Page 2 of Wrecked By My Alien Mentor

The rest of the meal passes in a blur of steak and small talk. Robbie pays the bill, tipping the waiter enough to make his eyes widen. As we step out into the late afternoon sun, I can’t shake the feeling that this is too good to be true. But hey, if it’s a scam, at least I got a free steak out of it.

The front door sticks when I push it open, the weight of my library books making me fumble the key. I stagger inside, arms full, only to freeze mid-step.

"Jesus Christ, Dad!" The stack of books almost slips from my grasp. My father, Joe, is standing in the middle of the living room, one hand on his hip, the other flexing a bicep like he’s auditioning for a Bowflex commercial. And he’s naked. Completely naked. Except for a sock.

"Hey, Cora," he says, unfazed. "The lighting is better in here for your mom’s painting."

"Can’t you do that in the bedroom?" I wave a hand in his general direction, careful to keep my eyes locked on the ceiling. The last thing I need today is a mental image of my dad’s "artistic expression."

"My man cave doesn’t have the right angles," he says, shifting his pose with a casualness that makes me want to bleach my brain. "And anyway, it’s just a body, Cora. I have a sock over my?—"

"Shut up, shut up, shut up!" I bolt for the stairs, books bouncing against my chest. I can hear my dad chuckling behind me, but I don’t stop until I’m safely in my room, door slammed shut. I drop the books on the floor and collapse onto the bed, letting out a groan that’s half exhaustion, half existential despair.

A knock at the door interrupts my wallowing. "Cora?"

"Come in," I say, without thinking.

The door opens, and I regret it instantly. My mom, Maggie, steps inside. She’s wearing nothing but a paint-splattered apron and a smile.

"Mom, why are you naked too?" I bury my face in my hands.

"Oh, it makes your father more comfortable," she says, like this is the most normal thing in the world. "I just wanted to tell you that a Mr. Robbie Dalton called for you a while ago. I told him you were at the library."

"Thanks," I mutter, not looking up. She lingers for a moment, then shrugs and closes the door behind her.

I flop back onto the bed, staring at the ceiling. "I’ve got to get my own place," I mutter to myself, "before they drive me insane."

I stare at my phone, my mother’s words sinking in. Robbie called the houseandhunted me down at the library? That’s not just persistence—that’s borderline stalker behavior. My stomach knots as I open my phone and type out a quick message to my group chat, a collection of sarcastic, over-caffeinated friends who’ve been my lifeline since college.

Me:So, some guy named Robbie Dalton tracked me down at the library today to offer me a job. Called the house first. Thoughts?

The responses come fast and merciless.

Jenna:Is he hot? If not, red flag.

Marcus:Sounds like a cult recruitment. Did he mention free protein powder?

Sam:If he didn’t mention a pyramid scheme, it’s probably a trap.

Me:He works for Orion Enterprises. Like the billionaire Orion Weller.

Jenna:Oh,thatguy. Wear a hidden camera in case they try to induct you into the Illuminati.

Marcus:Or the Justice League. Either way, get footage.

Sam:Go. Worst-case scenario, you walk out with a story. Best-case, you’re rich.

I smirk at my phone, but the unease doesn’t fade. They’re right, though. Walking away without even hearing the offer feels…stupid. I set my phone down and stare at the ceiling, the same one I’ve stared at for as long as I can remember. The cracks in the plaster form a map of possibilities, each one leading to a different version of my life. One of those paths could lead to Orion Weller, to a six-figure internship, to a future that doesn’t involve my parents’ eccentricities or the soul-crushing monotony of entry-level jobs.

I close my eyes and let myself imagine it—walking into that skyscraper downtown, stepping off the elevator into a glass-walled office with a view of the city. Mr. Weller nodding as I lay out a brilliant idea, him saying, "You’re exactly what this company needs." The fantasy grows sharper, more vivid, until I can almost taste the success.

But then my dad’s voice drifts up the stairs, muffled but unmistakable. "Maggie, do you think the sock is too much?"

I groan and yank a pillow over my face. Reality crashes back in. Naked parents, no job, and a meeting with a billionaire who might be a scam artist or a genius. Or both.

I sit up, tossing the pillow aside. "Screw it," I mutter to the empty room. "I’m going. If nothing else, it’ll make a hell of a story."

I grab my laptop and start researching Orion Weller, determined to walk into that meeting with more than just blind optimism. If this is my shot, I’m not wasting it.

---