Chapter 8 #2
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” could be heard, yet again, from behind my shoulder.
Benji’s eyes left mine, and I felt the loss, which was confusing, as I usually felt relief when others stopped staring at me.
Benji flexed again under my touch, and I released his arm, taking a step back and following his gaze.
Benji studied Beck, and Beck scowled back at him.
“Mr. Beckett. It’s nice to see you again.” His arm free, of the bag and of my grip, he was able to extend it out and shake Beck’s hand.
“We’re all a team here at New Day,” Beck said in a monotone. “Please, call me Beck.”
“Beck.” Benji nodded, trying the name out as the two continued to stare each other down even after their hands released.
“No food in the lab, of course,” I said, which brought Benji’s attention back to me.
I hoped my smile would break whatever tension I thought was building between my best friend and my new research assistant, but it didn’t appear to be helping.
I plowed on, ignoring the negative energy to the best of my ability.
I was generally good at overlooking emotional situations, but for some reason, it was important to me that Beck not glare at our new hire.
“Let’s eat in my office and get up to speed. Then I’ll show you the lab!”
My lab was off-limits to most people, and I rarely wanted to share the space, but I was genuinely excited to introduce Benji to it.
I was about to turn and head further into the building when Benji’s stare shot back to Beck again as he turned and left us without another word.
Benji looked concerned, but when he caught me staring, he began to smile a smile that showed him to be as excited as I was.
“I worked on the section three calculations,” he enthused.
“You did? I was working on them as well,” I said though I hadn’t gotten very far after the board meeting. “Well, thinking about them anyway. I’ve been in a board meeting most of the morning.”
“That sounds horrible.”
I nodded in agreement. Having Benji understand that small thing shouldn’t have been important, but then why did my stomach swoop like it had when I was younger, and Beck had insisted that I ride a roller coaster with my hands in the air?
“It really is. Luckily, Beck handles most of the meeting. I can usually think about my work while I sit there and answer the occasional question.” Only, I hadn’t gotten very far thinking about my work during that particular board meeting.
I smiled at the thought and at Benji. I’d been doing lots of smiling since I’d met him.
“Let’s go get set up in my office and eat some George’s.”
My stomach flopped again, and my chest sputtered.
Beck would argue that I needed to eat something, but I felt like a kid on Christmas morning: excited, anticipatory, and safe in those feelings.
How wonderfully rare for me to feel safe around a new person.
New people generally wanted something from me.
Benji had said he’d been a fan since he was younger, and it seemed clear that he knew all about me and New Day Tech; I wouldn’t have expected less from an MIT robotics grad, but it really did seem that Benji just wanted to get to work on Project Orthos so we could solve problems, complete a model, and hopefully help people with our new discovery.
I wanted those things too.
My new research assistant and I walked past security, speaking animatedly about our work. We waited quietly for the elevator, and it was the first time I felt awkward around Benji because his demeanor had changed, and he seemed jittery. He kept glancing back toward the front desk.
The elevator binged, and we both hesitated. After a beat where he didn’t move, I stepped forward. Instead of entering, I held the door open, the food bag swinging from my arm as I gestured to Benji to go first.
He did so with one more glance toward the entrance, meaning he wasn’t looking at me when his arm brushed mine. My stomach took on the motion of a roller coaster once again, coupled with a zing that sent an electric shock pulsing through my entire body.
I had sexual intercourse every once in a while.
In more recent years, it seemed, primarily if not exclusively, to be with men who wanted to be near the famous Anson Day.
More than once, Beck had had to explain to me that wanting to be around me wasn’t the same as wanting to get to know me.
I didn’t mind the lack of true personal connection with these men since I preferred to be alone most of the time anyway.
Sharing a bed for one evening seemed an efficient way for me to meet my needs, and if those men had ulterior motives on top of that, I didn’t mind.
I was out of the closet, so my hookups couldn’t really pose a threat to me—as I tried to explain to Beck over the years.
He still insisted on, as he called it, being my “fixer” when it came to my rendezvous.
My activity with those men had felt … good. I’d gotten off, they’d gotten off, and then Beck, or our assistant Ross, was always there to clean up any messes, with nondisclosure forms and just the right tone, polite but firm, to get rid of them if I couldn’t.
But not once in all those years had I felt the type of zing like the one I felt when a distracted Benji brushed past me on his way into the elevator.
I was staring at the location he had brushed in wonder as I stepped in, and the door slid closed.
“Um, Anson?”
Just hearing him say my name had that zing firing again, like I’d touched an electric socket, and the charge was working its way through me.
I continued to stare at the spot on my arm that bore no visual reminder of his touch, the bag of food hanging from my fingers within my line of sight until a slim-fingered hand waved in front of my face.
“Anson?”
“Benji,” I said softly, following his hand as it danced in front of me.
“Benji!” I said more firmly as I realized he was attempting to garner my attention.
I used all my powers of concentration, which were usually robust but had been nonexistent for most of the day, to focus on making eye contact.
Apparently, eye contact caused the zing as well.
“Sorry. We’re going to the eighth floor.
” I pointed with the bag to the numbered panel that was closer to Benji.
Remembering after a beat that we would need my access card to enter that floor, I leaned forward as I’d done hundreds of times before, tapping the card on the sensor.
Feeling Benji’s eyes on me as I did so, I stood up straight and met his gaze. The elevator immediately began to move.
“Benji, yes! What? How … how may I help you?”
He chuckled, and it made his eyes dance with delight. I’d been laughed at for my absentmindedness most of my life, but Benji’s soft chuckle and softer eyes seemed neither frustrated nor unkind.
The fact that I liked looking into his eyes was a shocking revelation. Beck had coached me many times on the importance of looking people in the eye. I usually found it to be a chore at best, more often a challenge.
I remembered a flight to England, far enough along in our story that it was the company’s private jet that took us there. “You can’t be clocking your shoes while someone is introducing you to royalty, Ani,” Beck instructed. “You cannot be distracted.”
My distractions usually had to do with some project I was working on.
Rarely had I found myself distracted by a man and definitely not by a man who happened to be one of my employees.
He’s not your employee for three more weeks, some part of my brain offered, a part that thought it could use faulty reasoning to excuse what I was feeling.
The logical scientist in me had to shut that type of thinking down quickly.
Benji didn’t seem to mind my lack of focus and just beamed at me as I straightened to full height and dropped the lanyard back around my neck. He’s beaming at you because he’s a fan, I reminded myself, remembering his enthusiasm when he’d thanked me for the job the day before.
My cheeks felt warm as I opened my mouth to speak. To say what, exactly, I hadn’t quite worked out. Thank you for the food or tell me more about your progress on the project or I’m glad to see you again, glad you’re here; glad we will be working together. I wasn’t sure which.
Before I could expel any words, Benji spoke, beginning with a charming, hesitant um like he’d used a few times when we’d worked together over the phone the night before.
“Um? Is it okay …”
“Yes!” I responded. I had no idea what he wanted, but without hesitation I knew I wanted to give him anything he asked for.
He laughed again, and the zinging sensation traveled through me like an impulse function, that brief yet intense surge that causes a system to adjust.
His laughter gave me joy, where most of the time, with others, I felt like I was being laughed at, or at the very least, that I was not part of the joke. It had made it easier, over the years, to keep my circle very small, to keep people out, to keep the laughter away.
And yet I didn’t want to keep Benji out. I was desirous of not only showing him my personal lab but sharing it with him, and perhaps most notably, I’d sought him out to spend time with him, which was not something I did with anyone. Ever. Whatever he was asking, the answer was yes.