Page 37 of Technical Advances

The printer paused, and the silence was deafening. I stared at the machine all the same, waiting for Anson to tell me to fuck off. Eventually, I heard him rise, the chair clattering as he approached me.

I could sense him near me, my pulse thrumming, his scent surrounding me, his heat inflaming me. From a few steps behind me, he began.

“I’ve been … famous, or whatever, for a long time, Benji. And I know people think I’m naive, or precious, but I didn’t think you did. I’ve been with men over the years.”

My body reacted before I could stop it, straightening, bristling at the thought of him with other men but also at the thought of him being with anyone who might take advantage of him, who might hurt him.

“And sure, Beck always swoops in with NDAs, and I always let him.” I could hear a slight smile in his tone and could picture it. It drew me to him, and I turned.

“And maybe, early on, it hurt to realize I was being used. But just like everything else”—he waved around the room—“it only took a few failed experiments to tweak the factors. It’s been a long time since a hookup took advantage of me, for my notoriety, or my money, or even because his dream was to meet the Anson Day or to work for New Day Tech.”

He grasped my forearms then, his eyes locked on mine, the noise of the printer once again filling the room. “That’s not what’s happening here, Benji. And you know it. Tell me you know it.”

I knew I felt drawn to him, and that there may have been something to our having a deeper connection than just creating a similar project. But how could I let him drag himself into a scandal for a kid who’d worshiped his picture growing up?

“I know I want this job, and that I don’t want people looking at me like I got it for the wrong reasons. I know you’re a public figure who doesn’t need a scandal and wouldn’t want to drag his company into one. I know you're my boss, and I'm your employee.” I paused before saying what I had to say. “I think we have to leave it at that.” If the word leave caught in my throat, we both ignored it.

He dropped his hands, then reached out and brushed a curl away from my forehead, pulling away quickly, the fire between us having turned into something bad, something wrong.

“If that’s what you want.” His voice was taut but resigned.

He walked to the printer, pulling his hair back into a ponytail as he went, and examined the component being created. I stared at it and nodded before turning to the computer to queue up another piece in another machine. Behind me, I could hear Anson setting up the new printer to accept the next set of coordinates.

What I want? I thought. No, of course that wasn’t what I fucking wanted. But it was the right thing to do, to protect Anson from a scandal I didn’t think he, or his company, could handle.

We could have continued to work, like we’d done every night, until Beck startled us and kicked us out. But I couldn’t be around him. Like the state-of-the-art printers we were working with, I needed to recalibrate to our new normal so we could find a way for us to continue to work together.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn't have kissed you, Anson. I’m sending the next component through now.” The mouse clicked.

“I’m going to go,” I said, facing the computer, sensing his back still to me at the printer. “And I’ll see you Friday night. At dinner. With my dad.”

Dad looked up at the embossed wooden sign above the heavy glass-and-wood doors. I could tell the contractor in him was calculating the cost, time, materials, artistry, and attention to detail. Dad liked to think we were very different, but I was fairly sure the whirring in my brain was not dissimilar to how his worked. He stood straighter and looked at me.

“Should I have worn a tie?”

“You look great, Dad.” He was dressed in khakis and a blazer, with a Henley underneath. I wore the suit I’d purchased to interview in. I had envisioned needing it for more than one interview and figured I should get some use out of it. Beantown Prime was the type of place where my suit would fit right in.

I pulled the heavy door open and followed my dad inside, and yeah, most of the men may have been sporting a suit and tie, but that just made me stand taller, proud to be the soon-to-be Dr. Warren and even prouder of the man standing next to me.

“Anson picked this place?”

I may have been scanning the room for the man himself when I heard from behind us, “For the cuisine more than the atmosphere. They have a Wagyu that I think you’re going to love.”

I turned to find Anson standing behind my dad, his hand on his shoulder. His hair was pulled back tight, but all I could think about was how I’d been able to run my fingers through it a few nights earlier. He was also in a casual blazer, a beige T-shirt underneath, sporting the New Day Tech logo, and jeans. He’d leveled up his shoes, wearing a new-looking pair of loafers instead of the beat-up sneakers I was used to seeing. He had his glasses on, which I knew meant he had worked through the night and waited too long to take his contacts out. He’d greeted me twice over the past weeks with his glasses on. I adored how amazing he looked while at the same time fretting over the fact that the glasses meant he’d probably been up for over twenty-four hours.

The urge to greet him with a hug and a peck on the cheek was one I had to physically resist.

Had it really only been three days since I’d seen him last? Since I’d kissed him like I’d meant it and then turned around and hightailed it out of the lab? My heart fought to beat its way out of my chest, and I actually glanced around, worried that others could tell, that the two men in front of me could tell, that I was melting at the sight of the man who had become so much more than my boss, so much more than my idol.

Anson’s eyes were on me as soon as I looked his way. He’d been smiling at my dad, and the smile turned to something else, something just for me for a beat before his face went neutral, and he gave me a terse nod. It was like an entire movie had played across his face. Beginning, middle, and the part I was going to have to learn to live with, the end.

“Anson Day,” my dad interrupted the show playing out before us. “It’s been a minute.” Dad seemed stiffer than usual.

“That it has been.” The two men shook hands.

“So,” dad joked. “What have you been up to?”

Anson shrugged, ironically appearing comfortable around my dad, which was nice to see and, I guessed, rare for Anson. Their conversation played out as if I were underwater, my heart still fighting me, blood pulsing through my ears, fogging my concentration.