Page 45 of The E.M.M.A. Effect
Harriet stepped back, eyes wide as realization hit. “No, it can’t be replaced. It was... a moment captured. After all that work, I wanted something beautiful to show for it. The colors...” She trailed off, then muttered, “Shit.” Louder, she added, “Gale, I’m sorry. It was an accident. I’ll shut up. Don’t want to guilt-trip you.”
Gale, who’d begun to sweep up the glass, blinked. “But—”
“No,” she cut him off, her directive firm. “I think the vase can still be a reminder, about what can be broken if we mess up. We work together. This has gotten a little out of control, but we need to keep things professional. Don’t worry, it’s going to be okay. I’m going to fix this.”
He lifted an eyebrow, pausing with the broom in his hand. “Oh yeah? How exactly do you plan on doing that?”
“E.M.M.A.,” Harriet said, a glint in her eye. “I’ll have her find you an even better match than Seraphim.”
“You’re—” Gale’s broom clattered to the floor as his hands clenched. “After what just—” He forced himself to take a breath, trying to tamp down the surge of anger and hurt. Not at her, exactly. At this whole mess they’d stumbled into. “Harriet, that’s not—”
“It’s exactly the right reason. You? Me? We don’t make sense.” Harriet steamrolled over his protest, words tumbling out too fast, like she was trying to convince herself as much as him. “I believe in E.M.M.A. And I know she will help find you someone perfect. Someone way better suited for you than...” She trailed off, gesturing vaguely between them, not meeting his eyes.
Gale’s heart sank. Better than you? Not likely, he thought, but outwardly he just shrugged, fighting to keep his voice steady. “I don’t know.”
“It’s no different than using an app, just smarter!” Harriet insisted, her brightness sounding forced. “And think of the wins. No messy emotions, no swiping, no complicated histories. Just pure compatibility. And if E.M.M.A. is right, this is what will improve your game.”
Gale bit back everything he wanted to say. About how they’d let one impulsive moment spiral into this impossibly tangled situation. About how messy emotions and complicated histories were exactly what made relationships real. That the years of friendship between them, the shared memories and inside jokes, meant more to him than any algorithm could understand. That he was angry—not at her, but at himself for not knowing how to say that he still fucking tasted her on his goddamn tongue. He was still hard for her—and only her.
But if this was what she needed he’d play along. Because that’s what friends did, right? Even if it meant swallowing back words that burned in his throat.
“Sure.” Instead he forced a smile that felt like glass. “Whatever you say, Smythe.”
“Great.” Harriet clapped her hands together, still avoiding his gaze. “Great! I’ll get everything set up on Monday.” Her voice cracked slightly on the last word.
Chapter Fifteen
I’ve been rotting in my office chair for so long that my pedometer must think I’m a corpse. E.M.M.A.’s interface blinks back at me—the sleek, minimalist design dominated by a pulsing circle at the screen’s center that almost seems to be a pupil, studying me.
Judging me.
My fingers hover over the keyboard, betraying me with their trembling. Just like my brain betrays me with thoughts of two days ago. That electric moment when our eyes met, the way his smile made my stomach flip... No. I shake my head, trying to dispel the memory of our kissing. One time is a mistake. Two times starts to feel like a choice.
And yeah, about that kiss... After he left, I did what any rational adult would do: canceled my cocktail date with Hana, and fell into an internet rabbit hole trying to figure out what the hell happened to me. Why I’d grabbed his shirt like that. Why ordering him around felt so... right. I ended up in my bedroom, laptop propped on my knees, reading article after article until my skin felt too tight and my breath came short. Let’s just say my browser history now looks like a PhD dissertation on power dynamics, and the things I learned about dominance and control... well.
I’m still shaking, actually. Still feeling the aftershocks of whathappened when I finally closed the laptop, got in the shower, positioned the pulsing stream just right and let myself imagine... imagine having that power. His surrender. The way he’d sound I—god. My thighs are still trembling and I can barely focus on E.M.M.A.’s interface and I really, really need to not be thinking about this at work.
Turns out there’s a word for women who like to take charge. Several words, actually. But I’m not ready to put a label on... whatever that was. The way his breath hitched when I pushed him against the wall. How perfect it felt to—nope. No. Absolutely not.
I need therapy. Or more coffee. Or both.
“Come on,” I mutter, my voice shakier than I’d like. “It’s not that complicated andyoustarted it with all your matchmaking. Just find a good match for Gale. Someone who is kind, okay with fame, maybe into sports or cooking. How hard can it be?”
But even as I say it, doubt creeps in. The AI I’ve spent years perfecting, training on millions of data points... what if she sees something I’m too scared to admit? Something I glimpsed in those late-night searches, in the way my body responded to the mere thought of taking charge, of being in control. What if E.M.M.A. knows exactly who I am, even when I’m too terrified to look that truth in the eye?
I can’t believe I’m debating a computer as if she were some kid on an elementary school playground...youstarted it, E.M.M.A.!
Nuh-uh.
Uh-huh.
Except the voice that comes through my earbuds is less “nuh-uh” and more maddeningly reasonable.Reanalysis complete.Conclusion: unchanged. You remain the optimal match for Gale Knight. Probability of successful pairing: high. This assessment is final.
I bend forward and bang my forehead against the desk. The cool surface does nothing to quiet the war between my heart and head. How did I end up coding an AI with such inflexible output? Despite trying to tweak its neural network and retrain with new datasets, it’s like E.M.M.A. has hard-coded stubbornness into its core algorithm. Or maybe—and this thought terrifies me—it sees the truth I’ve been fighting so hard to deny.
“We’ve been over this,” I say, trying to keep my pitch at an inside voice. “Gale and I are old friends. It wouldn’t be appropriate to date him.”
FRIENDSHIP IS A STATISTICALLY SIGNIFICANT PREDICTOR OF ROMANTIC SUCCESS,E.M.M.A. states in a monotone voice.ANALYSIS OF SHARED HISTORY AND PERSONALITY METRICS YIELDS A COMPATIBILITY SCORE OF 98.7%.
