Page 7 of The Build-a-Boyfriend Project

Michael’s eyes meet Eli’s, and he urges him in to take a seat. “Of course! Of course, yeah. That’ll work out for us. So, I can expect it by tomorrow end of day? Good! I’ll let my assistant know, ask him to keep a lookout. Good, talk to you later, then.” Michael laughs again before he sets the phone down on the receiver.

“What should I keep an eye out for?” Eli dares to ask.

“A friend of mine is applying for the staff position that opened up. I wanted to make sure we got his résumé.”

“Oh . . .” Eli feels his stomach sink to the floor. No, no. He’s not going to catastrophize, not yet. There’s still hope here.

“So, what’s up?” Michael leans back in his desk chair, the hinges creaking loudly, sending a shiver down Eli’s spine.

“We had a meeting scheduled,” Eli says, knowing that he shouldn’t be at all surprised that Michael forgot. “About my articles. And the . . . the staff position.”

Realization hits Michael. “Right, right! Yes, yes. I totally forgot.” He rests his elbows on the desk, clasping his hands together. “Let’s talk about it! Interviewer mode on!” He laughs, and Eli forces a similar sound out.

Not that Michael would know anything about interviewing—he usually forces Eli to take his place during the process.

“So, it’s not like I need to ask you about your credentials,” Michael jokes, reaching over toward his computer mouse and clicking to pull something up, though Eli isn’t sure exactly what he’s looking at; it could be anything.

Eli once caught him watching Instagram Reels on mute during a meeting.

“You’ve been a valuable employee these last few years, Eli. I seriously think that I couldn’t go a day without you here.”

“I appreciate that, Michael. I’ve really enjoyed my time working at Vent. And you know how much I’d like to start making a name for myself.”

“Well, I don’t have to give you the spiel about hard work, determination, doing whatever you can to move up in the world. You know that better than anyone here. I feel like you’ve been my apprentice, learning and growing along with me. You’re the Yoda to my Anakin.”

“Right.” Eli nods, ignoring his urge to correct Michael. “Absolutely. And I think that I’m ready to be taken more seriously.”

Michael raises an eyebrow. “You think? Or you know?”

“I know.” Eli tries to make his voice firm, but there’s no denying the slight tear that comes from experiencing puberty twice in a lifetime.

“Good.” Michael nods. “Show me what you’ve got. What do you think has earned you a spot as a staff writer?”

Eli opens his iPad, finding the downloaded portfolio filled with PDFs of the articles and essays that he’s written, some of which he’s submitted to Michael before, only to have them rejected as “not right for the brand of Vent.”

“I’ve also sent you an email with everything,” Eli tells him, watching as Michael clicks away on his computer. He can only hope that he’s actually opened up the file, but Michael’s attention is a hard thing to vie for. “But I have several ideas for more hard-hitting articles for Vent, really giving us that voice that I feel like we’ve steered away from. We could really work to reestablish ourselves as a trustworthy news site.”

“Right, right. I’ve read all of your pitches.”

“Really?” Eli doesn’t want to admit he’s surprised, but . . . well . . . he is.

“Of course I did!” Michael tells him. “I read everything you submit. Your judgment is one that I put quite a bit of faith in, Eli.”

“Oh, well . . . thank you, Michael. That really means a lot to me.” Suddenly he feels a twinge of guilt for every snide comment whispered under his breath.

If only that goodwill could last a moment longer, before it all comes crashing back down.

“But I just don’t think that those are the types of articles our audience goes to Vent to read,” Michael says to him, his words slow. “They’re too heavy. Our readers want something more relaxing; they want something funny, they want something that’ll make them laugh and brighten their day.”

Eli sits there in shock for a moment, registering exactly what Michael is saying. Until he eventually stammers out the reminder that Vent broke the story about the Republican legislator who sent bomb threats to San Francisco’s mayor for vowing to make the city a haven for trans people.

Or the Democratic party member who claimed protests against gun violence wouldn’t solve anything, and then Vent revealed he’d received thousands upon thousands of dollars from the NRA.

“Yes, but . . . that was the old Vent.” Michael leans back further in his chair. He continues, “The new Vent is about entertaining our readers. No one wants those downers of a story. No one wants to know about how”—Michael turns to his screen—“how homelessness is being criminalized? Is that real?”

Eli nods.

“Jesus . . .”