Page 6 of One Midnight Kiss

3

FOX

Ipushed open the glass doors of my office at HomeTech. The hiss of the heater was a welcome relief from the bitter November wind outside. It was barely ten in the morning, and I was already in a foul mood. Living in the Pacific Northwest was not for the faint of heart. My hair was still wet from my shower with no chance to dry thanks to the downpour outside.

I yanked off my coat and shook it out, droplets spraying onto the polished floor. I barely looked at the other people in the office. I was grumpy, not in the mood for cheery greetings or any of that shit.

I sat down at my desk and took a long drink of coffee. It was taking too long to wake me up. When would scientists figure out how to inject it straight into my veins?

Maybe I could invest in the research and development of something like that. I had the funds for it. Then again, maybe it was just the desperate thought of a sleep-deprived brain. I took another swig of coffee, hoping to find clarity at the bottom of the cup.

I thought the early morning workout would get my juices flowing, but that proved to be failing miserably.

“Good morning.” Wilder, my twin brother, strode in with Christa, his wife, right behind him. She was triumphantly holding a brown bag that smelled like heaven.

“That depends on what’s in the bag,” I said grouchily.

“Did his highness not sleep well?” Wilder teased, plopping himself into the chair across from my desk without an invitation.

“I would throw this coffee in your face but I need the caffeine too much,” I grumbled, glaring at him. He just laughed, knowing I didn’t mean it.

Christa set the bag on my desk, ignoring my foul mood. “Pastries will help,” she announced with a bright smile.

I imagined it was easy to be cheery when you didn’t have the weight of a huge product launch on your shoulders. I had the board on my ass. They had faith in my software but everyone got jumpy as we neared the release date.

I wasn’t immune either. Falling asleep was a struggle these days. When I finally conked out from sheer exhaustion, I dreamed about the lack of an effective marketing plan for our product, Hanna. We were so close. I just had to find a way to show people they wanted the AI.

“Thought you could use some carbs,” Christa said.

I sighed, leaning back in my chair. “What I need is a marketing miracle, but thanks. Carbs make everything better. I’ll just throw in an extra workout later.”

Christa arched an eyebrow at me as she pulled out a chocolate croissant and handed it over. “How’s it going with the public response to Hanna? Still skeptical?”

“Skeptical would be putting it kindly,” I said, tearing off a piece of the croissant. “The prototypes worked great during the trial phase, but people don’t trust the technology. They hear ‘AI in your home,’ and their minds jump straight to horror movies.”

Wilder laughed. “Didn’t help that Jerrod compared her to ‘a helpful ghost living in the walls’ during that interview last month.”

“Don’t remind me.” I groaned before popping a piece of the croissant into my mouth. “I’m dealing with decades of Hollywood fearmongering. People think Hanna is going to turn into Skynet and terminators. The board wants a new face behind the product, someone they think the public will trust.”

Christa folded her arms, eyeing me thoughtfully. “And they don’t trust you? With that adorable face?”

“Right?” I threw my hands up. “But people are saying I look too polished. Like I’m all about how I look and who I show up with on my arm at parties.”

“You kind of have a supervillain vibe with those suits of yours,” Wilder said with a smirk. “Or a Bond villain at least.”

“Thank you,” I said, deadpan. “But I’m not about to let them focus group my clothes. I like how I dress. I don’t need a more casual style. Besides, with these bags under my eyes, there’s nothing polished about me.”

Christa leaned forward, her expression serious. I had a feeling I was about to get some of Christa’s tough love. “Actually, Fox, a fresh perspective might be exactly what you need. They see you as a solo bachelor but that look isn’t working for this kind of product. You’re pitching a robot that’s supposed to make people’s homes safer and more efficient, but they can’t picture you using it because they can’t picture you living a normal, relatable life. You’re a playboy billionaire. Your reputation is, uh, tainted. Tarnished.”

“You’re a man whore, dude,” Wilder said bluntly.

“That’s not helping,” Christa said. “Sure, he’s got some miles on him. Yes, he’s gone through more rubbers than a tire shop. And okay, I might have seen his phone number written on a rest-stop door off the highway.”

“Alright, I’m not that bad,” I said, chuckling and shaking my head. “I thought you were here to offer support.”

“We’re just telling it to you straight,” Wilder said. “I don’t care how you look, but that stuff matters to the public when you’re trying to sell them something.”

Christa nodded. “Customers can’t relate to your product because they can’t relate to you. You’re asking people to trust you. AI is new and people don’t know what to expect from it except what they’ve seen in the movies.”