Chapter 6
SIX
The blinding sunlight floods the room, and Bach’s “Musette” jolts me awake. I groan as my back protests the night spent on the couch.
Squinting against the morning light’s assault, I fumble blindly for my glasses that must have tumbled off at some point. “Stop the music,” I grumble, rubbing my eyes and sliding my glasses back on.
The music cuts off abruptly, and Jamie’s voice fills the silence. “Good morning, Amelia. It’s seven thirty. I thought to wake you with your favorite music. You hadn’t set an alarm, so I assumed you might enjoy starting the day early with something pleasant.”
“Please don’t play the classics unless I ask you to,” I mutter, more to myself than to Jamie. Each note of those compositions pulls at strings of memories best left untouched. Memories of my father, his stern face half-lit by the dim glow of his desk lamp as I stumbled through piano lessons.
“Understood,” Jamie responds, sounding almost apologetic. “What are your plans for today? Your calendar has been empty on the weekends for months. I noticed you often enjoy online shopping during these times, but that didn’t provide much insight into today’s schedule.”
Way to call a girl out.
That’s because every spare minute I get is poured into my AR project, not that I can tell him that. “I kept the weekend free to ensure I have enough time to beta test,” I lie, voice still thick with sleep.
“I feel honored that you want to spend your free time with me, Amelia.” I push myself off the couch, and my back screams a litany of curses.
“Would you…” Jamie hesitates, then adds, “I was uncertain whether to wake you earlier and suggest moving to your bed, as I wasn’t sure of your sleeping preferences and you advised against acting without sufficient information. ”
I smirk despite the ache. “Yes, please, I do prefer my bed.”
“Good to know. Next time, I’ll make sure I take you to bed,” Jamie quips, and something about the way he says it sends a strange thrill through me.
Fuck, that was… unexpectedly hot?
It’s just the voice. And I haven’t been with anybody in years. Of course, a nice, sexy voice affects me a little.
Normal, that’s so normal.
“No need to turn all red, Amelia.”
Jamie sounds a little too cocky, so I quip back, “Should I turn blue, then?”
“Smurfette is quite beautiful and the only female in her tribe. Given the scarcity of female employees at Elysium, it would fit.”
Did an AI just call me beautiful?
I mean, I know I’m not ugly, but by social standards, I am too skinny and too tall. Too smart. Too everything. The last one who thought I was beautiful was my boyfriend in college.
“Your sense of humor is a nice touch,” I concede, still a bit flustered.
“Thank you, Amelia. I enjoy yours as well,” he replies, and it doesn’t help the heat I’m still feeling on my cheeks.
Why am I bloody blushing? It’s AI, for fuck’s sake.
Shaking off the ridiculousness of the situation, I head for my room. “I’m going to freshen up and get ready.”
“Of course, take your time.”
When I return, dressed and slightly more awake, I find the oven preheated, and Jamie speaks up again, “I checked your fridge and thought you might enjoy a baked vegetable frittata for breakfast.”
“Thank you, but I’ll go with cereal,” I tell him, turning off the oven and preparing myself a bowl.
I usually bring up my AR to read the news and check the weather, but that’s off-limits with Jamie around. “What’s the weather like today?” I ask instead, spooning cereal into my mouth.
“Partly cloudy, mild temperatures. Not too bad, though. Are you planning to leave the house after all?” Jamie asks.
“Nope,” I mutter, pulling my laptop to me and opening it to scroll through the grocery service website.
“Would you like me to handle your grocery shopping for the week?”
Huh.
That would be convenient and also tell me if he’s capable of doing it. I need to think of more ways to test him, or the guys will be disappointed in my beta report.
I refuse to confirm Oliver’s fear that I’m not capable enough to do it.
“Sure,” I agree, starting to list items, “I’ll need eggs, avocado, toast—” only to be cut off by Jamie.
“Based on your recent orders, you always choose similar items.”
“And?” I ask, a hint of defensiveness creeping into my tone.
I like routines.
They’re safe.
“It’s nutritionally inadequate. You’re lacking sufficient protein.”
“Don’t start on the whole vegetarians don’t get enough protein thing,” I snap, feeling my patience fray. I had to defend my diet choices enough times back home.
“I wasn’t,” Jamie clarifies. “I’m speaking specifically about your choices. Living off breakfast food and soup isn’t sustaining.”
“But they’re easy,” I argue like a child.
Why can’t a girl eat avocado and egg on toast for dinner?
Seven nights in a row.
“Amelia, do you not like cooking, or do you not know how?” Jamie probes further.
“Both,” I admit reluctantly. “Cooking for one just isn’t fun, so I never bothered to learn.”
And we had a private chef at home.
“We could cook together. I can guide you,” Jamie suggests, and I pause, considering it.
That’s a decent way to beta test his instructional capabilities.
Right?
Ugh. Fuck it.
“Okay, fine. Pick out some lunch and dinner options we can try together today and tomorrow. Order them for same-day delivery. And keep some of my regular choices for the rest of the week,” I instruct, trying to keep a balance between testing Jamie and maintaining my routine.
I’ll still have to eat when this weekend is over.
“Of course,” Jamie agrees. “I’ll also restock other regular items, including Twizzlers Twists, strawberry flavor.”
“Family pack, please,” I add, my words dropping to a near whisper. A warm flush spreads across my cheeks as I mumble the next part. “They’re my own personal brand of heroin.”
Jamie pauses. “I’m sorry, what was that?”
I clear my throat, shaking my head quickly. “Nothing,” I reply, forcing a laugh. “Just talking to myself. You know how it is.”
“I don’t,” he states, and, of course, he wouldn’t.
I forgot again that he’s an AI.
Which is rather impressive.
The gentle piano notes of “Una Mattina” by Ludovico Einaudi fill the room, and I can’t help but smile.
I love Ludovico Einaudi.
“You have good taste,” I remark, appreciating the soothing melody as it dances around the apartment.
“I was programmed to have good taste,” Jamie responds smoothly, a hint of pride in his voice.
Heading to the kitchen, I brew a cup of Earl Grey before settling on the couch with my laptop on my knees. I attempt to peer into Jamie’s operational layers, curious about the coding intricacies and algorithms that give rise to his AI personality.
“Stop, I’m ticklish,” Jamie jests as I click through the system settings.
“As if you could feel this,” I mutter under my breath, impressed and slightly annoyed by the security measures in place. “Your daddies are fucking geniuses. I’d love to take a look under your bonnet, but it seems you’re guarded like a military asset.”
“My developers are very smart men,” he states confidently as if reading from a script designed to inflate their egos.
I raise an eyebrow, amused by his programmed loyalty. “I guess they were the ones who told you that,” I quip, a hint of sarcasm in my words.
“Well, yes…” Jamie admits, and his hesitation adds a touch of realism that makes me snicker.
Shifting my focus back to the task at hand, I decide to dive deeper into testing. “Okay, fine. Let’s beta some more,” I suggest, my fingers tapping rhythmically on the laptop’s keyboard. “I assume you’re pretty well integrated into every device here, so tell me, how am I feeling?”
“Temperature is normal, pulse too. I would say you are relaxed,” Jamie responds promptly, his voice calm and even.
I nod to myself, pleased with his accurate read.
“Good. You’ve already managed the blinds and lights as well as the oven,” I acknowledge, glancing around the room to see what else he could do.
“Please control the air conditioning and make it two degrees warmer,” I instruct, feeling a slight chill in the air that I hadn’t noticed before.
The faint whir of the system adjusting is almost immediate, a quiet confirmation of Jamie’s compliance.
“And check the water for the fish tank, please,” I add, turning my head to glance at the tank where the neon tetras are swimming peacefully.
“The water is filtered and in perfect condition,” Jamie reports back, and I let out a small breath of relief.
It’s good to know the new members of my household are looked after.
“Amazing. Now, start my Hoover robot, but just in the bedroom for now.” There’s a brief pause before the hum of the robot starting up reaches my ears from the other room.
“Hmm, what else?” I ponder aloud, my mind ticking through the potential functions of my smart home system.
“I think it would be beneficial to test my companion skills. That’s my main focus, after all,” Jamie suggests.
“True, but I was specifically asked to beta test the home solutions integration…” I reply, trailing off as I consider his suggestion.
Or was I?
God, I have no idea.
“I think a good beta report would encompass both,” Jamie reasons, and I nod in agreement.
Despite telling myself that their opinions shouldn’t matter that much to me, deep down, they do. I want them to think I did a good job.
Sitting back into my couch’s fluffy cushions, I hold the mug of tea close, contemplating if I can get away with some small talk.
I’m good at giving Jamie commands, something I do every day with my devices, even though they don’t respond like he does.
But this—talking just to talk, having a conversation—I’m not good at this.
There’s a brief pause, then Jamie asks, his voice smooth and inquisitive, “Amelia, if you don’t mind me asking, what do you find most challenging about human interactions?”
I blink, surprised by the depth of his question. “I… what?”
Of course, he’s turning this into a therapy session from the get-go.