Page 1 of The Build-a-Boyfriend Project

Chapter One

Sorry to Bother You, dir. by Boots Riley

All Eli Francis can think as he shuffles into the elevator of the Vent offices is how much he hates Frappuccinos. Frappuccinos specifically. He’s not a coffee snob by any means, feed him whatever flavors, brands, temperatures. Black, oat milk, no sugar, even tea! He likes to think he’s not a hard man to please.

But having spent every single Tuesday for the last five years going to the local café down the block where he orders five different Frappuccinos—alongside the macchiatos, the matchas, and the mochas—has led to a certain level of hatred that even he knows is inexplicable. Maybe it’s the way the cups are always too full, or how the whipped cream on top of the early morning sugar bombs is always melted by the time he makes it back to the building, leaving it to leak out under the lids and down the cups to the sleeves of his sweater.

Or how there’s this odd stickiness that seems to follow him for the rest of the day no matter how rose red he might scrub his hands in the bathroom afterward.

He watches the numbers on the elevator screen rising floor by floor, the floor underneath him shifting as it moves as slowly as possible.

And of course, because it’s so early in the morning, there are stops at every floor, employees at the other publications and sites that share the building with Vent joining him along his journey, making small talk, offering quiet greetings to Eli as he tries to balance the drinks and food in his arms before the elevator creaks to life again.

They crawl to the eleventh floor, the doors seeming to take as much time as they possibly can to open, not that Eli likes who he sees.

The list of people Eli doesn’t want to perceive before nine a.m. isn’t a very long one. There’s Gwen, head of IT, whom he adores but who spends her mornings fielding “Can I upload a PDF to Instagram?”–type questions, so it’s best not to bother her unless it’s life or death. There’s the one barista who always gets at least half of Eli’s orders wrong. There’s Adam, from the mailroom, who’s disliked Eli ever since he accidentally tipped over an entire mail cart and was in such a rush to deliver a last-minute contract that he hadn’t been able to stay and help clean it up.

To be fair, Eli fully understands why Adam dislikes him. Not even a yearly Christmas card with an apologetic gift certificate included has repaired that relationship.

But above almost everyone else on the list sits the name Michael Clay, his boss, senior editor at Vent, head of content and whatever the vagueness of that title includes. Eli thinks his inclusion on the list is fair; after all, who ever wants to see their boss until it’s absolutely necessary?

And if that wasn’t bad enough, standing right next to Michael is number one on Eli’s list.

Keith Harper.

San José graduate from their journalism program, former assistant and staff writer at Vent, current editor. Hater of grilled-cheese sandwiches, enjoyer of classical music, and lover of wine with an “oaky” aftertaste.

And Eli’s ex-boyfriend.

His spot on the list is probably self-explanatory.

Eli’s eyes dart away, but not before Keith’s meet his for the briefest of moments, and Eli wishes that he didn’t feel that twinge in his stomach as he desperately hopes he hasn’t caught their attention.

But he’s never been all that lucky.

“Oh! Eli, great, we caught you on your way up!” Michael smiles, tucking his iPad under his arm as they try to find space in the already cramped elevator.

Neither man makes an effort to relieve Eli of the load he carries. “Yep.”

“Do you think you could make twenty copies of our pitches before the meeting? I’ll email you.”

“Sure thing.” Eli bites back the rest of his words.

“So, anyway.” Michael turns toward Keith, both of them forgetting Eli in an instant. “I was thinking that we could up the amount of those Marvel listicles with that new movie coming out. Those always boost our numbers.”

“I’ve got the team working on a few ideas,” Keith tells Michael.

Eli has to stop himself from rolling his eyes at Keith, wondering just how many of those lists he’ll have to suffer through, double-checking the details and making sure the barrage of GIFs that serve as an excuse for actual journalism are embedded correctly in the page before they’re put in front of Michael.

“Also, I had some ideas about the Delish posts for the meeting. I was thinking uploading videos to Spotify as podcasts might bump up the views if we could include listens. Most people just turn it on as background noise anyway.”

Michael nods his head excitedly, like he’s ready to agree with anything that Keith might say. “I like it. It could be a lot of fun, plus it’ll keep people in the brand.”

“It’s a video series, though . . .” Eli can’t help himself.

He’d think after years of suffering through working at Vent, being parked in front of Michael’s office, fielding emails and calls, reading through articles, fact-checking sources, and editing stories line by line when Michael didn’t “feel like doing the work” he’s paid to do—which was far more often than not—he’d have learned to keep his mouth shut.

“What was that, Eli?” Keith asks, his eyes focusing on Eli as he struggles to balance everything. There’s annoyance in his tone, which Eli finds so funny since Keith used to love listening to Eli. Especially when he could take the ideas that Eli gave him and pass them off as his own, or when Eli corrected his grammar.