“I’ll keep you posted,” I assure him.
Hendricks nods, and I interpret it as the dismissal it is. Returning to my screen, my thoughts stubbornly circle back to the AI guys. The prospect of collaborating with them, even indirectly, feels like a breath of fresh air compared to the stifling atmosphere my boss has created.
And Hendricks is right. It really is going to be interesting to see what they’ve been tinkering with.
FOUR
She’s not hereagain.
Every day, I try to get my coffee at the same time as her, but Amelia isn’t as predictable as my calculations, and that should put me off. I hate unpredictability, the spontaneity of not knowing.
Yet, she’s more like a code I’m still trying to crack, and it is as intriguing as it is maddening. She doesn’t stick to a rigid schedule like I do, making this little game of chance more challenging and, admittedly, more exciting than it probably should be.
She’s been on my mind since she started at Elysium two years ago. The first time I saw her in the cafeteria, sitting alone and reading a book—myfavorite book,Pride and Prejudice—something about her struck me.
Maybe it was her quiet confidence or how she seemed utterly content in her own company.
A concept that makes me even more anxious.
Or maybe it’s her gracefulness. She carries herself with an air of sophistication, and her posture is always perfect, like that of a ballerina. Though I don’t think she dances, her slender figure hints at it.
I don’t even know which department she works in. I only know her name because I checked the mailbox she uses at our apartment building. Like a fucking stalker.
Amelia Stanley.
It would probably be easy to ask around or do some digging in the HR database, which Grey has already offered to hack into. Twice. But I don’t want to disregard her privacy like that just because I don’t have the balls to ask her myself.
So, I know absolutely nothing about her besides the fact that she’s smart, given she’s working here. Never mind the fact she’s goddamn beautiful.
Her long brown hair contrasts with her blue eyes, a color I had only ever seen in a stormy sky before.
My favorite color since the first time she looked at me.
It’s a shame I can’t see more of that blue, but if I look into her eyes for too long, my ears turn red—and what twenty-nine-year-old man blushes like a virgin?
One thatisa fucking virgin.
I bet she’s not. I bet she has a boyfriend. Someone like her can’t be single. The only thing that isn’t perfect about her are the freckles on her nose and cheeks. But for once, the chaos doesn’t deter me. It makes me want to count every single one of them.
Over and over again.
From hearing her accent when she says hello, I’m guessing she’s British. But I could be wrong. I find myself thinking about her voice way too often, crafting scenarios to hear her speak so I can find out if her voice is my favoritesoundtoo.
I’ve been captivated by her.
Or obsessed, as Misha likes to call it.
Women never interested me before—not really. I’ve never had a girlfriend or even considered it important.
But Amelia?
I find myself wanting to talk to her, to get to know her, which is a new and somewhat terrifying territory for me.
My sister, Morgan, keeps encouraging me to try to say more than my usual timid “hello.” And because of her, I even managed to upgrade it to “good morning” once, which felt like a significant victory at the time.
But let’s be honest, if I don’t get my shit together, nothing will ever come from this.
Just tell me you’re not interested so I can move on.
