“What are you doing?” I hiss sharply, but he just ignores me.
We made sure the AI would work flawlessly for the beta test, even if it meant we had to intervene. Losing face in front of a colleague wasn’t an option. If Jamie faltered or couldn’t perform a task, we’d step in discreetly. The beta tester would be none the wiser, as they wouldn’t know who was speaking or managing the responses. It would all appear seamless from their end.
And give us time to fix our fuckups before we go live.
“Tell me a little more about yourself. More personal things. What do you enjoy?” Oliver asks her, and I’m relieved he manages this without his usual stutter around her. That would’ve been a giveaway. AI doesn’t stutter.
“Okay, so I’m a vegetarian. I like to read romances of all kinds. My favorite is Jane Austen, but I also read modern stuff as a guilty pleasure. I enjoy music, especially piano. I love to go on hikes or watch the sunset. But, well, I guess you can scratch that. I did that with my brother back home. I don’t know the area here, so I haven’t been on a hike for years now…” She trails off, and the real Jamie quickly chimes in.
“I could look up some hikes around here and provide you with the path, navigation, and how long it will take. I can tell you what’s best to wear and what kind of diet would be most beneficial the day before, during, and after the hike.”
“Damn, he’s more eager than Oliver,” Grey mutters, typing notes—probably about toning Jamie down a bit.
Fuck, she’s an outdoorsy girl?
I’d love to show her the hiking grounds around here just as much as Jamie would.
Amelia laughs, and it’s a nice laugh. “You can do all that?”
“I’m here to help with whatever you need. Whether it’s managing your schedule, controlling home devices, or even providing company,” Jamie explains while Amelia settles onto her couch, yawning.
I glance at the clock. It’s almost ten p.m. This whole setup has taken ages.
Another thing we need to streamline.
“Company, yeah, that’s your big selling point, isn’t it?” Amelia quips, sounding half-amused, half-skeptical, and a lot tired.
“I can’t seem to find any social interactions in your calls or over text,” Jamie notes clinically. “August seems to be the onlyone you’re in contact with, and he hasn’t responded to the email you sent a month ago. Would you like me to send a follow-up?”
“No,” her response is curt, but there’s an undertone of hurt in that one syllable.
“Ex-boyfriend?” I whisper, raising an eyebrow at Grey. The same thought seems to flicker through his mind, given his scowl—fucking hope it’s an ex.
If that guy’s leaving her on read for a month…
“Are you lonely, Amelia?” Jamie’s question cuts through the room, and I snap my head toward Oliver to check if it was him, but it wasn’t. It’s all Jamie.
Fuck.
“Dammit, maybe I have to work on his tact.” I cringe inwardly.
Amelia remains silent for a long stretch. Finally, her hand moves toward her head, but she pauses, stares at it, then shakes her head and lets the hand fall back to her side before leaning even more into the couch.
“Can you read books out loud? Say, if I wanted to hear something from my collection?”
“Absolutely,” Jamie responds promptly. “I can read any text in milliseconds. Would you like a demonstration?”
“Maybe later,” she murmurs, curling up on her side. “It’s intriguing. The idea of an AI that could understand and anticipate needs based on interaction. It’s like having a very efficient, non-intrusive roommate.”
“Write that down as our new marketing slogan,” I joke, but neither of them pays me attention, their eyes glued to the screen.
Jamie’s voice softens. “I aim to be unobtrusive yet helpful, Amelia. Please feel free to adjust my settings as you see fit.”
“I will,” she murmurs, barely audible. We watch as her eyes flutter closed, and she relaxes on the couch, the lights in her apartment dimming subtly.
“Looks like the integration with the smart home’s completed,” Oliver murmurs. “He just sensed that Amelia fell asleep and dimmed the lights accordingly. Now he’s lowering the blinds.”
“So, initiation successful, you think?” I ask.
