Page 14 of Billionaire Alien Boss Daddy

Simon sips his coffee, his expression neutral. “Interesting,” he says, his tone implying the exact opposite. He glances at me, and I feel the weight of his command without him saying a word. I step behind his chair, my hands clasped behind my back, my posture rigid.

“You know,” Bill says, leaning back in his chair and gesturing toward the window, “you might want to fire your window washer. Those handprints are inexcusable.”

My heart skips a beat, and I feel the heat rising in my cheeks. I glance at Simon, and his eyes meet mine for the briefest of moments. There’s something in his gaze—a flicker of heat, a memory of what happened—and I have to look away. My fingers press into the fabric of my skirt as I stand there, trying to maintain my composure.

“Noted,” Simon says dryly, his attention shifting back to Bill. “Please, continue.”

Bill launches back into his pitch, but my mind is elsewhere. I’m replaying the moment Simon taped my mouth shut, the way he made me kneel, the way he touched me. I clench my hands tighter behind my back, trying to ground myself.

Then Bill says something that snaps me out of my reverie. “And with the right investment, we could see returns of 300% within the first year.”

“He’s lying,” I blurt out, then immediately regret it. Both men turn to look at me, and I feel the weight of their combined gazes. Bill’s fake smile falters, and Simon’s eyebrows rise slightly.

“Excuse me?” Bill says, his tone sharp.

“I—I mean,” I stammer, my mind racing. “I’ve seen the numbers for similar startups. The returns are… overstated.”

Simon’s lips twitch, and I can’t tell if he’s amused or annoyed. Bill’s face turns a deeper shade of orange, and he leans forward, his fake smile replaced with a scowl. “And what would you know about it, Ms. Redding?”

I open my mouth to respond, but Simon cuts me off. “Ms. Redding has a keen eye for detail,” he says, his voice calm but firm. “If she says the numbers are off, I’m inclined to believe her.”

Bill sits back, clearly unhappy but unwilling to argue. I feel a small thrill of victory, but it’s tempered by the knowledge that I’ve just made things more complicated for myself. Simon’s gaze shifts to me, and there’s something in his eyes—approval? Curiosity? I can’t tell. But whatever it is, it makes my heart race all over again.

Bill pulls out his tablet, the screen glowing with charts and graphs that look like they were designed to confuse rather than clarify. He swipes through them with the confidence of a man who’s convinced he’s the smartest person in the room. Simon leans back in his chair, his fingers steepled, his expression unreadable. But I can see it—the slight twitch of his lips, the way his eyes narrow just a fraction. He’s not buying it either.

“As you can see,” Bill says, his voice dripping with self-importance, “the projected ROI is astronomical. We’re talking 300% within the first year. That’s not just good—that’s revolutionary.”

Simon doesn’t say anything, just raises an eyebrow. Bill takes it as an invitation to keep going. He launches into a spiel about blockchain, AI, and renewable energy, throwing around buzzwords like confetti. I’m half-expecting him to start talking about synergy and disruption any second now.

When he finally finishes, he turns to me, his fake smile plastered across his orange face. “It’s all pretty technical, darling,” he says with a wink. “But do you get the gist?”

I don’t miss a beat. “I get that you confused baffling bullshit with amazing intellect,” I reply dryly.

Simon gasps. Bill sputters, his face turning a deeper shade of orange. For a moment, I think I’ve overstepped. But then Simon lets out a deep, rumbling laugh that fills the room.

“I was thinking much the same thing,” Simon says, still chuckling. “But I could not have put it so succinctly, yet eloquently.” He turns to Bill, his expression hardening. “I’m sorry, Mr. Coyle, but you’ve wasted your time. I have no interest in investing in your startup.”

Bill’s face contorts with anger. He gathers his things, his movements jerky and aggressive. As he passes me, he glares, his voice low and venomous. “Thanks for nothing, bitch.”

Before I can react, Simon is on his feet. In one fluid motion, he grabs Bill by the arm, twisting it behind his back and forcing him to his knees. Bill lets out a yelp of pain, his tablet clattering to the floor.

“You will address my staff with the same respect you afford me,” Simon says, his voice low and menacing. His grip tightens, and Bill winces.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” Bill stammers, his voice high-pitched and panicked. “I didn’t mean it!”

Simon releases him with a shove, and Bill scrambles to his feet, grabbing his tablet and bolting for the door. He doesn’t look back.

I stand there, my heart racing, my body buzzing with adrenaline. I should be scared—Simon just manhandled a guy like it was nothing. But all I can think about is the way he defended me, the way he didn’t hesitate to put Bill in his place. It’s… hot. God, it’s so hot.

Simon turns to me, his expression unreadable. “Are you all right?” he asks, his voice calm, almost gentle.

I nod, my throat dry. “Yes, Sir.”

He studies me for a moment, then nods. “Good. Let’s get back to work.”

CHAPTER7

CLARICE

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