Page 7 of Technical Advances

My mother filled me in about “that sweet boy” when she called, informing me that Ben had married his high school sweetheart right after they’d graduated, implying that Benjamin had been born shortly thereafter. They’d remained in the small Arizona town I remembered so fondly and had moved back into Ben’s childhood home after his parents retired to California. Ashley had died tragically years ago, Mom informed me. My mother knew all of this, despite having moved from that same block with me years ago, because Ben Warren had reached out to her and let her know that his son was applying for a position at New Day Tech.

It just so happens that Benjamin junior's resume was sitting on my desk at the very moment my mother had called to tell me all this.

Ever since New Day had taken off, people had come out of the woodwork, reaching out to me. People from my childhood and college years, who I had no idea even knew who I was, people who had teased me or ignored me or only talked to me to ask for help with their homework. But the thing about Ben was that he never did any of those things. He was always just kind to me. He seemed to understand that I wanted to be left alone most of the time, and he respected it. But he would still smile and nod when we passed each other in the hall, and one time, he told some of his friends, other members of that JV football team, to shut the fuck up when they were teasing me. He’d said it as the group, including Ashley, walked past. Ashley turned back and smiled kindly at me as the boys continued to joke and talk with each other, forgetting about me in the next second, but that memory had stayed with me for years. Ben had been the closest thing I’d had to a friend before I met Beck.

Still, I wouldn’t have considered his kid for a position if he hadn’t been qualified, and the work Benjamin junior had been doing at MIT showed me that he was more than qualified, despite Beck’s misgivings.

I guess I was expecting to see a version of the Ben I knew all those years ago when his son walked in, the broad football player with pin-straight hair perfectly in place, even when we were messy middle schoolers. Instead, before me stood a petite man, his brown-framed glasses matching the dark brown of his eyes and nestled atop a nose with a slight hook to it that gave it character, where his father’s had been button perfect. His hair was wavy chaos though it appeared he had tried to tame it. He wore a suit that fit him well, but he still seemed uncomfortable in it.

By the time we were in middle school, I’d known his father was handsome but had also assumed he was straight, so logically, I’d never thought of him as more than a friend. Years later, I’d used the same logic to admire Beck without fear of complicating matters with emotion or attraction. And I had indeed admired them both for their attractiveness. The Benjamin Warren standing in front me was very different from those men but no less compelling. In fact, his unique looks were quite captivating.

I was good at working out ways to go through life not complicating matters with emotions. It’s something I admire about myself, and I am sure it’s helped me stay focused on discovering and facilitating technological breakthroughs. Benjamin junior might be handsome, but he was also much younger than me and most likely about to become my personal research assistant.

There! I could admire the way his brown eyes danced behind those glasses and how the feel of his hand in mine was a marvel, without it being a distraction. It was immaterial how truly compelling he was.

And then he smiled, and it was like the sun bursting from behind the clouds. I smiled in return. Not the smile I had practiced over the years for meeting kings and presidents but a real smile, the kind I couldn’t control, the type that exploded from my face before I could stop it. The kind of smile I rarely bestowed on anyone. It felt physically odd on my face, and that helped to break whatever strange, yet compelling, spell I was under. I gestured to the chair catty-corner from the one I’d been seated in at the head of the table.

“Please have a seat, Mr. Warren.”

CHAPTER 5

BENJI

My heart hadn’t stopped pounding. In fact, when Day smiled back at me, I thought the damn thing was going to tear a hole through my chest and plaster itself to his face.

I knew, I just knew that it wasn’t because I was in the middle of a critical job interview, and it wasn’t because I was meeting the great and influential Anson Day. It was a reaction to the man himself. The man, not the genius or the media figure. Not the guy who was worth millions (or was it billions?), and not the man who dominated the field I longed to call my own.

No, my heart was reacting to the ponytail and the sparkling eyes that had finally looked directly into mine for more than a second at a time. It was the movement of his arms where they were exposed below his bunched-up sleeves and the awkward mannerisms he used to welcome and direct me to the ostentatious conference room chairs. The facts that he was a man my father’s age, that I hoped he would become my boss, and that he was the famous founder of New Day Tech were meaningless. Before me was a man to whom I was drawn.

I took a subtle, centering breath and thought about that twelve-year-old boy and the picture he had memorized. I convinced myself that my reaction had to be tied to those memories. It couldn’t be real. It had to be idol worship, no matter that the man in that conference room was so far removed from the man in the photo, and never mind that he smelled really, really good. I tried to convince myself of that as Anson Day and I both took a seat in comfortable leather office chairs. I had an interview to get through, after all.

There was a folder on the table with my name on it. I could feel a smirk on my lips as I remembered reading that New Day strived to be a paperless environment. I had done my homework on the company before my interview. I was surprised that there was a paper folder on the glossy table and not a tablet or a laptop. I guess as the boss, Anson Day could get away with using paper if he wanted.

Day opened the folder, and I could see the summary of my dissertation with notes etched all over it. I knew I should be focused on the man himself, but my eyes squinted, and I worked to read those handwritten calculations. I couldn’t even be subtle about it. I was too curious about what had been written and by whom.

The room was silent, and I looked up to find Day watching me trying to decipher the scribbles on the page. Oops. He’d definitely caught me. And yet he didn’t react to it or comment, other than to point at the sheet. My work and someone’s scribbles (could they be his?) shared the page.

“This is impressive work, Mr. Warren.” He tapped the paper and continued to stare at me intently.

It was like those eyes were a tractor beam, and I was a rebel spaceship, being sucked right in. I’d leveled up from feeling like my heart was ready to explode to feeling like my whole body would detonate if he didn’t look away. But I was able to separate my feelings. I may have been drawn to the man, but part of me was also excited that the great Anson Day had complimented my work. That was the important part.

“Hearing you say so is a huge honor, sir. I know it’s a work in progress, but I feel like the solution is within my grasp. I’m confident that New Day is the right place for me to figure it out. You’ve done remarkable things here, sir, and I’m humbled to think my work could be a part of it. But a new patent on an exoskeleton. It would take all of the amazing work you’re doing here and just”—I was getting excited, like I always did when I talked about my work, my hands waving around, ending with one rising up with each word to punctuate my final thought—“take it to another level.”

Then I remembered that I was speaking to Anson Day and not my dad or some professor or an HR executive. Who was I to tell him I thought my work could be significant? I took another calming breath and tucked my hands under my thighs, hoping more than believing I was being subtle.

“I mean, I think my work is in line with the amazing things you’re doing here.” Shit, had I already said amazing? “What you’re doing with precision robotic surgery. It’s incredible, sir. I’ve wanted to work in medical technology since … well, for a long time.” All of a sudden, those blue eyes were unwavering, taking me in. He was quiet and attentive, and I worried that I’d overplayed my enthusiasm.

I paused and took another deep breath, hoping it didn’t sound too much like a nervous sigh. His eyes remained locked with mine, but he didn’t respond. The silence lingered, and I worked to come up with something else to say. My brain rifled through all the points I had rehearsed about his company and how confident I was that I would fit in, about him and his influence on me, hell, I’d even thought about mentioning my father. Of course, I’d never imagined I’d be saying any of those things directly to Anson Day as part of my interview.

It would have helped if he’d asked me an actual question.

The quiet was going on too long, I knew it. My chest continued to battle against me, and I sat up taller in my seat, my hands gliding up and down the smooth material of the suit pants I had bought for the occasion. I opened my mouth to talk, but Day beat me to it.

He closed the folder, and with his fingertips, spun it until it faced me, opening it again and pointing at one of the sketches I had included. Only he was looking at me as he made the move as if he’d studied the pages within the folder and didn’t need to look directly at them to know what he was pointing at.

“You’ve solved the range of mobility issue nicely here. I’ve been working on that for months and wouldn’t have thought of this.” He patted his chest before standing up abruptly and looking around while reaching in his pants pocket, coming up empty. He continued to look around the room, grabbing the tablet on the counter behind him and tapping it awake as he dropped to the chair and fluidly glided it toward me in one smooth move.

“But I think we can tighten it up even more. Your figures are close but …”