Page 7 of Billionaire Alien Boss Daddy

The DNA scan results flash across my mind again. Human. Definitely human. But that means nothing these days. The grolgath are clever bastards. They could have gotten to her, turned her into an asset. Those referrals worry me.

"Are you cold?" I ask, noting the goosebumps on her arms.

"No Sir. Just excited to start work."

The scent of her perfume fills the cabin. Jasmine and something deeper, muskier. My enhanced senses pick up the subtle changes in her body chemistry. She's aroused. That could be useful... or dangerous.

Silas Greer's name on her resume burns in my mind like a warning beacon. That smug corporate raider has been on Project Veritas's watchlist for months. Too many coincidences. Too many connections to known grolgath operations.

And now his former employee sits beside me, all wide green eyes and demure responses.

I need to keep her close. Watch her. Test her. The fact that I want to do exactly that for entirely unprofessional reasons just makes this more complicated.

The car pulls away from the curb. I keep my expression neutral, but my mind races through contingency plans.

The limo glides through the streets of New Orleans, the hum of the engine a low, steady backdrop. Claire shifts in her seat, her thigh brushing against mine for the briefest moment. The contact sends a jolt through me—sharp, electric, and entirely too distracting. I keep my face neutral, my gaze forward, but I’m hyper-aware of her presence. The faint scent of her perfume—something floral with a hint of spice—fills the space between us. It’s maddening.

She’s staring at me now, waiting for an answer. Her green eyes are wide, curious, and maybe a little wary. I can practically hear the gears turning in her head.

“May I ask where we’re going, Sir?” she says, her voice soft but steady.

I rattle off her address without looking at her.

Her eyebrows shoot up. “That can’t be right. That’s my home address.”

“I know,” I say, still not looking at her.

She blinks, her lips parting slightly. “Do you personally visit the homes of all your hires?”

“No.” I leave it at that, letting the word hang in the air like a challenge.

She narrows her eyes, clearly not satisfied. “I think I’m entitled to know why you want to see where I live.”

I turn to her then, my gaze sharp. “Claire, do you trust me?”

The question catches her off guard. She opens her mouth, hesitates, then shakes her head. “I’m sorry, Sir, but we have only just met?—”

“Precisely,” I cut her off, my tone firm. She flinches, and I can see the frustration flicker across her face, but she doesn’t push further. Smart girl.

The rest of the ride passes in silence. She stares out the window, her arms crossed, while I watch her from the corner of my eye. The tension between us is electric, charged with questions neither of us is ready to ask.

When we pull up to her building, I step out first, holding the door for her. She hesitates, her eyes darting to mine as if waiting for some kind of explanation. I offer none, and she finally gets out, her movements stiff.

I follow her up the narrow staircase to her efficiency apartment. The place is small but tidy, with a faint scent of lavender and old wood. She stands awkwardly by the door, her arms still crossed, as I glance around.

I pull out my compad, thumbing the screen to activate the scanner. The holographic interface glows faintly, casting a blue hue over my hand as I wave it slowly through the air. The sensors hum softly, analyzing the room for any signs of grolgath tech or residual energy signatures.

Claire’s eyes narrow as she watches me. “Are you… taking video of my apartment, Sir?”

I glance at her. Her arms are crossed, her posture tense. The worry in her voice tugs at something in me. I’m not used to feeling… anything, really, but this human woman has a way of cutting through my usual detachment.

“This isn’t a trick or a reprimand,” I say, my tone steady. “I’m a man with many enemies, and it behooves me to be extra cautious.”

She nods, but the tension doesn’t fully leave her shoulders. Her green eyes flicker to the compad, then back to me. “Okay. Just… let me know if you need me to move anything.”

“I will.” The compad’s readings come back clear—no grolgath tech, no hidden devices. It’s a relief, but it doesn’t mean much. Grolgath are clever. They could have her working for them without her even knowing it.

I tuck the compad back into my pocket and turn to her. “Show me your wardrobe.”

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