Chapter 4

CHAPTER FOUR

Oliver

She's not here again.

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— my favorite 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 that is a 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 favorite sound too.

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.

Except, I would just continue to pine for her from afar, which isn't much different from what I'm doing now, but it would at least remove one variable.

Deciding to get my coffee while I'm already here so I don't look like an idiot for just scanning the area and leaving, I walk over to the coffee station and nod politely to the cafeteria lady, who starts to giggle, exchanging a look with her colleague.

What did I do?

Is my hair out of place?

My ears turn hot, and I look away.

In school, the bullies were straightforward, their disdain clear and confrontational. Here, where intentions are cloaked in polite smiles and hushed giggles, it's harder to navigate.

Being respectful to everybody is the right way to act, or at least that's what Morgan always tells me. She knows I struggle with personal interactions.

She's been there through it all. When our life fell apart, and our mom wouldn't leave her room anymore because she was always depressed and crying, Morgan stepped in for me.

The blind leading the blind .

The fourteen-year-old girl with a big personality took care of the shy, gifted eight-year-old boy. Although, when we were younger, respect wasn't her default setting.

I suppress a grin, remembering how her red hair was always a bit messy, how she once punched one of my bullies in the face, then casually stretched her shoulders and shook out her hand before taking mine and pulling me home while chatting about her day as if she hadn't just floored a kid twice her size.

As I'm about to grab a mug, I notice that my shoelace has come loose. I bend down to retie it, and my pant leg hikes up, revealing my black socks adorned with fried eggs. They were the only ones left, and the sight reminds me that we absolutely must get our laundry to the cleaners. Of course, it was Misha's turn to take it, and he didn't.

Just as I'm about to stand, I hear a soft chuckle. I look up and find Amelia standing before me, a cute smile playing on her lips, making my heart race.

Fuck.

"Hello," she says, her voice warm.

I stand up so quickly that a wave of dizziness washes over me. "H-hello," I stammer, the words catching in my throat with nervousness. And, as if on cue, my ears heat once more.

Turning to get coffee from the station next to us, she asks, "So, breakfast food, huh?"

British indeed . Those four words provide all the data I need to know that her voice is my favorite sound.

"They were a Christmas present from my sister," I begin, aware of how silly it must sound. "I know they're goofy—" I start rambling, my words tumbling out faster than I can think.

This is not fucking happening .

I finally manage to talk to her, and it's about my fucking socks?

She cuts me off with another chuckle, pulling up her own pant leg to reveal yellow socks adorned with avocados. "I very much like silly socks." She smiles, and it's like a ray of sunshine piercing through my usual fog of anxiety.

My heart pounds in my ears as she looks back at the coffee machine, adding two sugars and some cream to her cup. I store that information away for later, a small detail that feels like a victory in getting to know her better.

I rack my brain for something else to say to keep the conversation going, but my mind is blank, overwhelmed by her presence and the brief interaction we've just had.

But soon, she's done preparing her coffee and turns to give me one more of those disarming smiles. "I'm excited to beta your AI. I bet it's amazing. Anything I'll need to consider?"

Wait, what?

I stare at her, shocked, my body frozen as the silence stretches on. Amelia's smile falters, and she becomes visibly uncomfortable, blushing the cutest blush.

My eyes are drawn to her hand as her fingers twitch at her side. "Okay… I'll go back to work," she whispers to break the silence, and then she walks away, leaving me standing there, absolutely flabbergasted.

Did she just say she will beta test our AI?

Grey

He needs to fucking chill.

The quiet atmosphere in our shared office is punctuated only by Misha's frustrated sighs as he digs through piles of papers and tech gadgets. I lean back in my chair with my hands behind my head, watching him with a mixture of amusement and annoyance.

As usual, Misha lost something—his notebook—during yesterday's meeting in another colleague's office to discuss integration strategies.

It makes me think back to the day we all met at MIT, which was as random as it was chaotic, thanks entirely to Misha, of course, who was on one of his typical quests to find something he'd misplaced. That time, it was his wallet.

I was in the study room, minding my own business, deeply engrossed in code, when this whirlwind of energy burst in. I had never met him before, but he just made himself at home, upturning books and papers in his search. His disruptive determination was oddly charismatic, and he made it clear he wouldn't leave until he found what he was looking for. Exasperated and wanting to get back to my work, I reluctantly agreed to help him so he would fucking leave faster.

After turning the study room upside down—with no success—Misha decided we needed more eyes. That's when he dragged Oliver into it, whose only mistake was walking past us in the hallway at the wrong moment.

Oliver's calm demeanor and apparent shyness was a stark contrast to Misha's outgoing energy. None of us knew each other, but Misha wasn't bothered by such details.

After searching what felt like the whole damn campus without luck, Misha decided it was time for a break. He had some bags of chips in his dorm and offered them as a thank-you for our help.

We settled into Misha's room, and our moods lightened while we ate. We laughed and talked, and it turned out we had quite a bit in common.

Nerdy loners with a knack for coding .

While lounging and joking around, Oliver accidentally nudged something under the desk.

Misha's fucking wallet.

From that day on, we were inseparable.

Despite the absurdity of how our friendship began, or maybe because of it, we formed a bond that was as strong as it was unexpected. Misha's chaos, Oliver's meticulousness, and my realism somehow blended into a perfect mix.

We went through college together, and by the time graduation rolled around, sticking together wasn't just an option.

It was the only plan that made sense.

These guys are my family, the ones I chose and who chose me back.

We found each other when we needed it most.

I have a family, but my parents are always abroad, traveling for their careers and choosing their jobs over their son. My grandpa raised me. He quit his job as a professor of law at Harvard, and moved back to Seattle to take care of me when my parents decided to up and leave when I was three. He did an amazing job at that, but Misha and Oliver… they're the family I never really had.

I'm snapped back to the present by Misha's exasperated voice. "I can't find it anywhere! It had all my notes from yesterday's meetings. This is a fucking disaster!"

"I told you so many times to make notes on your phone or tablet." I sigh.

We're working in tech, for fuck's sake.

"Would you come walk the hallways with me to look for it? It's not in Jensen's office, either. I already checked." He looks at me with puppy dog eyes.

Rolling my eyes, I stretch my arms over my head. "We're not going to walk down every damn hallway like peasants," I grumble, turning the chair to sit properly in front of my monitor. "I'll check the cameras. See where you went yesterday."

Misha perks up, a glimmer of hope in his eyes, although his voice is wary. "You can't just hack into the company's cameras."

I huff out a laugh, amused. It's not my problem if Elysium's security measures are laughable. But it's not my job to point that out to them. I'm only responsible for the safeguarding of our AI's integrity and user data privacy.

And let's be honest, just because it's easy for me doesn't mean it's easy for anybody else.

"We don't hack into company assets. We give them free performance tests," I tell Misha in an innocent tone, making him grin. "Also, they're so far up our asses, they would never say a word about it, even if they did find out."

As I pull up the footage, Misha leans over my shoulder, making me slightly uncomfortable with the proximity. "There! That's when I went to Jensen's office," he points out excitedly as we watch him on screen. "God, I'm looking good from that angle."

I ignore his nonsense and meticulously track his movements along the hallways, a skill honed from years of needing to keep everything tight and secure in our projects, until I notice he entered a room with his notebook and exited it without it.

Pointing at the monitor, I say, "Looks like you might have left it in the conference room on the third floor."

Misha claps me on the back, his relief palpable. "Thanks. You're a lifesaver, man."

As I switch through the feed once more, Misha's about to leave when the door bursts open, and Oliver comes in, eyes wide, panting. "Guys…" he gasps, catching his breath, "… I… I talked to Amelia."

Well, that's unexpected .

It'd be the first time in the two years that he's been crushing hard on her.

Misha's face splits into a wide grin. "Finally! So proud of you, bro! What did you say?"

"That's not the point," Oliver quickly adds, holding up a hand to stop Misha from hugging him, frustration edging his voice. "She said she would be beta testing the AI."

All three of us exchange puzzled looks.

"What? Why?" Misha frowns. "No, the CEO said the chief of the Smart Home Development Department had to do it. That's why we gave Dr. Langley that long introduction to the system and everything. Why would she do it now?"

"Does she work in the Smart Home Development Department?" I ask, looking at Oliver.

"I have no idea. I don't know anything about her. That's the fucking problem," Oliver groans, rubbing his forehead. "Two years and I still don't know shit."

"Maybe they're dating and living together?" Misha suggests, only half-joking.

Oliver pales at the thought. The idea of Amelia with that slimy Dr. Langley sends a weird twist into my gut too. She's way out of Langley's league.

Let's be honest. She's out of all of our leagues.

"If she really gives Langley the time of day, you should absolutely shoot your shot, Oliver," Misha encourages, trying to lighten the mood again after his fuck-up remark.

I turn back to my monitor, unable to watch Oliver's pained expression any longer, and spot the woman in question standing in the hallway. "Speaking of the devil," I murmur, motioning Misha and Oliver closer.

"Why are we watching a live feed of her?" Oliver asks, squinting at the monitor .

"We're not. That's the camera feed from yesterday," I explain as he leans in. "Misha has—"

"Probably lost something, sure, but what's she doing?" Oliver interrupts, and a smirk tugs at my lips.

We all watch, intrigued, as Amelia stands there, looking around nervously. Suddenly, she pulls out a net and a bag and stretches on her tiptoes to fish something out of the tank.

What the hell?

Misha bursts out laughing. "Did she just steal some fucking fish from that aquarium?"

Oliver looks even more shocked than when he first walked in, which makes me smirk. "Seems like your precious Amelia isn't as innocent as you made her out to be."

"Never said she was innocent, just said she was perfect," Oliver mumbles defensively.

"And does her stealing fish change that?" I ask, genuinely curious.

I always thought he was putting her on a pedestal she couldn't keep up with in real life, no matter how nice she actually is. She's beautiful but boring, nothing special. A shy loner.

Like everybody else in this damn company.

"It makes her a fucking badass," Misha chimes in, still chuckling.

True. Not so boring after all.

"Why would she do that?" Oliver puzzles aloud.

"No idea, but I don't really care, either." I shrug. Well, that's a lie. I would love to know what that was all about. "You sure she's beta testing?"

"She said she was excited to beta. I don't know. We'll see." Oliver sighs. "Langley said he will start to test tonight and over the weekend, right?"

"Right," Misha confirms.

We all watch Amelia cautiously tuck the bag with the fish into her backpack and dart out of view on the monitor.

I discreetly delete the security footage of her taking the fish, looping a few minutes of hallway footage to seamlessly cover the gap, ensuring no one besides us will ever know.

Whatever her reasons, Amelia just got a whole lot more intriguing.