All she could do was gape at Sam. The look he was giving her was inscrutable.
“Yo, what the fuck!” someone shouted from the far end of the alley. “You’re dead, motherfucker!”
Ophelia grabbed Sam’s hand and ran.
Gustav gave her a knowing look as he pulled the door open for them. Her face burned as they stepped inside; she knew Gustav would forever be aware that she’d been cavorting with a pleasure android.
The elevator opened with a pleasant ding and a burst of stale air. She got on with wooden legs, staring at Sam from the corner of her eye.
“How did you do that?” she asked.
“Do what?”
Was he playing dumb?
“You hurt them,” she said in a wavering voice. “You’re not supposed to be able to do that.”
“Did I? Are you certain?” That poker face was impossible to decipher. “I merely interrupted their operating software. Their organic components will face no lasting damage.”
“Their organic components.” Her brow furrowed. “What is that, like a loophole? Are you finding ways around your moral guardrail?”
The thought was chilling. If he could find a way around the directive that kept him from hurting others, what else could he do?
“No,” he said, meeting her gaze steadily. “I am not capable of exploiting loopholes. I am a robot.”
Why didn’t she believe that?
“I cannot carry out the directive of my primary user if you are injured or dead,” he said in a perfunctory way. “You were in danger, thus I was compelled to protect you.”
She bit her bottom lip, scrutinizing him. Was that really all it was?
Why did the thought of him saving her only as a matter of practicality disappoint her?
“Thank you,” she muttered.
“You needn’t thank me for protecting you.”
Of course not. It wasn’t like he cared about her.
She looked away. “Right.”
“I willneverlet any harm come to you, Ophelia.”
She took a surprised breath, looking back up at him. There was an intensity in his eyes that she wassureshe wasn’t imagining.
When they stepped off the elevator on her floor, her stomach plunged all the way back to the lobby.
Out of the frying pan, into the fire.
Her mother straightened as their eyes met, her manicured brows knitting.
“There you are.” Her French-tipped nails clutched at her designer bag. “Do you have any idea how worried I’ve been?”
As per usual, her mother was the picture of beauty and health. Her dyed blond hair was perfectly blown out: silky, straight, and falling to her mid-back. Tasteful, high-quality basics hugged her hourglass figure. She was all the things that Ophelia could not manage to be, mousy and slight and shy as she was.
They may have shared neuroses, but that was all they had in common.
“I’m fine,” Ophelia said with exasperation, dragging her feet. “I’m sorry, my phone died. There’s been… a lot going on.”
