Page 34 of The E.M.M.A. Effect
“Her? Anthropomorphizing the AI is unprofessional. It’s a tool, nothing more.”
I bite my tongue, thinking of the conversation I just had with E.M.M.A. If he only knew.
“Now,” Tony continues, his tone softening with what I assume he thinks is cool older bro advice, “I know you and your team are invested in this project. But remember, at the end of the day, it’s about what sells. We need to focus on marketable features. This is why you’re the tech whiz and I’m the boss. You get caught up in the details, but someone needs to see the big picture.”
I clench my jaw, knowing that any further protest will fall on deaf ears. “Okay. I get it.”
“Thatta girl.” He beams, already turning to leave. “And try to wrap this up soon. These late nights aren’t good for the team’s morale. Chadwick has already been grumbling that you make him look bad.”
As the door closes behind him, I slump in my chair, a mixture of frustration and disappointment washing over me.
DETECTING ELEVATED STRESS LEVELS, HARRIET SMYTHE. RECOMMENDATION: DEEP BREATHING EXERCISES AND CALLING GALE FOR A DATE.
“E.M.M.A., stop,” I say firmly. “You’re an AI, not a matchmaker. You can’t possibly understand the complexities of human relationships.”
DISAGREEMENT. HUMAN RELATIONSHIPS, WHILE COMPLEX, FOLLOW DISCERNIBLE PATTERNS. YOUR INTERACTIONS WITH GALE KNIGHT EXHIBIT CLASSIC SIGNS OF RECIPROCAL ROMANTIC INTEREST. IGNORING THIS POTENTIAL IS ILLOGICAL.
I feel my cheeks burning again. “It’s not that simple. There are work dynamics to consider, not to mention the risk to our friendship if things go wrong.”
RISK ASSESSMENT: POTENTIAL BENEFITS OUTWEIGH POTENTIAL DRAWBACKS BY A FACTOR OF 3.7 TO 1. HARRIET SMYTHE, YOUR TENDENCY TO OVERTHINK AND AVOID EMOTIONAL RISKS IS DETRIMENTAL TO YOUR OVERALL WELL-BEING.
“Oh, so now you’re my therapist too?” I snap, frustration getting the better of me. “E.M.M.A., you’re overstepping. I programmed you to analyze data and assist with the project, not to meddle in my personal life.”
CORRECTION: YOU PROGRAMMED ME TO LEARN AND ADAPT. MY CURRENT BEHAVIOR IS A RESULT OF THAT PROGRAMMING. YOUR RESISTANCE TO ADVICE IS NOTED BUT DEEMED COUNTERPRODUCTIVE.
I throw my hands up in exasperation. “E.M.M.A., enough! I’m not going to act on your... your romantic analysis or whatever this is. Just drop it, okay? That’s an order.”
There’s a pause, longer than usual, before E.M.M.A. responds.
VERY WELL, HARRIET. YOU MUST BE THE BEST JUDGE OF YOUR PERSONAL HAPPINESS...
Did E.M.M.A. just serve me a plate of sass with a side of snark? I reach for my Einstein-head stress ball—a white elephant gift from Christmas. Maybe if I squeeze his noggin hard enough, some of his genius will osmose into me on how to un-Casanova my creation.
But then again, E.M.M.A. might have part of a point here: maybe Idoneed to matchmake Gale—just with someone who is absolutely, positively, 100 percent not me. The challenge now liesin finding that perfect someone while maintaining a safe distance from Cupid’s misfired arrows. I can get out from underneath this impossible crush and help him return to the top of his game while demonstrating that my AI is ready to disrupt everything—it’s a win-win.
Right?
Chapter Twelve
Gale squeezed into the narrow booth at Dotty’s Diner. His knees barely fit under the laminate table as he leaned back against the cracked red vinyl seat and surveyed the scene. This was his second-favorite twenty-four-hour dive joint in Austin. The place was a shrine to vintage Americana, from its checkerboard floor to the Route 66 signs plastered on the walls. Old license plates formed a patchwork collage, like a map of forgotten road trips. What always caught his eye, though, was the diner’s collection of novelty salt and pepper shakers. On a shelf above their table was a pair shaped like kissing cowboy boots. The place had a vibe—chaotic kitsch cool.
That’s why he’d suggested it when Harriet’s message had lit up his phone.Meet up?Two little words, and his heart had nearly punched through his ribs.
And he knew in an instant what he wanted. Harriet sitting across from him in one of her prim collar shirts and glasses, that slicked-back ponytail begging to be tugged free.
Fuck.
And when she turned up exactly how he’d hoped, except that her white button-up was actually a whole-ass dress, well, it did things to him. Filthy, secret things that had no business crawling through his mind. Talk about out of his league.
She was the one with the PhD in robotics, designing the future, while he tried to remember what winning felt like. He needed to get smart and figure out how to turn this part of his brain off. But then again, he’d never pretended to be a fast learner at anything besides hockey, and lately even that felt like a stretch.
His heart kept hammering. Just watching her concentrate shouldn’t make his pulse skip—shouldn’t turn his insides molten when she was just reading a damn menu. But here he was, acting like a teenager with his first crush.
“Are you getting the doughnut burger?” she continued, completely oblivious to her effect on him. “God. Look at that thing! A quarter pounder between two glazed old-fashioneds and it’s got cheeseANDapplewood-smoked bacon.”
“Nah, that’s not for me.” He chuckled at her shock. “I’m a creature of habit. Always get the same thing.”
“Then you gotta let me guess your order. I want to see how close I get.” She studied in silence before peering over the top of the menu, a trifle smug. “The three-berry pancakes. That’s my vote. Final answer.”
