It’s never going to happen outside the work hierarchy.
“No, it’s fine. I’ll figure it out,” I assert, my tone final.
“Good, I’m going to tell them you’re in.” He winks at me, finally standing, and as he walks away, satisfied with assigning me extra work, my mind races.
How deep does this AI dig?
Will they figure out what I have at home?
I should be able to keep it on the surface level if I block access to the AR interface. But it’s probably just an advanced version of what I already deal with—voice commands, automated responses, maybe a little more nuanced interactions, more than likely nothing to worry about.
Deep breath.
Sitting back in my chair, I sigh. This is just what I need—a project that risks exposing what I do behind closed doors. But there’s no turning back now.
“He’s such a dick,” Hendricks, the guy I share the office with, mumbles from the desk next to mine.
He’s in his early forties, tall, blond, and lives next door to me with his pre-teen daughter. Hendricks is a single father, always pleasant but terribly shy, unlike his daughter, Willow, who is brimming with confidence and often comes knocking on my door whenever her father forgets to buy sweets again.
“He certainly is,” I respond with a small smile, grateful for the quiet solidarity. “At least the project sounds intriguing.”
Hendricks nods, not looking up from his screen. “True. And the AI department is decent to work with, I heard.”
At the mention of the AI team, my mind drifts to three guys around my age who are the unofficial figureheads of the company. Oliver Harwood, Misha Niarchos, and Grey Donovan. Or, as I’ve heard the cafeteria staff call them—OMG.
They’re undeniably attractive but in an I-could-debug-your-computer-with-my-eyes-closed kind of way.
Oliver is the brainiac behind the company’s AI and the lead engineer. He stands out with his meticulously styled dark brown hair and round glasses that only accentuate his sculpted cheekbones. He’s tall, maybe six foot, and dresses in tailored shirts and well-fitted trousers. His style is simple but fits him oh so well. Remove the glasses, and he could be mistaken for a fashion model—only he seems to be the last to realize that his looks are as top-tier as his coding skills.
The few times I’ve run into Oliver in the cafeteria, grabbing coffee, he has never offered more than a polite smile.
Misha is a stark contrast to Oliver. He’s just a smidge shorter than me, but his presence commands attention. He is thequintessential people person—charming, with tanned skin and a head full of unruly black curls. His perpetual five o’clock shadow and the dark circles under his eyes give him a rugged, carefree look that’s unexpectedly appealing. Like he just rolled out of bed and doesn’t give a fuck, but his choice of clothing tells me that’s not the case. It may be casual, like a T-shirt or hoodie and jeans, but they are all name-brand.
As the head of User Management and Data Analysis, he’s a smart cookie and mostly focuses on the human side of AI interaction and experience. I’ve only spoken with him once over a call to discuss some new features for our smart home system. He was incredibly knowledgeable and helpful, though I’m sure he doesn’t remember talking to me.
That leaves Grey Donovan—theGrey Donovan. He’s a renowned white-hat hacker and the Lead Security Engineer. Even taller than Oliver, I’d say six foot three, he sports dark blond hair that falls just to his jawline and maintains a permanent scowl, paradoxically making him more attractive. His expression never changes, not even when he won the Visionary of the Year award.
His acceptance speech?
A single nod.
Grey’s style is a blend of casual and smart. He often wears collared shirts and a half-buttoned cardigan, with his beautiful old watch prominently displayed on top of the sleeve, contrasting with the smartwatches most others here wear.
Our encounters have only been brief glimpses in the hallway or cafeteria. But when I do see him, meticulously preparing his morning coffee with the precision of a bomb disposal expert, I can’t help but stare. The guy is something else. His presence alone can quiet a room faster than a surprise audit, making every encounter memorably silent yet somehow loud.
I’m definitely not alone in my fascination. They are all unintentional celebrities among us.
Seeing all three of them—Oliver, Misha, and Grey—striding down the hallways, deeply engrossed in discussions about algorithms and code?
Yeah, I’m no better than those simping cafeteria women.
Now I’m realizing I’ll actually have to talk to them. Beta testing usually means giving a report on how it went, right? Maybe I can get away with just submitting a detailed written report instead of a verbal one.
I should’ve fucking asked, but I was so mixed up with worry about my project and what the beta testing might reveal.
“Gonna be interesting to see what they’ve come up with this time,” Hendricks remarks, pushing his glasses up his nose with a sigh. “The lords and saviors of Elysium.”
There’s a hint of bitterness in his tone, but let’s be honest, itisa bit ridiculous how Elysium parades these guys around as paragons of innovation and the heralds of our corporate future.
