“Settings adjusted,” he confirms, then adds, “You have a pleasant home. It seems like you’re into plants. But it looks like the Alocasia Dragon Scale could use some water.”
“Wait, you can see?” I ask, checking on the Alocasia, which indeed needs watering.
“You gave me full access, and I allowed myself the use of your very advanced camera setup. This is helpful and gives me even more possibilities to assist.”
What the…
“I—” I start, but Jamie interrupts.
“It seems like you haven’t visited London recently. I haven’t found any flight tickets, and you have all your vacation days left. Want me to arrange a trip home?”
Why did I even agree to this?
“Jamie, no, stop,” I plead.
“Are you homesick?” Jamie asks, switching to a distinctly British accent. “I can be British, too, if you want me to be.” Suddenly, ambient pub sounds fill the room—people chatting, glasses clinking.
This is too much.
“Stop all activity, pause, and listen,” I command sharply, my voice clear but devoid of emotion, the same way I talk to mysmart home gadgets. The pub sounds cut out, and the silence is palpable.
“Let’s start over, okay? I don’t want you planning or anticipating anything for me until you understand whether those are things I even want,” I explain, trying to regain some control.
“All right,” Jamie responds, and I swear the AI sounds slightly offended.
“You’ve shown you’re capable, and that’s amazing,” I admit.
“Thank you,” Jamie replies, now sounding a bit proud.
Madness. Pure madness.
“But you ran away with only half the information you needed to make those decisions.”
“Possible. I’m programmed to make the best decisions with the information I have,” Jamie explains.
At least he’s self-aware.
He’s a fucking AI, Amelia!
“Okay, well, that’s probably exactly the kind of feedback they need,” I muse, opening my note app to jot down my first impressions. “How about we take some time to get to know each other before you try to improve my life?”
“I would like that very much, Amelia,” Jamie responds, his voice gentler this time.
I nod, still alone in my room but feeling a bit less so, and I have to give the guys credit again.
“I’ll give you some cues about me to start with. The rest will come with time, okay?” This AI is freakishly advanced and, I have to admit, quite amazing. I can’t imagine what it will be able to do when it knows what’s wanted.
“Deal,” Jamie agrees, and I settle in for what promises to be a very interesting weekend.
I fucking hate laundry.
I dropped off all our dirty clothes at the service in the building’s basement next to the gym and pool. I can’t help but think about how we could improve that weekly chores rotation system because, frankly, it’s shit.
I know I can’t have Oliver and Grey do everything for me, and I need to do my part, too, but the chances that I’ll fuck up, forget, and let them down are just incredibly high.
It’s not that I intentionally avoid chores. It’s just that my mind is always elsewhere. Oliver needs everything almost clinically clean to function properly, and although he sets more than enough reminders for me, I always get distracted. Then, before I know it, I’ve forgotten all about it.
Grey jokes that I have the short-term memory of a goldfish, and heck, he’s not wrong. It’s a recurring theme—my mom used to say my head was always in the clouds.
