Page 17 of Technical Advances

He laughed nervously. “Pretty sure I’m the one who should be apologizing.”

“Nah, I’m still in school. I’m used to all-nighters.”

His voice became soft. “I prefer to work overnight. Fewer interruptions. Fewer people …”

“I get that.”

“Benji?”

“Yes, Anson?”

“Good work.” Jesus. That feeling was back, tightening my core and causing my heart to pound so hard it was almost painful.

“Th-thank you.”

“Will you … will you come to the lab sometime? Anytime you want, except for this morning, because apparently, I have a board meeting! I’ll talk to Erin about accelerating your start date.”

“You don’t have to pay me!” I jumped in quickly. “Like I said, until my dad gets here, I’m yours.” I maybe should have stopped phrasing it that way, but I thought I heard Anson’s breath hitch, and that sound really did something to me. “I mean, I’m available … free. Just let me know when to be there.”

Before I’d even finished the sentence, it was Anson’s turn to jump in. “Today! Come this afternoon, and I’ll show you what I’ve mocked up so far.” He sounded excited.

“Okay! Yes! Okay,” I babbled enthusiastically.

“And Benji?”

“Yeah! Yes!” At that point I would have agreed to anything.

“Make sure you eat some breakfast too. And maybe get some rest.”

CHAPTER 8

ANSON

“Ineed Benji’s address.”

Beck sighed. “We’re stalking now?”

“What? No. I want to send over some food.”

The sound out of Beck’s mouth was ostensibly a laugh, but it burst out of him like a bark. I did not recall ever hearing that level of frustration in Beck’s tone before.

“Oh, the irony,” he muttered before the laughter left his eyes completely and he looked at me sternly. “You’re serious.”

“Of course, I am.” I rarely said things I didn’t mean, and Beck, of all people, knew this about me. “I kept him … We were working for a very long time.”

“Uh-huh,” Beck groused. “Go get ready. I’ll handle it.”

“But I …”

“Go!”

“Send him those really good breakfast burritos from Handelman’s. Send a few. I don’t know what he likes.”

Beck glared at me, pointing to the closet he had built in my office years ago, arguing, If you’re going to practically live here, you might as well have a fucking change of clothes available.

I didn’t move right away, my desire to finish the task at hand—Benji’s breakfast—taking priority over everything else, especially another mind-numbing board meeting that required me to don a suit and pretend to pay attention to a cadre of other suit-wearing individuals.

Beck stalked to my desk and hit the intercom button on the phone