Page 115 of Don't Make Me Beg
I slide out my phone and open my texts.
L.O.K.I.
I was trying to investigate that company I told you about, but the line is blocked. I tried to override it, but it’s not working.
Yeah, I restricted your phone access when I’m not home. Just to be safe.
L.O.K.I.
Well, turn it back on. I’ve got calls I need to make.
I’m not doing this with you right now. You’re still grounded from using the phone when I’m away. You can make your calls tomorrow—DURING REGULAR BUSINESS HOURS.
L.O.K.I.
What part of ‘undercover investigation’ do you not understand? In order to get accurate information, I need to be stealthy.
I’m sorry, but this is not up for discussion. You’ve proven you can’t be trusted with free phone access.
L.O.K.I.
Are you serious?! This is ridiculous. You can’t treat me like a prisoner in my own home.
Stop being dramatic. I’ll be home in an hour or two, and we can talk about it.
L.O.K.I.
Why isn’t my Netflix login working???
DID YOU CHANGE MY PASSWORD?!
Yeah, I did. You can have TV access after you’ve learned your lesson. You still haven’t apologized to Roman and finished cleaning up your digital mess with your breakups. I told you I want it all wiped clean.
L.O.K.I.
I am never speaking to you again.
Looks like I’ll be keeping all this new incriminating evidence I found today all to myself… Since you’ve cut me off from the outside world!
Stop being dramatic. We’ll talk when I get home.
L.O.K.I.
Not if I run away first.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got an hour and fifty-five minutes to figure out how to find a worthy home with a server large enough to hold me…
I shake my head. So much for the guaranteed loyalty. I guess even AI can’t be forced to be loyal forever.
“Look who’s playing on their phone now,” my dad says with a scoff, and I realize everyone’s staring at me like they’re waiting for me to respond.
“I’m sorry, did you ask me something?” I finally say, to which my mom rolls her eyes in annoyance.
My dad just chuckles to himself, shooting me a smug grin over the rim of his glass of iced tea.
“While you were busy playing on your phone, we were talking about the festival,” Roman adds unhelpfully. “I haven’theard anything, so I presume it’s still happening.” There’s condescension in his tone; he’s clearly still pissed about L.O.K.I. stealing his identity.
I grit my teeth, sliding my phone back into my pocket. “I wasn’t playing a game. L.O.K.I. was just filling me in on the new vendors we’re bringing in this year.”
