Page 16 of Billionaire Alien Boss Daddy

And then there’s the curiosity. Aliens. Time travel. A secret war. How could I walk away from that? How could I go back to pretending like none of this exists?

“I’m staying,” I say, my voice firm. “I want to keep working for you.”

Simon’s eyes widen, just for a moment, before he schools his expression back into its usual stern mask. But I catch it—the flicker of satisfaction, maybe even relief. He leans forward, his massive frame dwarfing the desk between us. “Very well. But understand this: nothing about me being an alien changes the terms of your contract. You still belong to me. You will still do what I say, when I say it. No excuses.”

A smile tugs at the corners of my lips. “I will obey.”

I see the way his fingers tighten on the edge of the desk. He’s trying to keep his composure, but I’ve already learned how to read him. That simple phrase, those three words, they get under his scales. And it thrills me to know I have that power over him, even as he holds so much over me.

“Good,” he says finally, his voice low and gravelly. “Now, back to work. We’ve got a meeting in ten minutes, and I expect you to be prepared.”

I stand, smoothing down my skirt. “Yes, Sir.”

He doesn’t respond, but I catch the way his jaw tightens, the way his eyes linger on me for just a moment too long. I’ve got him. And he’s got me. It’s a dangerous game, but I’m already in too deep to walk away.

I’m at the printer, the rhythmic hum of the machine almost hypnotic as it spits out the last of the reports for the meeting. My hands are steady, but my mind is anything but. Aliens. Time travel. A galactic war. And Simon—Shomun. His scales, his eyes, the way he’d looked at me when he caught me peeking in the bathroom. I’m not sure what’s more surreal: the fact that he’s an alien, or the fact that I’m attracted to him. Toit. Tohim.

The printer finishes with a final whir, and I gather the warm sheets of paper, stacking them neatly. My skirt brushes against my thighs as I turn, and I can’t help but think of the way Shomun’s hand had felt on my leg during thatthoroughsearch. I swallow hard, my cheeks flushing.

I hear the heavy tread of his footsteps behind me before I see him. I don’t need to turn around to know it’s him. The air shifts when he’s near, like the calm before a storm.

“The reports,” I say, holding them out without looking at him. My voice is steady, but my hand isn’t.

He takes them, his fingers brushing mine, and I bite my lip to keep from reacting. “Good,” he says. “You’re efficient. I like that.”

I finally risk a glance up at him. His human disguise is flawless today, not a hint of indigo peeking through. But I know it’s there, just beneath the surface. I wonder if he’s thinking about it too—about what happened earlier. About the way I’d saidI will obey, the way he’d touched me, the way I’d?—

“Claire,” he says, snapping me out of my thoughts. His tone is sharp, but there’s something else there. Something that makes my stomach flip. “Focus. The meeting starts in five minutes.”

“Yes, Sir,” I say automatically, the words slipping out before I can stop them. His jaw tightens, and I see the way his eyes darken, just for a moment. He likes it when I call him that. I know he does.

He steps closer, his presence overwhelming. “This meeting is with a potential investor. He’s human, but he’s… questionable. I need you to observe. Watch for tells. I’ll handle the rest.”

I nod, clutching the edge of the printer for support. “Understood.”

He doesn’t move. “Claire,” he says, his voice softer now, almost hesitant. “About earlier…”

My breath catches. Here it is. Finally. I look up at him, my heart pounding. “Yes?”

He hesitates, his gaze searching mine. Then he shakes his head, the moment passing as quickly as it came. “Never mind. To the conference room. Now.”

I exhale, disappointment and relief warring inside me. “Yes, Sir.”

As I follow him down the hall, I can’t help but wonder if he’s as shaken as I am. If the thought of me—of us—is as impossible and tantalizing to him as it is to me. But I don’t ask. I just walk, my heels clicking against the polished floor, and try to ignore the heat that’s already pooling low in my belly.

CHAPTER8

SHOMUN

The lights of Dubai flicker to life outside the floor-to-ceiling windows of the suite, a glittering sprawl of ambition and excess. I sit in the dimly lit living area, the report in my hands, my jaw tight. The city’s glow does nothing to soothe my mood. Two days. Two days I’ve been kept waiting by John Flair, the Australian representative for the rare earth mining company. It’s a power play, and I despise it. Veritas needs those minerals, but I won’t let him think he has the upper hand.

My thoughts drift to Claire, as they often do. She’s in the kitchenette, the faint clink of porcelain betraying her presence. She’s been quiet since we arrived, reserved as always, but there’s something about her—a sharpness, a hidden fire that surfaces when she’s relaxed. I find myself drawn to it, to her. It’s a distraction I can’t afford, not now. Not ever.

I force my attention back to the report she prepared. My eyes scan the pages, my mind demanding precision. And then I see it—a typo. A single misplaced decimal point. Minor, perhaps, but to me, it’s an affront. My frustration boils over.

“Ms. Redding!” My voice cuts through the quiet like a whip. “Get in here.”

She appears almost instantly, her heels clicking against the marble floor. Her honey-blonde hair is pulled back, her green eyes wide with concern. She’s holding a cup of coffee, steam curling lazily from the surface. She sets it down on the table in front of me, her movements careful, deliberate.

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