The bot asks the usual question. You answer that you are very happy in your position. If you thought about it you'd doubt it has ever received a different answer, and it's nonetheless true: it's the most stable job you've ever had or any of your friends has ever known.
But it's been a long time since "it's a good job" was enough.
You talk unprompted about what the company means to you, its view of the world, the future it's building. How it's family and community and lifetime project and more. You are being as honest as a young adulthood of practice in competitive enthusiasm can make somebody. Any vestigial reservation you might have has been pushed down to thoughts you pay no attention to and a subtle tension somewhere between the muscles on your face and your sympathetic nervous system, both of which the bot has access to through your work implant.
Either you are close enough to honest or it finds the loyalty of need as valuable as the constraints of faith. Your wallet unlocks signaling that you will be working for another twenty-four hours. You'd breathe easier if your body remembered how and you weren't afraid of what the bot might make of it.