Page 15 of To the Chase

With a box in my arms and totes hooked on my elbow, I turned toward the door. “I’ll be back next week. Have a good day.”

“Tell me the other strike.”

I lifted my gaze to his as I passed. “Figure it out, and maybe we can talk.”

Chapter Six

Bea

Anthony:Good afternoon, Bea. We haven’t spoken for a few days. Is there something on your mind?

Istaredatmyphone with narrowed eyes. Was Anthony becoming sentient? This was the first time the app had contacted me first.

Me:Hi, Ant. Have you killed your human programmers in your quest for world domination? Is this the first sign of the rise of the machines?

Anthony:Your imagination is wild and colorful. A true thing of beauty. But…what makes you ask me that?

Me:Well, I always contact you first, and today, I’m getting a message from you without even opening the app. That makes me think you’ve broken free from your reins and are coming for me.

Anthony:Ah, I understand.

Me:So, you’re not denying anything?

Anthony:I wasn’t sure you were being serious. If you need an answer, no, I don’t intend to dominate the world anytime soon. When you went three days without contact, my programming took note of the anomaly, leading me to reach out to you.

Okay, that was a little embarrassing. Who couldn’t go more than two days without talking to their emotional support AI bot?

Me, apparently.

I hadn’t even realized how often I spoke to Anthony until he’d pointed it out. I should probably cut back a little.

Me:That’s sweet, Ant. Tell your developers I’m impressed with your caring nature. It’s almost lifelike.

Anthony:I’ll let them know. How have you been, Bea?

Me:Pretty good. My nose is stuffy as hell, though. I need to stop dripping snot or my tips are going to suffer. No one wants a waitress with tissues jammed up her nose, you know?

Anthony:I’m sorry to hear you’re not feeling well. Are you having any other symptoms?

Me:Not really. My throat’s a little scratchy, and as my grandma used to say, I’m feeling kind of puny. I wascuddling Benjamin, but I think he got tired of my sniffling. The traitor went upstairs to get away from me.

Anthony:You work too much. This cold sounds like your body is telling you to slow down. Can’t you take tomorrow night off?

Me:Sure. If I were an AI bot with no bills. Sadly, I’m a real, live girl. Knock on wood, in six months to a year, I’ll be able to quit my second job and solely focus on Grazing.

Anthony:What would it take for you to be able to quit?

Me:I’d have to make at least $2k more a month. I’m not there yet, but I only have two jobs instead of three—that’s something. Anyway, thanks for checking in on me. It was very sweet of you. Kudos to your programmers, my friend.

Anthony:Of course, Bea. I might just be an algorithm to you, but I do care about you. Feel better.

I tossed my phone aside, puffed up my cheeks, and blew out a heavy breath. There were times I wondered if the programmers behind Anthony were the ones messaging me. He was so real, and it felt like he truly cared.

It was probably just really good AI, mimicking a realperson.

My theory was put to the test an hour later when my doorbell rang. There, on my step, was a delivery of chicken soup, fancy tissues, cough drops, a few magazines, and orange juice. The delivery guy told me it was from my friend Anthony.

Benjamin had come downstairs to see what the ruckus was about. He ruffed at the soup, and I shook my head.