Puzzling

“I’m… interesting?” I repeated, letting the word sit on my tongue like a sour candy. It was the kind of compliment that HR drones used when they couldn’t decide if you were promotion material or a liability risk.

Miriam swirled her wine, staring into the glass like it held quarterly projections. “Your work is… unique,” she said, finally looking up. “The AI outputs are statistically optimal. Clean. Predictable. Yours are…” She paused, her perfect brow furrowing. “…human,” she finally said, letting the word hang in the air like an accusation.

Silence filled the space between us.

“…I am human, though,” I said, immediately regretting how stupid I sounded.

She leaned forward, her cropped tank shifting with the movement, offering another tantalizing glimpse of that pale strip of stomach.

“Maybe that was the wrong word. Of course it’s human. That doesn’t make it unique. It’s more like…” She searched my face.

“…what?”

She stared at me for a few seconds, her blue eyes intense, calculating.

Then she stood up suddenly, her bare feet silent on the polished concrete. She paced to the window, her joggers hugging the tight curve of her ass with each step.

She stared out at the city lights below, lost in thought, her arms crossed tight like she was holding herself together.

I was starting to feel even more awkward in this continuing silence.

I wondered what was actually going through her head.

My work? She seemed to be hung up on that for some reason.

I knew I’d been making her evaluate my work each week because it was one of her scheduled actions… and that raised her love for me.

Not sure why it did that, though.

I took a sip of my carbonated water, trying to steer this conversation toward the direction I actually wanted. “So you’re saying there’s something… good about human coding?”

“I’m saying there’s something the AI can’t replicate,” she quickly corrected, her voice surprisingly soft around the edges. “But it’s still sloppy. Non-optimized. Risky.” She turned back to me, and her expression hardened. “Which is why I was planning to terminate your contract entirely next week.”

The glass nearly slipped from my hand.

“Terminate? As in… fire?”

“As in make you redundant,” she said, her tone carrying the casual cruelty of someone who’d done this too many times to count. “But…” She leaned forward again, and the neckline of her tank gaped further, actively trying to steal my attention. “I’m currently considering keeping you on.”

This was it. The opening. My plan was working.

“Then give me my full position back,” I said, the words tumbling out before fear could filter them. “Not the half-salary consolation prize. The whole thing.”

Miriam blinked.

Once. Twice.

Then a slow, genuine smile spread across her face. Not the polite corporate rictus she wore in the office, but something sharper, hungrier.

“Bold,” she murmured, her eyes glittering with an emotion I couldn’t quite name. “You’re in my apartment, drinking my mineral water, I just told you I’m thinking about firing you, and you have the audacity to ask for a raise?”

She laughed, a low, throaty sound that vibrated somewhere in my sternum. “You’re not getting the full position. The restructuring is real, Ron. We’re not going backward.”

She leaned closer, close enough that I could smell the wine on her breath… sweet and heady.

“But I’ll keep you on. Part-time. At least until I know… what to do with you.”

I coughed nervously.

The room was starting to fill with a different kind of tension.

Thick, humid… alive.

Her hungry stare wasn’t helping.

I needed to keep this on the rails. This was about my job after all.

But before I could assemble a new argument, she continued.

“You haven’t even mentioned them,” she said, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper.

“…Mentioned what?”

“The bonuses.” She crossed her arms under her breasts, lifting them in a way that made my throat constrict.

She took a step toward me, then another, her movements predatory, calculated.

“The cash allowances I’ve authorized. Six of them now. Significant amounts. You just… accepted them. No questions. No gratitude. It’s like you think that's normal. Like they… belonged to you.”

I froze.

The app-bucks.

Yes, I had made her give me those "bonuses", but honestly… I didn’t even know how consciously aware she was of them. It’s not like it was actual money appearing in my bank account, just a stat in my interface.

How much money did she think she had given me?

Had she been transferring real cash? To what account? Did the app convert it somehow?

Should I ask?

No, no. Not now. She’d get even more offended.

“I… figured it was just standard restructuring compensation,” I lied, my voice cracking.

“Standard?” She laughed again, but this time it was shorter, sharper.

She was close now.

Very close.

Close enough that I could see the pulse fluttering in her neck, the slight flush spreading across her chest.

“Ron, I’ve given you enough money to buy a small car. And you’ve said nothing. It’s… infuriating. It’s puzzling. It makes me want to…”

She stopped, as if suddenly deciding to censor herself before it was too late.

She was breathing faster now.

The air between us was charged, humming like a live wire.

She reached out, placing her hand on the armrest next to me, not quite touching, but I could almost feel the heat of her body this close. She leaned even closer, practically caging me in place.

“I think I need to solve you,” she let out, her voice dropping to a lower register.

“You shouldn’t matter. You’re awkward and insignificant. You don’t fit. You don’t make sense. But I…” She swallowed hard, her eyes darkening. “I think about you. In the corporate structure, I mean. Logically, we don’t need you. But… beyond that…”

Her hand finally landed on my knee, her fingers pressing into the muscle with surprising strength. “I can’t escape the feeling that losing you would leave a… void. …In the structure, I mean.”

Her tank top had ridden up again, exposing more of that strip of stomach that seemed so… fit… perfect.

And the smells… beneath the lemon and sandalwood, there was something more.

It was warm… ****… and… human.

Her thigh brushed against mine as she shifted closer, her hand sliding up from my knee to my thigh, her nails digging in just enough to hurt.

“Tell me,” she commanded, her voice rough with some kind of need. “Do you feel the same?”

It wasn’t subtle anymore.

She… She was going to devour me.

The realization hit me like a cold shower.

This was way beyond my expectations.

She was moving lightyears faster than I thought she would at Love-1.

I couldn’t control things at this pace.

She… She’s your boss, for fuck’s sake!

The power dynamics here could make my life hell if this went sideways!

I had to stop this. NOW.

“I should go,” I said, my voice somehow betraying and saving me at the same time.

Miriam blinked, her hand freezing mid-thigh, her fingers still digging into my leg. “What?”

“It’s getting late,” I lied, already standing up, my knees knocking against the geometric coffee table. The crystal glass nearly tipped over. “And you’ve got… work. And I’ve got… laundry. To do. At home. Where my laundry is.”

I was babbling. I was fleeing.

Miriam stared at me, her expression shifting from hungry confusion to pure, unadulterated frustration. “Ron, I just told you I’m considering firing you, and you’re worried about your… laundry?”

“Time management,” I gasped, backing toward the door like a crab escaping a boiling pot. “Very important. Efficiency. Thank you for the water.”

I reached the door. My hand found the handle, and I yanked it open.

“Ron,” Miriam called from behind me, her voice suddenly sharp, the corporate mask snapping back into place with terrifying speed. “We’re not done with this conversation.”

“Bye!”

I bolted. I practically sprinted down the hallway to the elevator, my heart hammering against my ribs.

I stabbed the button for the lobby repeatedly, as if pressing it harder would erase the image of Miriam’s darkened eyes, her hand on my thigh, her breath against my ear.

The doors dinged open. I fell inside and leaned against the mirrored wall, breathing roughly, my hands shaking.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out with trembling hands.

LOVE 1 EVENT COMPLETED!

Miriam wants to “solve” you. She will spend significantly more time analyzing you.

I needed to clear my head.

Right now.

I… I wasn’t going to fuck my boss.

No matter how soft she smelled.

No matter how good her hand had felt on my leg.

It was bad enough that I was manipulating Jennifer, and now Sandy, to get intimate with me.

Miriam-operation was about my job. It had always been about my job. And… some principles about fighting AI or something. My head was too fuzzy to remember exactly what my justification was anymore.

And, honestly, my plan had almost worked. She was going to fire me, but the app had saved me.

It was making her reconsider… humans.

So…

Logically…

I should keep going for Love 2.

To finish the job.

Once I had a completely binding contract with the company… I could free her from the app’s power.

…but I might have to wear something protective to get me through that event. Like a hazmat suit.

If you're feeling bored, check out my stuff at civitai. I post videos there from time to time.