Page 110 of The Boyfriend Experience

“What you hear is what you get, Hanna. You heard me. I’m selling.”

“Bullshit,” she snaps.

I look around and find the Home TV people all staring up at us from the front row. All four of them wave. They are in love with this stupid Brewery Smackdown show. I wave back at them as I say what Hanna refuses to. “No,” I say. “Not bullshit.” And then I point over at Spencer Shrike and his train of buddies. There are dozens of them. All dressed up in leather, all tattooed, all looking back at us like the mobster royal family they are. “I’m selling Bronco Brews to Spencer Shrike, Hanna. He’s here to sign the contract.”

“But…” Hanna stammers. “The fucking show!”

“Fuck the fucking show,” I say. “I never wanted that, you did. And I hate to break this to you now, because I know you were expecting this to be a very fun day, but I feel it’s my duty to warn you.”

“Of what?” Hanna snaps.

“That stealing my beer recipes was one thing. But stealing his”—I point at Spencer and his entourage—“is something else altogether.” I smile at her and then whisper, “So you’re gonna need to take those off the market, pronto, honey. Or”—I point at the crowd—“you see them?”

Her gaze follows my pointing finger until she sees who I’m referring to. An involuntary gasp escapes before she can corral it. Because it’s her family.

Oh, yes.

I went there.

“You have a lovely family. Did you forget I saw them at graduation, Hanna? I didn’t. So I drove out to your family farm the other day and had a really great chat with your mom and dad. They’re so proud of you, even though you cut all ties to them years ago. You know, when you decided you were my sister.” I kinda spit that last part. “I told them all about our TV deal and invited them here as a way to surprise you because you wanted to make amends and you’re not very good at admitting you’re wrong, ya know? Which they totally understood. So they came. Surprise!”

“You fuckin’—” But that’s as far as she gets, because I’m not done yet.

“And so… well, you know Spencer isn’t the killer you seem to think he is, so your family is safe. But he does have a billion-dollar bottom line, so… you aren’t. He will take you to court, Hanna. Expose all your lies. And you see them?” I point again. This time to two men in suits, dark sunglasses, and the totally cliché white earpiece dangling down their necks. I now know them as Finn Murphy and Darrel Jameson, Jordan’s ‘associates’, but I don’t tell Hanna that. “That’s the FBI, Hanna. They’re here to arrest you for industrial espionage and I invited your family to see it happen.”

She turns her head to look at me. And if eyes could shoot venom, I’m pretty sure that would be her supervillain power. “Bullshit,” she growls.

“Oh, no. This is some shit, for sure, but it’s not bullshit.”

“I will put you in prison. I have footage of you—”

“No, honey. You don’t. Because you see that guy over there? The one standing next to Vivi Vaughn? That’s Oliver Shrike. Yes, related. And he’s a notorious black-hat hacker who not only broke into your security system and found out that footage didn’t exist, but also found receipts for the men you hired to breach my computer and steal my father’s beer recipes.”

This is when things finally start to sink in for Hanna Harlow. Because she doubles down. “You have no proof. I covered my tracks. You have no proof.”

“Oh, but I do,” I say, pointing over to our peers. “You see them? You see Jack, and Ace, and Rosco, and Bear, and Beckett, and Duke, and Cormac? You know those guys you’ve been blackmailing these past several years? The ones who knew you stole my beer and you threatened to steal theirs too if they said anything? Yeah.” I laugh. “They were hard to convince. Scared shitless of you, Hanna. But the minute I mentioned Spencer Shrike was buying my brewery and would not be putting up with business as usual, they decided there were bigger monsters to worry about and told me everything.”

“What the fuck do you want?” she hisses.

I shrug. “I got what I want. I don’t want anything from you. I’m selling the brewery, getting the fuck out of this insane Home TV deal, you’re getting arrested, shamed in front of your family and peers, and then you’re either going to prison for industrial espionage or…”

I let that hang there for a few seconds. Just to enjoy the look on her face.

“Or what?” she finally growls.

I snap my fingers and Jordan Wells appears at my side, along with his assistant, Eileen, holding a folder out for Hanna to take.

“Or,” Jordan says, “you sell Buffalo Brews to Oaklee for the sum of one dollar, agree to never brew or sell beer again, and we call it even.” He points to the folder. “It’s all in there. I acted as your lawyer and covered all the bases, so all you have to do is sign.”

He reaches into his suit coat pocket, pulls out a pen, and holds it out next to the folder.

“You’re all insane,” Hanna whispers.

“No,” I say. “You’re insane. And I hope you get the help you need, but honestly, Hanna, I don’t care what you do after this. As long you sign these papers and I never see your face again, you’re free to go.”

“But… my beer…”

“My. Beer.” I spit those words out between clenched teeth. “You have no beer. It’s. My. Beer. And I swear to fucking God, Hanna, I will take you down. I will ruin your life. I will do everything I just laid out and I will smile as I do it. I don’t want to sell my brewery, but I will. If it means I take you down, I will sell everything. I will gladly give up all I’ve built—all my father built—for the chance to get even with you. So think very carefully. Think very hard how you want to spend the next ten years. In prison, shamed and sad. Or free to think about what a sick, disgusting liar you are and try to get the help you need. But either way, I’m walking off this stage free of you. You lost. I won. And you’d better come to terms with that real fast, bitch. Because I’m gonna count to ten and then this deal is over.”