Chapter 4
ANSON
He was there. The young man whose work was so close to my own.
Not quite a PhD, but about to become one.
I had been in rooms with titans of industry, heads of state, even celebrities, and I’d come to understand over the years that shaking hands was a necessary part of conducting business.
I had perfected a firm-grasped, efficient method, and like most things I found uncomfortable, I’d practiced it routinely until my discomfort was abated.
And yet, when I was face-to-face with Benjamin Warren, it wasn’t until he pulled us apart that I realized our hands had been clasped for much more than the two-to-three seconds I usually allowed.
Benjamin had entered the room in long strides, his back straight and that hand extended. Yet somehow, he still managed to exude an unassuming air.
When Beck had first reviewed his resume, he was concerned with how closely the graduate’s work paralleled mine.
Beck took it as part of his job to protect me, so he had tasked our investigators with ensuring that the young man hadn’t somehow infiltrated our system before he’d presented me with Benjamin Warren’s resume.
He needn’t have bothered. I’d personally created the security protocols for my work.
Not only was I sure my project was protected, but the information Warren had provided with his resume showed how he’d come to his conclusions, and though the two of us were headed in the same direction, our paths there had been different enough to show me his independent thought.
I explained all of this to Beck when he blustered back into my office and shared the investigator’s work product.
Beck had raised an eyebrow, which I always noticed because it was something I couldn’t do.
“Are you saying he’s thought of something you haven’t?
” Beck asked, and I knew he was teasing me by the smile that played at the corners of his mouth.
Beck, at least, I had come to be able to read somewhat over the years.
It had taken a lot of practice, but he was my oldest friend, so I’d had ample time.
Like another Benjamin Warren, years before, Beck and I had lived on the same block as youngsters.
He found it unendingly cool that I was already in college and befriended me when I moved in.
I thought he would be disappointed fairly quickly when he realized I wasn’t getting our fourteen-year-old selves into college parties, but he remained my friend, even following me to Boston to attend Boston College while I earned my advanced degrees at MIT.
By the time we made it to Massachusetts, it was Beck dragging me to the occasional party.
I knew he meant well in inviting me, so very occasionally, I acquiesced and went with him.
“Something like that,” I muttered back, earning another raised eyebrow before I insisted that he not worry about sabotage and confirmed that he should set up an interview with Benjamin Warren, Jr.
“I don’t like it, Ani. It’s too close, too convenient.”
I explained to Beck, in great detail, how Benjamin’s work differed from my own, scribbling frantically on the back of the manilla folder to prove my point.
“So you see, his work is entirely distinct!”
“Yeah, you do know that none of that makes any sense to me, Ani. But you’re sure? You’re positive this kid’s not stealing from us?”
“One hundred percent positive.”
“Okay.” Beck didn’t sound convinced, but I couldn’t understand why not. I’d clearly delineated the major differences in our projects. I mean, the formulas were right there on the back of the folder sitting on my desk. They couldn’t have been more different.
The young man whose hand I’d just shaken was the real deal, and his resume had quickly been sorted to the top of the pool of potential hires.
When Beck told me our head of research and development wanted to interview him, I’d informed Morgan that I would be handling the meeting personally, and that I would be considering Benjamin as a potential research assistant, reporting directly to me.
“You’re creating a new position?” she asked as if I hadn’t just said exactly that. People often misunderstood the things I said. It was why it was so helpful for me to have Beck around. Yet for some reason, I didn’t think to involve Beck in my decision to meet with Benjamin Warren personally.
To Morgan, I simply nodded.
“To work directly with you?
When she couldn’t contain her surprise, I decided it would be easier not to even attempt to explain it to Beck, or Erin, or anyone else for that matter. It was my company; I could interview and hire anyone I wanted, including an entry-level employee. If it worked out, then I’d let everyone know.
Young Benjamin Warren did not look anything like his father.
I didn’t have many friends when I lived in Arizona, but Ben and I had walked off the bus and down the road together during the few years I’d lived there.
Unlike my mother, his parents both worked, so he’d hang around our house, doing homework and staying for dinner every once in a while.
He never once asked me to help him with his schoolwork.
On those days, if the weather wasn’t miserable, my mother would insist we spend time outside, and I had fond memories of tossing rocks in the small creek behind our house. Ben would talk but seemed to understand, and not mind, that I rarely contributed to the conversation.
By the time I’d moved away, Ben was already playing junior varsity football and had a large group of friends.
Football had kept Ben off the bus, so I’d lost my walking and homework buddy.
I spent all my free time at school in the computer lab and all my time at home in my room or down by the creek, drawing diagrams, running numbers, and building models.
I didn’t see much of him for those few months of high school before we moved away.
My mother had kept in touch with the Warrens, and she’d told me back then that Ben had begun dating one of the girls from the neighborhood, Ashley.
Ashley had always been kind to me, just like Ben.
I was happy for them. Mom had used that bit of information to try and ask me if there was anyone I liked. I just shrugged and said no.
I had stayed quietly in the closet throughout high school, not bothering to tell anyone I was gay, because I spent most of my time alone anyway, so there was no one to tell and no reason to come out.
At MIT, I managed to meet a few men, who, like me, were too interested in their work to care about much more than the occasional hookup.
Meeting men had become exponentially more difficult as my notoriety and my bank account grew.
Eventually, I came out to my parents because really, what difference did it make? They told me they weren’t surprised.
My mother filled me in about “that sweet boy” when she called, informing me that Ben had married his high school sweetheart right after they’d graduated, implying that Benjamin had been born shortly thereafter.
They’d remained in the small Arizona town I remembered so fondly and had moved back into Ben’s childhood home after his parents retired to California.
Ashley had died tragically years ago, Mom informed me.
My mother knew all of this, despite having moved from that same block with me years ago, because Ben Warren had reached out to her and let her know that his son was applying for a position at New Day Tech.
It just so happens that Benjamin junior's resume was sitting on my desk at the very moment my mother had called to tell me all this.
Ever since New Day had taken off, people had come out of the woodwork, reaching out to me.
People from my childhood and college years, who I had no idea even knew who I was, people who had teased me or ignored me or only talked to me to ask for help with their homework.
But the thing about Ben was that he never did any of those things.
He was always just kind to me. He seemed to understand that I wanted to be left alone most of the time, and he respected it.
But he would still smile and nod when we passed each other in the hall, and one time, he told some of his friends, other members of that JV football team, to shut the fuck up when they were teasing me.
He’d said it as the group, including Ashley, walked past. Ashley turned back and smiled kindly at me as the boys continued to joke and talk with each other, forgetting about me in the next second, but that memory had stayed with me for years.
Ben had been the closest thing I’d had to a friend before I met Beck.
Still, I wouldn’t have considered his kid for a position if he hadn’t been qualified, and the work Benjamin junior had been doing at MIT showed me that he was more than qualified, despite Beck’s misgivings.
I guess I was expecting to see a version of the Ben I knew all those years ago when his son walked in, the broad football player with pin-straight hair perfectly in place, even when we were messy middle schoolers.
Instead, before me stood a petite man, his brown-framed glasses matching the dark brown of his eyes and nestled atop a nose with a slight hook to it that gave it character, where his father’s had been button perfect.
His hair was wavy chaos though it appeared he had tried to tame it.
He wore a suit that fit him well, but he still seemed uncomfortable in it.
By the time we were in middle school, I’d known his father was handsome but had also assumed he was straight, so logically, I’d never thought of him as more than a friend.
Years later, I’d used the same logic to admire Beck without fear of complicating matters with emotion or attraction.
And I had indeed admired them both for their attractiveness.
The Benjamin Warren standing in front me was very different from those men but no less compelling.
In fact, his unique looks were quite captivating.
I was good at working out ways to go through life not complicating matters with emotions.
It’s something I admire about myself, and I am sure it’s helped me stay focused on discovering and facilitating technological breakthroughs.
Benjamin junior might be handsome, but he was also much younger than me and most likely about to become my personal research assistant.
There! I could admire the way his brown eyes danced behind those glasses and how the feel of his hand in mine was a marvel, without it being a distraction. It was immaterial how truly compelling he was.
And then he smiled, and it was like the sun bursting from behind the clouds.
I smiled in return. Not the smile I had practiced over the years for meeting kings and presidents but a real smile, the kind I couldn’t control, the type that exploded from my face before I could stop it.
The kind of smile I rarely bestowed on anyone.
It felt physically odd on my face, and that helped to break whatever strange, yet compelling, spell I was under.
I gestured to the chair catty-corner from the one I’d been seated in at the head of the table.
“Please have a seat, Mr. Warren.”