Chapter 9
BENJI
The office was dark and ornate, with a big wooden desk, a pricy-looking leather couch, a table and chairs, and a row of cabinets like the one in the conference room downstairs, all of which matched Anson’s desk.
Surprisingly, behind the desk Anson had a modern-looking gaming chair that was very similar to the one I had at the desk in my bedroom. The room held little else.
Aside from the one we’d entered, there were two doors in the interior of the room. Anson walked to the table and started emptying the bag as I stared at the out-of-place gaming chair and the two dormant computer screens in front of it.
This is where the magic happens, I thought.
I guess I had pictured that Anson Day would have a more high-tech office or maybe a more cluttered one.
Other than the screens, a phone, and a small desk lamp, the desk was clear, and so were the other surfaces in the room.
An abstract painting, all soft brush strokes, hung above the couch, but there were no photos or personal items anywhere.
I ran my hand over the gaming chair. Where mine was some kind of frayed synthetic material and had been purchased secondhand at a thrift store near MIT, the one in that room felt like real leather. I’d rarely felt something so soft.
“Those gaming chairs really are the most comfortable,” Anson shared, catching me in the act. “I’ve tested out any number of chairs at that desk, so I consider myself somewhat of an expert.”
The small lamp situated next to the computer screens was the only source of light in the room.
Looking up, I could tell the room did have recessed lighting in the ceiling, but Anson hadn’t bothered to flip the switch as he entered.
Did he always keep the room so dark, or was he setting some kind of mood for me?
My thoughts were heading in a ridiculous direction once again. Of course, he wasn’t keeping the lights off to create a romantic atmosphere. Anson probably just liked to work in a darkened office.
I ran my hand over the top of the chair again as he walked past me to root around in the cabinet behind me. “I have a similar one at home. It doesn’t feel like this, though. They really are comfortable if you …”
At the same time I said: “spend a lot of time in front of your computer,” he said, “spend most of your time at your desk.”
Anson stood and turned, two plates in hand.
His eyes met mine. I already considered it a precious gift when he looked me in the eye.
I’d noticed that he’d not looked directly at Beck when we were in the lobby.
Of course, Beck had barely taken his critical eyes off me, which may have been the reason, but I got the feeling that making eye contact was a rare and special thing for Anson.
We smiled awkwardly at each other. For long seconds, we stood there in silence, in the darkened room, our eyes dancing.
A strand of his hair fell loose, a delayed reaction to his having leaned down to look in the cabinet, and I had to tighten my fists not to reach up and tuck it in for him.
He quirked his lip and blew air up, and the strand fluttered, landing in the exact same spot.
It managed to break whatever moment we were having, and Anson moved past me with the plates, real ceramic plates, which he placed across from each other at the table with a clunk.
“I would always take Beck to George’s when he came to visit me at MIT. He usually preferred it if I came to Boston College to hang out with him, but I did not prefer that.”
I moved to the table as I listened to Anson reminisce. “Beck didn’t think it was much fun at MIT. He would invite me to parties at Boston College all the time. Occasionally, I would give in and go, and occasionally, he would give in and come and have lunch with me at George’s. I …
“As you might have noticed, I can sometimes get lost in my work and forget to eat.”
“Yeah, I get that. It happens to me too.”
“So Beck would come around and make sure I ate a good meal every once in a while.”
“George’s Italian sub counts as a good meal?”
“It counts as a meal.” Anson was staring at the restaurant’s logo on the bag he had neatly folded.
“We first talked about starting a company together at George’s. He had a project for one of his classes, where he had to develop a prospectus for a new company as if it was being presented to a loan officer. We just got to talking.”
“I know this story. That school project was the basis for New Day Tech. Did that really happen at George’s? That’s so cool.”
“Only we never needed that loan, because I sold my cash exchange app before I’d even gotten my PhD.”
I sat at the table. Anson put the bag down and followed suit. “I know that too,” I said.
“There are three sandwiches here?” Anson’s eyes were on me again, those blue eyes looking for all the world like they saw more than a new employee.
You’re imagining things, I reminded myself, remembering young Benji staring into a pixilated version of those eyes.
“Choices,” I said, but the word caught in my throat as I stared back. “Um, I didn’t know what you would want, so I picked up a few things. We should have offered some to Beck, or, um … your assistant; was it Ross?”
Anson nodded and stood again, returning from the cabinet with a real honest-to-God steak knife.
He picked up one of the sandwiches. “A gobbler. Good choice,” he said as he opened it. He held the knife up. “We’ll share?”
“Yes, please.”
We opened all three sandwiches, both of us sampling a piece of each one. We sat at that table, in the near darkness, and didn’t once talk about Project Orthos.
Anson asked about MIT, remembering places and professors and stories from his time there and wondering how things had changed. He asked about my dad.
“I can’t believe I didn’t know you lived in the yellow house. Dad never told me! I guess, I mean, he doesn’t follow the tech news, or much news at all except for sports, so he didn’t know who you were.”
“The beige house,” Anson stated, scooping up a fallen piece of tomato and popping it in his mouth, which was definitely not the cutest thing I’d ever seen even though he actually emitted a popping sound as part of the move.
“Two doors down from us, around the circle? Definitely yellow, or at least it was when I was growing up, and when I was there last Christmas.”
“Huh. They must have painted it.”
“I’m glad you and dad were friends. The family that lives there now … they have a son my age too. But we never got along. He used to tease me when we were little and …”
“I’m sorry about that.”
I shrugged. “It happened.”
Anson looked up from his plate, gifting me with eye contact again. “Yes. It did.” We shared a knowing smile.
“When we got older, he, um, he used to threaten me, to get me to do his homework. It wasn’t difficult for me to do it, so he never really had to follow through on those threats, but this one time …
I was usually good at not doing too good of a job, but I did a book report in tenth grade, and he got accused of cheating.
It was a big deal. I told my dad the truth, and, well, after that I didn’t have to do his work for him anymore.
And he never, like, hit me or anything, but …
it wasn’t easy going to school with him or living near him, especially after that.
” It was my turn to shrug. “The whole thing really upset my dad. Like, a lot.”
As if it was happening in slow motion, Anson’s hand, the one that he had recently popped against his pale-pink lips, reached out and rested atop mine. He just let it lie there as he spoke.
“I only knew him for a few short years, but your father, both of your parents, really, were always very kind to me. More than that, they looked out for me. Just so you know, he was never like that boy. Your dad was a good person.”
He squeezed my hand, and all of a sudden, I was the one who couldn’t make eye contact. I looked down at our layered hands instead.
“Thank you for saying that,” I started as I began to turn my hand into his. The movement startled him or made him realize what he’d done, or what I was about to do, because he snapped his hand back. I imagined a pop as I felt the loss of him.
He stood, rubbing his hands awkwardly on his thighs. It was so strange to wrap my head around seeing him being awkward, but I was really learning to love it.
“Are you done? We can head to the lab if you are. I’ll show you around. We can get started.”
“Yes, I’m done.” I stood, too, and started to wrap up one of the half-eaten sandwiches.
“Leave all that,” Anson insisted. “Ross will get it. Let’s go see the lab!” Any heaviness left over from our conversation, or awkwardness from the hand-holding, was lost as Anson sounded genuinely excited to show me his private lab.
We were back in the elevator in no time, me rushing to keep up with Anson, sparing a glance behind me as we passed Ross’s glass-walled office. His mouth was agape, watching us scurry past. I raised my eyebrows at him, and he shook his head and laughed back.
The elevator dinged as I faced forward, walking right into Anson’s back. I could hear Ross laughing behind me while in front of me Anson pivoted to face me.
He was standing right there, boxed in until the doors slid open behind him.
That errant strand of hair had fallen from behind his ear again, but he stood perfectly still in front of me, not turning to enter or backing up into the elevator.
I couldn’t decide where to look. His hair fluttered, silky brown with gray flecks that made it seem like it was sparkling, his eyes dancing in the harsh light of the hallway, flecks of slivery gray highlighting blue irises, whose depth went on for miles.
I settled on his lips as they subconsciously worked to move the hair from in front of his eyes.
Behind him, the door began to close, so I skirted around him to catch it.
Anson pivoted but didn’t move otherwise, which meant we’d managed to shift even closer together.
It was my turn to be boxed in, my hand holding the door open, my body brushed up against Anson’s.
His hand slowly rose, and my stomach fluttered. Was he about to …
Ross cleared his throat, and Anson’s hand found the strand of hair, tucking it behind his ear. Without moving, he turned his head to look over his shoulder.
“Ross, there are sandwiches in my office. Feel free to grab one.” He smiled at me, but all I could focus on was the fact that we were still touching, my chest against his bicep.
I couldn’t move without nudging past him, and he simply didn’t move.
“Or three,” he said to Ross. “We’ll be down in the lab if you need us. ”
“Thanks, boss. Or I guess, thanks, Benji, for bringing them. IT is sending a laptop. I’ll have them bring it down to you.”
“They can leave it …”
“In the antechamber. I know!”
Ross looked at me. “Very few people are allowed in Anson’s lab.
” He cleared his throat again, and Anson finally moved away from me, pivoting and entering the elevator.
He nodded a “thank you” my way, jutting his chin toward my hand, holding the door open.
I stepped in, more than a little flustered and confused as the door closed on a smirking Ross.