Page 78 of The Boyfriend Experience

I have an urge to text her all day but I don’t know what to say. Rather, I do know what to say, I’m just not sure it’s appropriate. Because what I want to say is, “God, I miss you.”

But that’s very stupid because… I don’t think I’ve earned the right to say that yet. I need to earn the right to have these feelings for her. People don’t just fall in love over a weekend. Especially when they came together for business purposes only. Especially when both business propositions are flat-out crazy.

I mean, she hired me to bait her nemesis into a fake relationship so I could… could what? Steal something from her? Get her to admit something on tape? I don’t see her end game in this and I don’t think Oaklee sees it either.

This game was a… a whim. A last resort. She’s grasping at anything to save herself from drowning under an obsessed nemesis.

And me.

Jesus. I’m no better because I want her to be a figurehead in my new venture with the TV show.

And both of these things are equally ridiculous.

When I get back to the office Zack is out, the receptionist has gone home for the day, and it’s too quiet as I finish up what I need to do so I can put this place behind me and go back to the little game I’m playing with Oaklee.

My cell phone buzzes on my desk and when I check the number, the area code for LA pops up, so I answer it.

“Lawton Ayers,” I say.

“Please hold for Michaela Cummings.” And then I get three hold beeps.

I get why people do this. They could actually be that busy, and Michaela Cummings is the executive I’m working with over at Home TV, so she probably is so busy she can’t be bothered to press some buttons on her phone to make a call.

But sometimes I think it’s just a tactic. So the person receiving the please-hold-for call thinks something important is about to happen.

“Lawton!” Michaela says into my ear. “How’s things? Are you ready for this meeting?”

“Hundred percent, Michaela. Hundred percent. I’m your man. This show is gonna be great.”

“Perfect. Perfect. Perfect.” She says it three times. Like she’s actually doing something else out there in LA and wants to make me think I’ve got her full attention as she does it.

I roll my eyes, kind of annoyed. It’s been a long day and I don’t particularly feel like stroking egos. “So what’s up?” I ask.

She whispers something to someone, then says in her normal voice, “Just calling to make last-minute arrangements. We’re moving the meeting up to Wednesday. Are you available Wednesday?”

“Uh, sure,” I say. “Yes. I can do Wednesday.”

I can’t really do Wednesday. I have five fuckin’ appointments that day. But I can’t tell her that, either, now can I?

“How about…” She pauses for a long time. Like ten whole seconds. “How about noon? Does noon work? I think we’re catching a return flight to LA at three. So… noon?”

Noon. Is she flying in that morning? I don’t get it. And if her flight leaves by three, then how long does she think this meeting will last? Ten minutes? Twenty tops?

“Noon is… great. We’ll have lunch—”

“Sorry, no time for lunch, Law. Just the quick meet-and-greet and then we gotta get back to work. You understand though, right?”

“Totally,” I say. “No problem. Shall we meet at my office?”

“Sounds great. Email me the details and my assistant will handle things from there.”

“OK—”

But the phone goes dead in my hand. I put the handset back on the base and stare at it for a moment. Wondering… wondering if this is really the new second-chance life I thought it was going to be.

But then it rings again, and my hand automatically picks it up. “Lawton Ayers,” I say, expecting it to be Michaela’s assistant.

“Mmmmm, Lawton Ayers. It’s a very nice name.”