Page 11 of Engineering a Love Story

An hour later, I drive Evan in our rental car to the San Jose airport. During the ride, Evan, who always has the freshest office gossip, asks if I’ve heard about Bernardo.

“No. What’s happened?” I say, impressed he has news even while we’re on the road.

“Well, he quit, first off,” Evan says. “Gave his notice last week. And then yesterday, he let slip he’s taken a job at Zanzibar Systems.”

Bernardo is an analyst, one recently relocated to Cambridge from the Gilroy office in Milan. I haven’t spoken to him much, but I’ve seen him swanning around, seemingly pleased with himself in soft-looking shoes and a graying ponytail.

“So?” Analysts frequently leave Gilroy to go work for tech vendors. “Is that news?”

“It is when Bernardo published a glowing report—and I mean glowing—on Zanzibar the day before he gave notice.”

Evan doesn’t need to say more. A favorable report from Gilroy is the seal of approval tech buyers look for when adding vendors to their shortlists, and so a positive Gilroy review can change a vendor’s fortunes overnight. The timing of Bernardo’s new research and planned career move would make his Zanzibar report reek of bias. And avoiding bias—or at least its perception—is hugely important to Gilroy. If clients think our product recommendations aren’t objective, they won’t pay for them, plain and simple.

“Management pulled the report from the website,” Evan continues. “And we’re saying an immediate arrivederci to Bernardo.”

At the airport, I pull to the departures curb.

“Enjoy your evening,” Evan says, climbing out. “Sorry to miss it.” He stands, one hand on the open car door, then leans to peer back in. “Though this could be just the thing for you. Dinner with wonder boy. Take your mind off Walter Jensen.”

I groan and tip my head back.

The other night, over calamari and cosmopolitans at a chichi place in the Marina that Evan had booked, I told him a little about what’s happening with Ash. Knowing what a gossip Evan is, I did hesitate, but I figured it would come out eventually, and I may as well attempt to control the story.

Evan asked if my new situation is because of Walter. I said that it is and also that it isn’t. And I apologized, saying I hoped my behavior at The Symp hadn’t made him uncomfortable. Evan only laughed.

Now he’s teasing me. It’s way too soon for me to contemplate romance of any sort. I do think for a moment of my tweedy daydream and the swaying passenger train, but right now, I need to untangle the mess I’ve made with Ash and regain my foothold at Gilroy. Focus on keeping that smile on Howard’s face. “And I’m not sure what you’re suggesting about Manish,” I say to Evan. “Someone at Aurelian would be off limits in any scenario.” I lift my head and look at him through the open car door. “You know that, right?”

“What do you mean? Because of Gilroy?” Evan spins his wheelie suitcase on the sidewalk.

“Of course, because of Gilroy. I can’t date anyone at a vendor we write about—and neither can you.”

I probably should have spelled this out sooner. There’d been a girlfriend, I think, when Evan started at Gilroy, but I’ve heard nothing of her recently, and he once made a joking reference to his attempts to sleep his way through the female portion of Dartmouth’s class of 1999.

“As if. All the dudes we talk to every day.” Evan taps his palm twice against the top of our rental car. “But you can still enjoy this evening? Can’t you? Let this guy wine and dine you?” He bends further, trying to catch my eye. “This happens all the time.” Evan is right. Since vendors are always looking to influence our opinions, there’s a lot of wining and dining; IBM took us out just last night. “So, enjoy it,” Evan says. After a final roof tap, he shuts the door.

Seven

An hour later, I rush from my hotel to see a man I recognize from tech magazines leaning against a newish white Honda that’s half blocking the hotel’s drive. He straightens when I appear, his dark hair ruffling in the wind.

“Chelsea!” He approaches with a hand out. “Manish Bindra.”

I take his hand, intrigued to finally meet this person I’ve read so much about. A few years back, Manish built a piece of tech that made it easier for financial institutions to exchange data electronically. Amex bought his company before Manish turned twenty-five, and then he founded Aurelian.

And four-year-old Aurelian is on fire, a young San Francisco start-up taking on the stodgy old world of banking. The tech press can’t get enough; there are always fawning articles about Aurelian, Manish, and the company’s other founders.

“What are you doing here on Fisherman’s Wharf?” Manish asks as we turn toward the Honda.

I look back at the dowdy hotel and confess my snafu with the Gilroy travel agent. “I told her I wanted to see the sights.”

Manish laughs. “These are not the sights. We’ll have to give you a tour,” he says, gesturing toward the far side of the vehicle where another man stands. “Seth’s going to join us.” And there’s a new warmth in his voice as he says this, a more genuine smile. “Seth Murphy, our VP of Sales.”

Seth nods a quick hello, and I return the gesture, even as there’s a sinking in my gut. A sales guy? Usually, analysts meet with marketers like Manish, who at least pretend to give us the scoop, and even in those situations, it can be difficult to suss out the truth about a vendor’s technology. Sometimes I ask to speak with technical teams, if I want to really understand how a product works. But never salespeople, who are likely to only deliver a pitch full of style and little substance.

I square my shoulders and cross in front of the car, wondering if this whole evening might now be a waste of time. Holding the door as Seth folds himself into the back, I notice he’s in a suit, even though Manish is wearing jeans and a weathered Aurelian t-shirt. And this suit appears to be well cut and done in a smooth, expensive-looking fabric. His hair might be curly, but it’s tamped down with some kind of product and looks as slick as his suit.

Stifling a sigh, I settle in the passenger seat, though I have to use my feet to push aside papers, empty coffee cups, and computer wires.

“Sorry about that.” Manish motions toward the mess. “I don’t use this car often. It gets away from me.” Out the window, hilly San Francisco rolls by.