I expected from Jordan Wells. Which is both good and bad. Good, because he’s handsome in a way that threatens other men. Rich—also threatening to other men. And smart. Which most men don’t care about one way or the other, but I do. I like a smart man. Means he can think on his toes. Change tactics mid-stride and see opportunities a dumbass might miss.

And believe me, that’s gonna come in handy.

But he’s also… well, how to put it. Arrogant? Yes. Just like Jordan. He’s one of those guys who has everything, which means there’s a chance he’ll bow out at the last second and leave me hanging. Like… maybe he’s too good for a job like this, ya know?

But that contract is iron-clad. I made sure of it. And even though Jordan Wells is a pretty damn good lawyer, he wrote it up under a false presumption.

“We need to get rid of the suit,” I say.

“What?”

“Like… don’t you have jeans? And a t-shirt? I mean, I can take you shopping if necessary, but I’d rather use what you’ve got.”

“You? Take me shopping?” He laughs.

“Why is that funny?”

“I think it’s supposed to be the other way around, right? You want the whole Pretty Woman experience.”

“She was a prostitute, Mr—”

“Law,” he snaps.