Page 4 of Billionaire Alien Boss Daddy

So the skirt was a good move after all.The thought flits through my mind, unbidden, and I swallow hard. There’s something primal in the way he’s looking at me, something that makes my skin prickle and my stomach twist. It’s not just attraction—it’s something deeper, something that feels like it’s stripping me bare.

“Name,” he says, his voice low and rough, cutting through the silence like a blade. His gaze doesn’t waver, and I feel pinned under it, exposed.

“Claire Redding,” I manage, but my voice cracks on the last syllable. I clear my throat, trying to steady myself, but it’s no use. I’m trapped in his gaze, and it’s terrifying—and exhilarating. Normally, when men look at me like this, I feel disgusted, or at least annoyed. But with Simon, it’s different. My heart is pounding, my mouth is dry, and there’s a strange, fluttering sensation low in my stomach. It’s terrifying, but it’s also… fun.

Simon leans back in his chair, his eyes still on me, the weight of his silence pressing down on me. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t move, and I can’t tell if he’s waiting for me to say something or just enjoying the way I’m squirming.

“I’m here for the assistant position,” I finally say, breaking the silence. My voice is steadier this time, but my hands are still trembling, and I grip the strap of my bag like it’s a lifeline.

Simon’s lips twitch, just barely, and he leans forward, resting his elbows on the desk. “Do you know what this job entails?” His voice is still low, but there’s a edge to it now, a challenge.

“Organizing your schedule, managing communications, handling logistics—” I start, but he cuts me off with a wave of his hand.

“That’s the job description,” he says, his voice sharp. “I’m asking what itentails. Can you handle pressure? Deadlines? Demands? Can you keep up with me?”

I swallow hard, trying to ignore the way my heart is racing. “I can handle it,” I say, and my voice doesn’t waver this time. I meet his gaze head-on, refusing to look away. If he’s trying to intimidate me, it’s not going to work. Not completely, anyway.

Simon rises from his seat, and I feel the weight of his presence before he even moves. My hands instinctively clasp behind my back, my spine straightening as if I’m standing at attention. He’s big—taller than I remember from the security footage—and the room seems to shrink as he steps around the desk. His shoes thud against the polished floor, each step deliberate, measured. I can hear the faint creak of leather as he moves, the scent of it—warm, earthy—wafting toward me.

He begins to circle me, slow and predatory. My skin prickles as his warm breath brushes against the back of my neck, stirring the fine hairs there. I force myself to remain still, my gaze fixed on the wall ahead, though every nerve in my body is screaming to turn, to face him, to run. I don’t dare fidget. I won’t give him the satisfaction.

“I put stock in deeds, not words, Ms. Redding,” he rumbles, his voice low and resonant, like the growl of distant thunder. It vibrates through me, settling somewhere deep in my chest. “If I hire you, I will expect you to show me your worth, not try to sell me on it.”

I swallow hard, my throat dry. “Imminently logical, Sir,” I say, and I mean it. There’s no fluff in his words, no empty promises. It’s refreshing, in a way, after years of Silas’s slick sales pitches and hollow charm. I respect a man who values results over rhetoric.

Simon pauses mid-step, his shoes scuffing against the floor. I can feel his gaze on me, sharp and assessing, though I don’t dare look at him. He leans in, his mouth inches from my ear, and I catch the faintest whiff of something smoky, like a campfire on a cold night.

“What did you say?” he demands, his breath hot against my skin. I can’t tell if he’s testing me or if he genuinely didn’t hear. Either way, my heart is hammering so hard I’m sure he can hear it.

“I said, ‘Imminently logical, Sir,’” I repeat, louder this time, though my voice doesn’t waver. “I prefer an employer who values results instead of sycophantic assurances of personal quality.”

For a moment, he doesn’t respond. The silence stretches, thick and heavy, the seconds ticking by like drumbeats in my chest. Then, I hear it—a soft inhale, like he’s taking in my scent. I don’t know if I’m imagining it, but the thought is enchanting to say the least.

“I believe you,” he says finally, his voice quieter now, almost contemplative. He steps back, resuming his circle, though his pace is slower, more deliberate. “So far, we seem of a mind, Ms. Redding.”

I exhale slowly, the tension in my shoulders easing just a fraction. It feels like I’ve passed some unspoken test, though I know this is only the beginning. Simon Karr isn’t the kind of man who hires on a whim, and I’m not fool enough to think a few well-placed words are enough to win him over.

I haven't landed the job yet—and the job is just a stepping stone to my real mission. But if I don't get the job, I can't exactly spy on Simon Karr and find out if he's the one who broke into the Parthenon a few weeks ago.

No job, no payday. No payday, no funding to start my own business.

I have to get this job. I have to.

CHAPTER2

CLARICE

"The position often requires late nights," Simon says. "Are you willing to stay after hours?"

"I can go all night long." The words tumble out before I can stop them, eager and breathy. Heat floods my cheeks as I realize how that sounds—and worse, how I said it. Like some desperate freshman trying to impress the quarterback.

What's wrong with me? I'm supposed to be composed, controlled. That's how I survived growing up, how I made it through college, how I navigate the corporate world. Never show weakness. Never give them ammunition. But something about Simon strips away my carefully constructed walls, leaving me exposed and vulnerable.

His lips curve into the barest hint of a smile, acknowledging the double entendre without commenting on it. Instead, he shifts topics smoothly, professionally.

"What if I tell you to write up a ten page proposal on the merits of an acquisition, but I only give you four hours to do it. Can you impress me?"

"Yes, Sir." I straighten my spine. "I've written longer proposals in less time."

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