Page 33 of Masked Secrets
Brooke is scanning the crowd in surprise, still holding my arm for balance.
A minute later, Sean sees us and walks over. “How was the sand?”
“Great. But, mate, you said a few people were coming over for dinner. This is a lot more than a few,” I say loud enough to be heard over the upbeat music filling the air.
“Stuart’s right. There must be at least thirty people here,” Brooke adds.
“The crowd grew a little larger than planned. The more the merrier, right? Grab drinks, and I’ll introduce you to everyone.”
“Where can we wash off the sand and maybe find some dry clothes first? I’d rather not spend all evening explaining why we’re wearing wet business clothes at the beach,” I say.
Sean points to the other side of the patio, past the vanishing-edge swimming pool. “You’ll find towels in the guesthouse. We also have a few extra clothes in there. I’m sure there’s something that will work.”
“Thanks. Brooke, let’s hurry and change so we can rejoin the party.”
With my hand around her shoulder, I guide her through the maze of people toward the guesthouse.
Opening the door, we find an elegant one-bedroom suite with floor-to-ceiling windows on the west side, providing an expansive view of the Pacific Ocean.
We’re greeted by a confident, female voice, saying, “Welcome to the guesthouse. I’m Genie, your personal AI assistant. I’ll give you a quick overview of the features. If you wish to open the wall of glass doors to the westside terrace, just say, ‘Genie, please open the glass wall.’ I can do other tasks for you as well, such as drawing a hot bath, turning the lights on and off, and brewing your morning coffee. Just ask. I’ll be listening for your requests. Is there anything I can do for you now?”
“Genie, where are the new clothes?” I ask.
“Walk into the bathroom. There is a closet at the far end where you will find clothes,” Genie replies.
Following Genie’s instructions, we walk into the bathroom. It’s a sea of white marble with black and grey veins. We pass double sinks, a spacious walk-in shower with dual rainfall heads, and a soaking tub for two. On the back wall, a pocket door opens into a generous walk-in closet.
My jaw drops. The shelves and rods are filled with a variety of beach clothes and bathing suits, along with sandals and slip-onshoes. Everything is brand new. The tags—designer tags no less—are still in place.
“They are definitely prepared for last-minute guests,” Brooke muses.
Before I can answer, Genie interrupts, “Your hosts want you to be comfortable. How can I further assist you?”
“Is Genie going to hear everything we say?” Brooke asks, a hint of concern in her voice.
“Yes, I will be listening in case you have a request for me,” Genie says.
“Genie, what if we don’t want you to listen all the time? How can we turn you off?” Brooke asks.
“You can’t completely disable me. However, you can put me in remote mode. In that mode, you must push a green, voice button on the remote control to request my help,” Genie explains.
“How do we put you in remote mode?” I ask.
“Press the red button on the bedside remote. If you wish to reactivate my continuous listening mode, then press the green button,” Genie says.
We both hurry back to the bedroom. Brooke grabs the remote and pushes the red button with conviction.
“Let’s test it out to see if she’s really gone,” I say.
“Okay, Genie, turn on the lights,” Brooke commands.
Nothing happens.
I push the voice button and say, “Genie, turn on the lights.”
The lights turn on.
Whew. I hit the red button again.
