Page 3 of Alien Wants A Wife

My head’s doing this thing where, if I move my neck, my vision goes blurry for a second. The entire world is moving around me. Surely, it’s gravity I can feel.

My last hangover wasn’t like this. Then again, I hadn’t been in the middle of a career-changing meeting with a … producer? What exactly is Chloe’s role?

No, last time I’d been draped over my toilet, trying not to get vomit on my bathroom tiles. That had been the night I’d finally accepted I’d been dumped by my cheating ex. That had been the night I’d decided to audition for TV. To prove to him, and to all of Australia, that I was somebody worth loving.

Poetic to think it all started with a hangover and now it’s going to end with one.

“… great to have these little details ironed out,” Chloe is saying, and I get the distinct feeling I missed part of her speech.

I can’t ask her to repeat herself because she’s already standing, gesturing toward the closed door. I follow her lead, picking up my water bottle and brochure. I’ve got to grab the chair arm while the world runs circles around me, and by the time I’m able to take a step without tripping over my own feet, Chloe’s opened the door and is clearly waiting for me to leave. I hurry, not wanting to risk pissing her off on the first day.

Not when she’s got so much influence with how the show’s storylines will pan out. Not when she’s promised to help me. It’s been two years since I’ve had an ally.

“Why Roan?” I ask cautiously, heading for the door. “In particular, I mean?”

“Oh, no reason.” She gestures for me to leave.

Right…As I step by her into the narrow corridor, I can’t help making a closer study of her face, as if I’ll be able to gaugewhy Roanfrom her expression. She doesn’t meet my eyes. Rather, she’s examining a tablet. Even in her high heels, she’s considerably shorter than me. Which isn’t hard, considering I’mnearly six feet. I’m taller than most women I meet. It gives me a slight advantage, because when I glance down, I catch sight of her screen, which is angled up toward her face.

She’s flicking through different photos, all of the same room but taken from multiple angles. She dismisses each photo almost as quickly as it appears on her screen. Then she pauses, and I realize they’re not photos, because someone’s in the frame and they’re moving.

It’s hard to tell exactly what they look like, upside down and miniaturized. They’re wearing all green. Even their hair is green… or maybe that’s a hat?

“Is that him?” I snap my mouth shut as soon as I’ve spoken. My voice had been too loud in the small confines of the passageway. It had bounced along the walls, magnified, and I’d sounded, for a second, my old pushy self. “Haha,” I attempt a lighthearted laugh. “Merely curious.”

Chloe stares at me for a long second, before saying. “That would be telling,” and then she closes the door, me on the outside, her inside.

Huh. I’ve got a secret alliance with the production team. Kind of like I’m their mole. Their spy. Their secret ally with the guaranteed happily-ever-after heroine edit.

I grin, for real this time. LOVE GALAXY is going better than I’d dared hope.

All I’ve got to do is make some guy fall in love with me.

Then dump him.

Guilt threatens my good mood, but I ignore it. It’ll be better if I dump him before he can dump me. Better for the show. Better for my story arc.

It might even be better for him… somehow.

I glance around. One end of the corridor is open to the outside. I can see a lot of sky. So I turn in the opposite direction, heading deeper inside. This place doesn’t resemble Mr. Smith’slawyer office, and exactly how I got here seems to be one of the things I can’t currently remember.

I also can’t remember what I’m supposed to be doing. Or where I’m supposed to go. Maybe if I track down some aspirin, I’ll be able to shake off this hangover.

As I pass the next door, it automatically slides open, revealing a small-ish room with mirrors on the walls and three tables with vanity lights. Makeup and styling products are scattered over the tables, including curling irons and blow driers with diffuser attachments. I kind of want to check brand names on the foundation bottles, but there’s nobody else in there and no sign of any painkillers, so I continue walking down the corridor. I want to find another member of the production team and maybe even a filming timetable.

I’d always imagined behind the scenes to be a rush of people, busy doing a million and one odd jobs, but it’s so quiet I can hear my headache thumping against my skull.

The next door doesn’t open, and I can’t find a handle or any release button to unlock it. But the door after that slides open on its own, and I’m face to face with another woman.

She’s about half a foot shorter than me, with pink hair and muscular arms. She’s wearing a frown and a cocktail gown in a soft pink fabric that shimmers when she moves.

“Hi.” I raise a hand, notice how shaky my fingers are and drop my hand back to my side. “I’m?—

“Let me guess. You’re Harlee.” She winces when she speaks, pressing a hand to her temples. “Got any painkillers?”

“I was about to ask you the same thing." I run a hand through my hair, pretending I’m brushing strands away from my face when really I’m scraping my nails over my scalp, trying to scrape some of the pain out of my head. “How come you know who I am…” I let the end of my question die as she steps to the side, giving me a clear view of the room behind her. It’s a walk-incloset, divided into three rows by color. One area is all green clothes with a sign that saysBriar. The next section is all pink clothes withLydia.And the final third is all blue clothes with my name.

As I step inside the room, the door automatically closes behind me.

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