Chapter 6 #3
When I look up again, his expression has lost the trace of amusement.
The space between us feels narrower, though neither of us has moved.
His attention stays on my face long enough that I become aware of my own breathing, the warmth beneath my collar, and the red lipstick I chose that morning with more deliberation than I want to admit.
I break the gaze first.
The interview continues, but the rhythm changes.
We move away from prepared statements and into questions about responsibility, ambition, and what happens when private innovation begins to shape public life.
Julian answers with the same directness he showed in the lab, occasionally challenging the premise of a question instead of avoiding it.
I push back when I disagree, and he does not bristle or retreat. He seems to enjoy the resistance.
At some point, someone leaves fresh water outside the conference room. Neither of us notices until Julian reaches for his empty glass and finds the pitcher waiting on the sideboard.
“They’ve been in here,” I say.
“Apparently,” he replies.
I glance at my phone and blink at the time.
“It’s after 1:00.”
Julian checks his watch, and for the first time that morning, he looks genuinely surprised.
“We were supposed to finish before noon.”
“We were.”
He leans back, but he does not make any move to end the interview.
“Do you need to leave?”
“No,” I answer too quickly.
His eyes return to mine.
“I mean, I don’t have anything scheduled,” I clarify.
“Unless you do.”
“I don’t.”
The answer comes just as easily. We continue.
The sunlight shifts while we talk, moving from the window to the far wall and warming the edge of the table between us.
The hours feel less like an interview now and more like a conversation neither of us has decided to stop.
I ask him about the first system he ever designed, and he tells me about an unfinished prototype he built at MIT that failed during a demonstration because he had been too certain of his own calculations.
“You?” I ask, unable to hide my disbelief.
“Overconfident?”
“I was twenty-one,” Julian says.
“It would have been more surprising if I weren’t.”
“What happened?”
“The system overheated in front of thirty people.”
I smile. “That must have been devastating.”
“It was instructive.”
“That sounds suspiciously like a lesson.”
His gaze sharpens with quiet amusement.
“You’ve been waiting to use that against me.”
“I didn’t have to wait long.”
He laughs, and the sound changes his face. It is not the restrained smile I have seen before, but something warmer and unguarded. I watch him for a second too long, caught off balance by how different he looks when he forgets to protect himself.
His laughter fades, but his eyes remain on mine.
The air between us stills. Neither of us speaks immediately, and the silence is no longer purely comfortable.
It carries something warmer beneath it, something I feel in the slow beat of my pulse and the way his attention lowers briefly before returning to my eyes.
I reach for my pen, though I have stopped taking notes.
“We should probably finish the last section,” I say.
“We should,” Julian replies, but he does not look away.
For another moment, neither of us moves. Then he shifts his chair closer to the table, and I turn to the next page as though the interview has not quietly become something neither of us knows how to name.
By the time I close my notebook, the clock on the wall reads 2:04 pm. Julian glances at it, then back at me, and the surprise in his expression mirrors my own.
“I think we’ve covered enough for one day,” I say as I switch off the recorder.
“We went well past the schedule,” Julian replies.
“We did.”
Neither of us moves immediately. The interview is finished, but the room still holds the quiet intensity of the last several hours, as though ending the recording has not restored the distance that existed this morning.
Julian gathers the papers in front of him, then pauses.
“Do you have plans tonight?”
The question catches me off guard.
“No,” I answer.
“I was planning to review my notes and order something at the hotel.”
“A few board members and executives are having dinner nearby,” Julian says.
“You’re welcome to join us.”
I look at him. The dinner is not listed anywhere on the itinerary, and he knows I know it.
“That sounds useful,” I say carefully.
“It should be,” he replies, though his gaze stays on mine a moment longer than the answer requires.
The silence stretches before Julian reaches for his phone, and the professional ease returns to his voice.
“I’ll have a driver pick you up at 6:30,” he says.
“The restaurant isn’t far from your hotel, but it’ll be easier.”
“Thank you,” I tell him.
“I’ll be ready.”
Julian opens the door and speaks to a staff member passing in the corridor.
“Would you walk Ms. Callahan to the entrance? Her car should be waiting.”
“Of course,” the woman replies.
I gather my handbag and notebook, then turn back toward Julian.
“I’ll see you tonight,” I say.
“You will,” he answers.
The staff member leads me down the corridor, but I can still feel Julian’s attention behind me until the conference room door closes. By the time I step outside and see the waiting car, the assignment no longer feels as contained as it did when I arrived this morning.