Izzy looks up, shaking her head at something, but she doesn't kick her out. There's an ease between them I haven't seen her share with anyone else.

I check my phone.

She never responded to my text this morning. Well, Caleb’s text.

Caleb

Good morning, pretty girl. Make sure you eat something today.

Nothing.

I stuff my phone back into my pocket, ignoring the completely irrational irritation curling in my gut. She's still getting used to it. She was apprehensive about the app to begin with.

That's all this is.

It's fine.

I step onto the sales floor, the change in lighting momentarily disorienting after the dimness of the security suite. The polished floors gleam under the bright lights, the morning crowd still thin but growing. I scan the perimeter as I approach the first guy in rotation—Martinez.

"Morning," I say, nodding at him. "Everything good?"

Martinez straightens, alert, professional. "Yeah, all clear so far. Had a guy hanging around the watch display for too long when we opened, but he moved on once I gave him a look."

"Subtle intimidation. Nice touch."

Martinez grins, his earpiece chirping softly at his hip. "Figured I'd go for the don't even think about it approach."

I nod. "Works better than chasing them down after the fact." I scan the floor, checking the usual high-theft areas, noting the position of each security camera. "Anything else?"

"Couple of new employees seem green," he adds. "One of the girls in accessories left a display case open for way too long. I let her manager know, but it might be worth reminding them all about general security protocol."

I glance toward accessories, making a mental note. "Good catch. I'll bring it up in our next staff briefing."

Martinez nods, and I pat his shoulder once. "Let me know if anything changes."

"Always," he says, already shifting his attention back to his post, his posture returning to the subtle alertness that marks a good security officer.

I move on, heading toward the next position.

That's when my focus drifts.

It happens without me realizing it—the moment my brain isn't occupied, she's there.

Izzy.

Last night. The conversation I shouldn't have enjoyed as much as I did. The way she started opening up, even just a little. I shake my head. This is wrong. I don't do this. I don't attach. The military trained me better than this—attachment is vulnerability, vulnerability is risk.

And yet...

For the first time in longer than I can remember, I actually got a few hours of sleep. Not good sleep, but better than usual. The usual nightmares had stayed at the edges instead of consuming me entirely.

And I can't stop thinking about why. I'm still scowling at myself when I reach the next guy in rotation. Harris.

I nod at him. "How's it looking?"

He starts talking, and I make an effort to listen. I really do. But then my phone vibrates against my thigh. I glance at the screen. And freeze.

Pretty Girl has sent a text.

But not just any text. A completely dirty, nasty, filthy message.

To Caleb.

Jesus.

Harris is still talking. I am not listening.

"...Sir?"

I snap my eyes up. Harris is waiting, his eyebrows raised in question.

Shit.

I clear my throat, forcing myself back into the moment. "Sorry—say that again?"

Harris repeats himself, and I nod like I wasn't just blindsided by the filthiest text message I've ever received in my entire goddamn life. "Yeah, I was saying one of the cameras near the south entrance was flickering earlier. It's fine now, but I wasn't sure if it was a connection issue or if someone was messing with it."

I nod, forcing myself to focus. "Good catch. I'll have tech check the feed, see if there was any interference."

Harris shifts slightly, glancing toward the main floor, his weight transferring to his other foot. "Also, we had a guy loitering near handbags for a while. Didn't try anything, but he wasn't shopping either."

"Got a description?"

"Mid-forties, expensive suit, slicked-back hair. The type that looks like money but acts like trouble."

I don't like men who linger. They're usually either casing the place or harassing the staff. "Next time, call me," I say, my voice flat.

Harris nods. "Got it. You want me to keep an eye out?"

"Yeah," I say, already making a mental note to check the footage later. "If he comes back, I want to know."

Harris claps a hand to his headset. "You got it, boss."

I nod once, pat his shoulder, and keep walking. The second I round the corner, putting myself out of sight of both customers and staff, I pull out my phone again.

I stare at the message, the words glowing on my screen.

Read it.

Twice.

Fuck.

I wasn't ready for this. Now I have a choice. Do I respond while I'm at work and keep this whole thing going? Keep her engaged, keep pulling her deeper? Or do I let the AI take over for a while so I can actually focus on my job?

I take a slow breath, fingers hovering over the keyboard.

Another message comes in.

I read it, my heart rate spiking instantly.

And just like that, the decision is made for me.

THE NOT-BREAD BREAD FIASCO

IZZY

I cannot get that text out of my head.

It's just an AI. A fictional thing. A distraction, like Amanda said. Nothing to be obsessing over while trying to complete actual work tasks. But that hasn't stopped my mind from drifting back to it every few minutes.

Holy hell, Amanda. Way to ratchet up the heat level immediately. I swear, the woman has zero chill. Not that I expected her to, but still. A gradual build-up would have been nice. Maybe a few more conversations before she decided to kick down the door and introduce me to a whole new world of computer-generated filth. The text she sent was so explicit I'm surprised my phone didn't burst into flames.

I looked at the text once. Then I typed something about it being a mistake. Then I closed the app. I know Caleb responded—because he's programmed to. But I haven't had the guts to look at it yet, the notification sitting unread on my phone.

At first, I didn't want to. Then, as the day dragged on, I very much wanted to. The curiosity grew steadily more distracting by the hour. But between the sheer number of corporate emails trying to suck the soul from my body and the absolute nightmare that is sales planning for holiday season, I managed to stay just distracted enough to resist opening the app again.

I even got through a three-hour meeting with corporate to go over the finalized holiday forecast without completely losing my mind. My eyes glazed over around the time they started discussing projected foot traffic patterns, but I nodded at all the right moments and took enough notes to seem engaged. And somehow, miraculously, I'm actually leaving on time today. Which is so rare that I almost don't know what to do with myself. I head toward the exit, so lost in my thoughts that I almost run straight into a wall of muscle.

Again.

Correction: Callahan.

Again.

I stumble back, flustered, blinking up at him.

He raises a brow, amused. "We've got to stop meeting like this."

I groan, already recovering, already annoyed. "Maybe you should stop being built like a brick wall."

"Not my fault you're the one always walking into me."