Page 21 of Technical Advances

“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.

Benji Warren had a brilliant mind, and working with him had already been exciting and fruitful, but just being with him was exciting as well. All we’d done was ride an elevator, and I felt like I never wanted Benji to be anywhere but by my side, the proton to my neutron.

As your assistant. At least the logical part of my brain offered an appropriate response to the situation. I really couldn’t have any more foolish or fanciful thoughts. What I could do was foster a young scientist at the start of his career. That would be more than enough. Or at least, it would have to be.

“... security?”

I’d distracted myself again and missed Benji’s actual request. “Forgive me,” I said as if it was a question, giving him what I hoped was an embarrassed and apologetic smile.

The chuckle I was learning to love preceded his response once more. The elevator stopped, and my hand shot out to hold the door open though I was focusing all my attention on the man before me and his deep-brown eyes. They left me, and I felt it, the zing that had been coursing through me transforming into a weight in the pit of my stomach. I had done something wrong.

Staring at his shoes, Benji let me know what that was.

“We walked right past security. Um. I think they wanted to check me in or something.”

“Oh? Right. Well, obviously you’re with me,” I said, the words sounding shrouded in meaning to my foolish ears. Romantic thoughts were not really my forte. They were most certainly not something I was known for. Luckily, Benji seemed to have heard the intended meaning and not the fanciful one.

“Of course! But, um, just so you know, the guards were definitely staring me down and maybe trying to flag us over.” Benji stepped out of the elevator, and I followed, but he faced me in front of the elevator door and finished his thought, standing taller, his eyes back on me.

“You’re the boss, obviously. But they have a job to do, too, so …” Benji’s eyes, his rich, chocolate, expressive eyes, got wide, and his cheeks flushed to a charming shade of light pink.

“Sorry,” he muttered, but then his head snapped in a single sharp nod as if to himself, and he awaited my response. It took a moment for me to process, but I understood what he was trying to say and found myself even more impressed with him, that he was willing to call me out on something I should have known.

“So I should let them do their job,” I responded in enthusiastic agreement. “Of course. You’re right.”