ROMAN
The Big Circuit was off the back of the cafeteria. It was a vertical topiary climbing a thin steel plate. The branches and flowers and whatnot made it look like a circuit. Water flowed to make more lines and connections. It had a few green metal tables around it and since the sky was cloudy and the air was cool, I figured it wouldn’t be too crowded.
I got there first. That was intentional. It would be easier for her if she was the one approaching and standing. I’d let her dictate the pace and volume of the opening. This was important. She needed to feel safe, because in her office a few hours before, a couple of things had become clear.
One, I made her uncomfortable.
Two, she was attracted to me.
Was one the result of two? Or the other way around? Or were they separate?
I had to know. In the most unprofessional way…I had to know.
I stood when she came out with her tray.
“Hi,” she said. “Did you get the chicken?”
I pulled the chair out for her. She swallowed. I wasn’t supposed to do that. We were professionals and equals, but I had habits instilled in me I wasn’t breaking. Fuck that.
“We’re not on a date, Mr. Bianchi.”
“You’re holding the tray with two hands, Ms. Obvious.”
She laughed. When I’d made the circus crack that morning her laugh almost broke through every last shred of professionalism I’d had. It wasn’t some unique snort or a sun-just-came-through-the-clouds kind of thing. It was perfectly normal. The gratification came from the fact that I’d created it.
She sat.
“What did you get?” I asked. The cafeteria was run by a full-time professional chef and staffed so fully that they could put out one perfectly plated serving at a time.
“The tikka masala.”
“I got the generic chicken.”
“Do you not like the food here?” she asked. I noticed she’d only brought a small notebook, and her phone was in her pocket. If she’d prepared for this meeting, I couldn’t see it.
“Better than the firm’s. We have a vending machine with ramen noodles and granola bars.”
“That sounds terrible.”
“It’s fine. My mother was a complete hack.” I cut my chicken. “I mean, I love her and all. She’s my mother. But she boiled pasta to a paste. When it got cold, my sister and I cut it into slices.”
“Come on. Really?”
I was amusing her. Total dopamine rush.
“We had sliced spaghetti sandwiches for lunch.”
“Stop.”
Laughing a little now.
“With ketchup.” I popped a piece of very non-generic chicken into my mouth. “Does a body good.”
Her smile was genuine, and that too was a natural high.
“And did you miss it when you left Oakland?” Her question was a shameless admission that she knew where I was from. Fair enough. We’d already gone down the path of admitting we’d researched each other.
“Not a bit. You miss Austin’s weirdness?”
“It’s only weird for Texas.”
“You don’t have an accent.”
“Funny. You do.”
Touché, lovely woman. Touché. I was forgetting myself, my surroundings, my purpose in being there.
“What brung ya?” I spun my fork at the Palo Alto sky, Silicon Valley, the entire Bay area.
She put her eyes on her plate, stabbing her food so hard the plastic plate clacked.
“Someone already killed that chicken,” I said.
She smiled. Man, I liked that smile.
“I came with a guy named Aiden. He developed HearThis, which I’m sure you’ve heard of.”
“That got sold to Niles Havershim, right?”
“Yeah. Then he dumped me. Which is more than you need to know.”
“And why did you stay in paradise?”
She shrugged. “My parents are artists. We lived in a van until I was eight. We were always hand to mouth or like, if my dad sold a sculpture it was great for a bit, but if my mother didn’t have a tour one year, which was pretty common, it was ramen and granola bars.”
“They must have stocked the vending machines in my office.”
“That would require business sense, which they don’t have and never will. I’m not judging because I didn’t get any either. Not for my own business. I’m happy in a regular gig and my best option was to stay here. Get a stable job. Be a grown-up.”
“You grew up nice.” I think I said it with a little too much conviction. She put her hand to the top button of her blouse. Maybe not too much conviction. Maybe too much subtext.
“You shouldn’t say stuff like that,” she said. “It could create the wrong impression.”
“This is the first time you’ve told me anything personal. Something tells me if I were a woman, I’d know something about you.”
“So?”
“Don’t you think that might create the wrong impression?”
Her glance was just a tick to the left of flirty, and the way she tilted her head to expose her neck was just to the right side of sensual. My dick reacted. Biology is powerful. But it wasn’t just my dick. My brain decided it was time to shatter a solid brick wall wrapped in corrugated steel behind a hard-earned filter that separated the appropriate from the inappropriate.
My plan to make her laugh was breaking down and I had no control over it. None. I was my own worst enemy. Everything I’d been bottling up came out all at once.
“Your neck’s broken out in spots.” I leaned forward so I could speak softly. “You’re fondling your fork like it’s a kitten.”
Shut up, asshole.
“Your legs are crossed, but I bet in another place—”
No, really, shut up.
“—another time—”
There’s no going back from this.
“—I could get you to open them.”
Her fork clattered to the plate. Grains of rice bounced onto the tabletop. She stood like a shot.
“This meeting is over.”
As much as I usually enjoyed watching her walk away, I kept my eyes on my plate.
If she thought she was shocked at my behavior, I was ten times as surprised.
What was wrong with me?