Page 136 of The Build-a-Boyfriend Project

“No, no, it’s not,” he whispers under his breath. He doesn’t bother looking it up on his computer; he doesn’t want Owen or Gwen to see his reaction. So instead, he goes into the bathroom, hiding in one of the stalls. He pulls Vent up on his phone, hoping that he’ll have to scroll pages to find the article.

“Building a Better Boyfriend” is all of the title that the trending page displays. Eli clicks on the link, redirected right to the page where the full headline reads “Building a Better Boyfriend: How I Molded a Walking Disaster into the Perfect Date.”

By Eli Francis.

His vision goes blurry at the edges as he swipes through the article.

Because it’s his article, the fake one he wrote to convince Michael that he was still going along with this idea, the one that was never meant to see the light of day.

It’s his article. He desperately doesn’t want it to be.

But it is.

“This doesn’t make sense,” Eli whispers to himself.

He never gave Michael permission to post the article; he didn’t even write an ending. He never saw the need to. Yet there is one. Eli likes to think he’s good at recognizing specific styles of writing. He’s picked up on certain words or phrases or ways of weaving a story that some writers love to use. He’s certainly familiar with his own writing.

After the first line, he can tell this isn’t his.

He got someone else to finish it, Eli realizes.

He stands, shoving his phone into his pocket, letting the stall door slam behind him. Just as he exits the bathroom, who would finally make an appearance other than the two people he’s desperate to find?

“What the fuck?” he says as loudly as he can without actually shouting. Keith’s and Michael’s gazes both shift toward him, finding Eli in an instant, as do the eyes of some of his other coworkers.

“Oh, Eli. I was just coming to find you,” Michael says, continuing to his office as if nothing’s wrong.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Eli asks again. “The both of you.”

“Hey, what did I do?” Keith holds his hands up defensively.

“Don’t fuck with me, Keith.” Eli says the name with more malice than he ever has. “I edited and rewrote how many of your articles? I know how you write; I know you finished the piece.”

“If you want to talk about this like a civilized person”—Michael stares at him—“then I suggest you come into my office, Eli. Otherwise, you’re free to leave.”

For a moment, Eli considers doing just that. He stares daggers at Michael, and then Keith, before he stomps into Michael’s office.

“Give us a minute,” Michael murmurs to Keith as he goes to close the door, and Keith nods, walking off, leaving Michael and Eli all alone. “Sit down.”

“Fuck you, Michael,” Eli sputters without thinking.

“Colorful language we’re using today,” Michael says as he takes his seat. “Will you give me a chance to explain myself, or are you going to continue acting like a child?”

“A child? You went behind my back and stole an article. You published my work without permission.”

“Just like you went behind my back and wrote an article that I never told you to write?” Michael glares at Eli.

Eli opens his mouth to say something, but he stops himself.

“That’s not the same.”

“No, it’s not. Because I told you what I wanted from you. And you’ve strung me along for weeks, showing me bits of what I needed from you. Then you come to me with . . . whatever that last thing was. And you expected me to just be fine with it? To be okay with you lying to me?”

Eli doesn’t know what to say. A thousand things come to mind, at least half of them variations of “Fuck off.” But he stops himself.

“You lied to me, Eli. And you thought you’d get away with it. But you didn’t. This is me teaching you a lesson.”

“What lesson?”