Fair enough.
“Okay, anything noticeable? What did I miss?” I ask, both of us speaking at a normal volume because it would take a train rushing through this room to wake up Misha when he finally sleeps.
I wander over to the small refrigerator we keep in here and pull out a water bottle.
“Not much,” Oliver responds, finally setting his pen down and turning to face me. “The groceries came, then the kid of her coworker came over for sweets. Her boss checked on her, and she made Jamie vacuum some more, then she tried to set up a schedule for her smart lights and sensors for security checks, wants them to simulate presence when she’s out.”
Fuck, she’s good.
“So everything works?” I unscrew the bottle cap and take a long swig.
“No, not really,” Oliver admits, scratching the back of his head. “I think it’s handling the smart home system as well as it can, but not the kitchen appliances. She used it to try adjusting the thermostat on her smart fridge, and it took longer than it should. There’s a lag in response time. I already noticed it when Jamie put on the oven in the morning.”
“Okay, is that something on our end or hers?” I lean my hip against the desk, considering the implications.
“Difficult to say, but I think it’s ours,” he muses, concern knitting his brow as he comes to sit at his desk.
“We should work on that,” I nod, setting the bottle down with a thunk.
“Already on it,” Oliver assures me, turning to his screen, fingers poised over the keyboard.
The apartment is still when Amelia returns from her shower, her damp hair braided to the side, falling over her shoulder and leaving a dark stain on her white T-shirt. The cameras are that good—I see a water droplet run down her throat.
She looks like a dessert I’d want to eat.
Where the fuck did that just come from?
Her voice cuts through the quiet and my thoughts as she declares, “I’m starving, so let’s get that cooking session started.” Her optimism contrasting with the tension pooling in my stomach.
I can’t think about her like that.
Even if her nipples are hard and visible through the thin material.
Fuck.
I have to shift my hips discreetly to adjust myself in my pants.
“Let’s see if it’s working now.” Oliver nods to me, getting my attention, and I watch through the cameras as she washes her hands, preparing for what’s meant to be a harmless cooking test.
But as soon as they start, it’s clear Amelia’s not exactly a culinary wizard. She’s clumsy, almost comically so, dropping spoons and almost tipping over a salt container. My hands clench at my sides. I’ve always been good in the kitchen, thanks to years of cooking with my grandpa, and watching this is a mild form of torture.
Although an amusing one.
My amusement soon turns to alarm when I notice one of the stove burners glowing red-hot. It shouldn’t be—I can see on our control panel that Jamie should have turned all unnecessary stuff off.
“Oliver, the burner. It’s still on. She could burn herself.” I caution in a controlled tone even though I feel anything but.
I feel a need to be with her in the kitchen, to help her, not just to watch.
Oliver’s fingers fly over the keyboard, his brow furrowed. “I’m trying,” he says through gritted teeth. “Jamie’s not responding correctly.”
“This could be dangerous!” I snap, my protective instinct roaring to life within me. “Then tell Jamie to tell her to be careful.”
I’m not good with just standing by and watching people getting hurt.
“He’s not cooperating at all,” Oliver responds, his usually calm demeanor tinted with desperation while he’s still typing frantically.
On the feed, Amelia is reaching toward the glowing surface, oblivious or maybe just clumsy while her attention is elsewhere.
