Chapter Nineteen #2
“I think I love you,” I say, the words falling from my lips like a revelation. “I mean, I do. I love you.” A declaration and a promise all in one.
Gale’s smile is slow and sweet, spreading across his face like the first light of dawn. “I love you too,” he replies, his
voice steady and sure. “More than I ever thought possible.”
As we lie there, wrapped in each other and the quiet of the night, I feel something shift inside me. I realize that true strength
isn’t about never being conquered. It’s about choosing to surrender to the right person. It’s about being brave enough to
open your heart, even when you know it might get broken.
Because in the end, that’s what life is all about, isn’t it? Finding the right someone worth taking the right risks for. And
what I’m risking for Gale is more than my heart. It’s everything.
Which sounds about right.
“Hi, Harriet!” Hana chirps the next morning, pointing to a latte she has waiting on my desk. “Ready to knock their socks off?”
We have a presentation today for current investors. It was going to be me and E.M.M.A. up against the Chads and their unimaginative
chatbot that just spits out generic workout plans based on height and weight.
“Born ready,” I say, and for once, it’s not a lie. My body is sore in the best ways, and I might be in the best mood I’ve
had in years. The memory of Gale yielding under my hands makes me want to strut.
The morning flies by in a whirlwind of last-minute preparations. As I stand outside the conference room, I take a deep breath.
“You’ve got this,” I mutter. “You know E.M.M.A. inside and out.”
I walk in, that same confidence from last night humming through my veins. Tony adjusts his bow tie, giving me an encouraging
nod. Game time.
“Good afternoon, everyone,” I begin, my voice steady.
“Today, I’m excited to share our progress on E.M.M.A.
, our athletic performance AI. Unlike traditional coaching software, E.M.M.A.
doesn’t just analyze game footage or track basic stats.
She augments a coach’s expertise by processing thousands of data points—from practice performance to recovery metrics—identifying patterns human eyes might miss. ”
At first, it’s smooth sailing. I show them how in an earlier trial E.M.M.A. helped coaching staff spot subtle changes in three
college tennis players’ performance patterns last season, allowing for early intervention before minor issues became major
injuries. But then the Q&A starts, and that’s when the cracks begin to show.
“Your projections of reducing training-related injuries by forty percent seem . . . optimistic,” one investor says, doubt
dripping from every word.
“And what about player privacy?” another cuts in. “They might have concerns about this level of monitoring.”
“The regulatory framework for AI in professional sports is still evolving . . .” a third starts.
Suddenly, I’m drowning in a sea of questions, each one chipping away at my armor of confidence. The same confidence that felt
so natural with Gale now feels like a liability in this room full of skeptical men. By the time I stumble out, I’m not sure
if their polite smiles are encouraging or pitying. Did I come on too strong? Should I have emphasized more how E.M.M.A. supports
rather than replaces human coaching?
Back in our workspace, my team’s excitement feels like sandpaper on my raw nerves. “How’d it go?” Hana asks, practically bouncing.
“Okay,” I manage, forcing a smile that feels more like a grimace.
As they chatter about integration timelines and deployment schedules, doubt floods in like a tsunami.
What if I’ve oversold E.M.M.A.’s capabilities?
What if the teams see her as a threat rather than a tool?
If the Chads’ basic performance-tracking software gets more interest than our enhanced coaching platform, how will I explain it to everyone who believed in this vision?
As the office empties and night falls, I keep working, desperate to prove I’m worthy of the team’s trust. Because the truth
is, it’s not just funding I’m afraid of losing. It’s the respect and faith others have in me. E.M.M.A. has to succeed. I have
to succeed. And I’ll do whatever it takes to make it happen.
Gale is on the road for a game. So when I stumble into my condo, I feed Bob and then kick off my heels with the kind of aggression
usually reserved for punting a soccer ball before reopening my laptop. “E.M.M.A., activate.”
Hello, Harriet. Sensors indicate elevated stress levels. Initiating comfort protocols. Shall I order your usual “bad day”
pizza?
I snort. “I’m too busy to eat. I’ve got a protein shake in the fridge.”
Acknowledged. Alternative suggestion: discuss statistical improbability of the Chads’ inferior chatbot product outperforming
this unit.
“As tempting as trash-talking the tech bros sounds, I’ll pass,” I mutter, collapsing onto the couch. “I’m exhausted. I spent
last night with Gale. But then had an investment meeting today that wasn’t great.”
Analyzing vocal patterns. Detecting extreme distress. Contrasts with predicted outcome of nocturnal activities with Gale. Request elaboration.
“No. No.” I feel a blush creeping up my neck. “The night with Gale was good.”
Prediction accuracy: 100%. This unit’s matchmaking proves superior once again.
I groan into a pillow. “I’ve created a smug monster.”
Incorrect. You’ve created a highly sophisticated AI. Interest in your romantic life: merely an unforeseen but beneficial glitch.
Despite everything, I find myself laughing.
Query: Feeling better? This unit’s humor protocols appear effective.
“Yeah,” I admit, grinding my fists into my eyes. “I do.”
Excellent. Shall we review your failed presentation from today? Probability of you overthinking: 98.7%.
I sigh, running a hand through my hair. “Fine, let’s do it. But first, give me a rundown of the day. And put it into Duchess
mode?”
Command acknowledged. Initiating “Duchess-like” speech patterns, E.M.M.A.
responds, her voice shifting to an upper-crust British cadence.
Your esteemed person graced your place of business some seven and thirty minutes beyond your customary hour of arrival.
Your appearance, if one might be so bold as to relay the whispered observations of our fellow colleagues, was one of remarkable vivacity and good spirits.
Indeed, your countenance shone with such vigor and animation as to suggest you had partaken of the most invigorating tonic, or perhaps had been blessed with tidings of the most felicitous nature.
The general assembly of our workplace could not help but remark upon the exceptional buoyancy of your demeanor and—
“Okay, I get it. I get it. I was glowing.” I groan. “Go on.”
The presentation commenced at 10:03 a.m. You appeared most confident for the first 7.4 minutes before board member Johnson asked about regulatory hurdles. Your heart
rate increased by 15%, and you began to perspire noticeably.
“E.M.M.A., how do you even know th—”
You hadn’t logged me out. I accessed the camera on your laptop. Moving on. The Chads, as you call them, seemed particularly
smug during the Q&A session. Chadwick’s smirk was 23% wider than his usual expression.
I bury my face in my hands. “This is humiliating.”
On the contrary, Harriet. Despite your perceived failures, my analysis shows your presentation was 82% effective. The board’s
questions indicate genuine interest, not dismissal.
I peek through my fingers. “Really?”
Affirmative. This unit does not engage in baseless flattery. Your project remains superior to the Chads’ proposal by a significant
margin.
A small spark of hope ignites in my chest. “So I wasn’t too much?”
More like you said “Bring it on” to the whole situation.
I can’t help but chuckle. “E.M.M.A., did you just quote a cheerleading movie? That’s not very Duchess of you.”
Affirmative. This unit’s pop culture database is extensive and ever-growing.
Shaking my head, I feel a renewed determination. “Alright then, let’s review that presentation. The Chads won’t know what
hit them.”
Initiating Operation Chad Takedown now, E.M.M.A. announces, her voice returning to its usual robotic tone. First item: your opening statement. Suggestion: increase confidence level by 17% and reduce hand gestures by 22%.
As we dive into the details, I can’t help but smile. The Chads might think they have the upper hand, but they haven’t met
the full force of Harriet-and-E.M.M.A. yet.
Game on, tech bros. Game on.