Page 3 of Billionaire Alien Boss Daddy

“Fine,” I say, the word tasting bitter in my mouth. “I’ll do it. But if this blows up in my face, I’m taking you down with me.”

Silas grins, his teeth gleaming like a shark’s. “Wouldn’t expect anything less, Claire Bear.”

“Don’t call me that.”

My heels clickagainst the marble floor as I enter Simon Karr's office building. The security guard barely glances at my ID before waving me through. Three days of research, two spa appointments, and one maxed-out credit card later, here I am. Ready to spy on a man who might be spying on my ex.

My life has become a bad romance novel.

The elevator mirror shows a woman I barely recognize. The aesthetician worked miracles with my skin—it practically glows. My honey-blonde hair falls in perfect waves, each strand exactly where it should be. The charcoal blazer hugs my curves without being obvious about it.

But it's the skirt that's making me second-guess everything.

I smooth my hands over the fabric for the hundredth time. The hem hits right at the knee—professional enough for an interview, but with just enough leg showing to catch attention. At least, that's what the saleswoman promised.

"He likes precision," I mutter to myself, adjusting my blazer. "Focus on that, not your legs."

The elevator dings at the top floor. My stomach lurches, and not from the altitude. What if Silas is wrong? What if Simon Karr isn't spying on him at all? What if I'm about to make a complete fool of myself?

The receptionist points me toward a set of heavy oak doors. My hand trembles as I reach for the handle.

"I should have worn pants," I mumble, pushing through the entrance of Simon's office.

I step into the small lobby outside Simon’s corner office, and my stomach drops. More than a dozen applicants crowd the space, perched on sleek leather chairs or pacing anxiously. Men and women in sharp suits clutch portfolios, their eyes darting toward the frosted glass door like it’s the entrance to a lion’s den. I scan the room, my heart pounding. Silas said this was a sure thing. He said I’d walk right in. But this… this looks like a cattle call.

I hover near the edge of the room, clutching my bag like it’s a life preserver. Every seat is taken, so I lean against the wall, trying to look casual. The air smells like expensive cologne and desperation.

“How long have you been waiting?” I whisper to the woman next to me. She’s got a tight bun and a jacket that costs more than my monthly rent.

“Forty-five minutes,” she mutters, checking her watch. “He’s only seen three people so far. Two came out crying, and the third…” She trails off, her eyes narrowing. “Let’s just say I didn’t catch his name.”

Great. Just great.

Before I can respond, the door to Simon’s office swings open. A man stumbles out, his face pale and tear-streaked. He’s clutching a wrinkled tie like it’s the only thing holding him together.

“He’s a monster,” the man says, his voice trembling. He looks around the room, his eyes wide and haunted. “A monster!”

The room goes silent. The man doesn’t say another word. He just bolts for the elevator, leaving the rest of us staring after him.

“That’s it,” someone says, standing up. “I’m out.”

One by one, the applicants get to their feet and head for the exit. The woman with the bun gives me a sympathetic look before following the herd. Within minutes, the lobby is empty—except for me.

My heart hammers in my chest, and my palms are slick with sweat. I glance at the frosted glass door, then back toward the elevator. I could leave. Ishouldleave. But Silas’s promise of half a million dollars and a fresh start taunts me.

“Next,” comes Simon’s voice from the other side of the door. His tone is deep, commanding, and it sends a shiver down my spine. It’s not just a voice—it’s a force of nature.

I freeze. My feet feel like they’re rooted to the floor.

“Next!” he barks again, and this time, his words are sharper, more impatient. “Or are there nothing but cowards in this swampy metropolis?”

Swampy metropolis? Okay, rude. But also… not wrong.

I square my shoulders, and force myself to move. The door creaks as I push it open, and I step inside, plastering a smile on my face. Here goes nothing.

“Good morning,” I say, stepping into the office. The words hang in the air, half-formed, as my gaze locks with Simon’s. For a split second, the room seems to tilt, and I swear I see something monstrous—scaly skin, sharp teeth, eyes like molten lava. My breath catches, and I blink hard. Nerves. It’s just nerves. I keep my expression blank, but my pulse is racing, and my palms feel slick against the handle of my bag.

Simon is seated behind a massive desk, his posture rigid, his face unreadable. His gray eyes are sharp, assessing, and they don’t waver as I step fully into the room. For a moment, he’s perfectly still, like a predator sizing up its prey. Then something shifts. His eyes widen, just a fraction, and his chest rises with a quick, uneven breath. His gaze sweeps over me—quick, deliberate—and lingers on my legs. A flicker of heat flashes across his face, and I can feel it in the way his eyes linger, in the way his jaw tightens.

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