Page 11 of The Boyfriend Experience

“What do you know about real estate?”

“I know enough, but it’s not the point.”

“Well, to me it is. I have that meeting next week. And if this all works out you and I could be partners in this TV deal. So I’d like to know if I’m wasting my time here as well.”

He tilts his head at me, eyes shining with what? Mischief? Daring? I don’t know but it’s kind of adorable. They aren’t special eyes. Just brown, and not brown like mine. Just boring brown. But that damn twinkle in them does something to me.

And you need him, the inner monologue says. At least as much as he needs you. So don’t get distracted by his dreamy eyes.

So I say, “LoDo real estate has been steadily climbing since two thousand twelve. The gentrification of Five Points just east of here has property values hitting half a million for the first time in the history of that neighborhood. The average listing in LoDo is seven hundred thousand. This building is now worth in excess of seven million dollars without my penthouse apartment. And when I’m done renovating the other floors and put the condos up for sale it will top seventy-five million. So you tell me. Are you wasting your time here, Mr. Ayers?”

He smiles. No. He smirks. Pleased with my outburst. “Law,” he says in a low voice. “And no, I think that will do, Miss Ryan.”

“Oaklee,” I say, playing his game.

“Do you need an agent?” he asks.

“For?”

“Your building? The condos? I’ve been watching this place. Waiting for the listings.”

Well… that’s interesting. I should’ve thought of that. Should’ve opened with that. And the fact that I missed an opportunity to bait him with the lure of being the listing agent for my new condos instead of agreeing to be his stupid TV show partner… well, it disturbs me.

It’s a sign of how distracted I’ve become with my little… problem.

“You haven’t passed my test yet, Law. So why don’t we start with my business and we can talk your business later.”

He stares at me for a few seconds. I can practically see his mind racing with possibilities. Calculating how many units I have here—thirty-five—how much they might go for—starting price of four hundred fifty thousand and capping out at nine hundred for the fifth floor—and what his take-home might be on that.

Almost six million dollar signs flash in his eyes. “Bring it, Oaks. Test me all you want.”

I place the contract on the kitchen counter, go to the fridge, bring out a new flight tray of testing beers—this time with the labels all hidden with brown paper wrappers—and set it down in front of him.

“A blind taste test?” He chuckles. “You really take this shit seriously.”

“Afraid you’ll fail?” I ask, tilting my head and smirking back at him.

“Not in the least. Let me guess. I gotta pick which is which.” He nods his head to the now empty flight tray. “I think I can do that by color alone, Oaklee.”

“Perfect,” I say, popping the top off the first beer. “Then we should be good to go in about two minutes.” I pour the first beer into the tasting glass and hand it to him.

He does a fake cheers gesture with the glass and takes a sip. “Bucked Up. No doubts at all.”

I grit my teeth, pop the top off the next one, pour, and hand it over.

He says, “Anarchy Orange, bitches. Love that one. I might need to take a case home.”

Which makes me wilt a little. No. Not a little, a lot. But I pour the last one, even though he’s saying Mountain Mud before he takes a sip. After the sip, after he wipes the nut-brown froth off his lips, he says, “Did I pass?”

I nod. Sad. “Yup, you did. Do you want to sign?”

He stares at me for a few moments, trying to figure out the change in my mood maybe. But then he nods and says, “Yeah. Sure. Let’s do this.”

CHAPTER FOUR - LAWTON

That test.

I can’t stop thinking about it. We signed the contract. I wrote in the part where she agrees to be my partner for the TV show and she initialed that addendum without comment. But there’s something wrong here. I can feel it.