Page 1 of Alien Boss. Human Pet

CHAPTER 1

WILLOW

The spreadsheet glows on my monitor like a neon billboard screaming“something’s wrong here.”I lean back in my chair, the vinyl squeaking like a dying mouse, and run the numbers again in my head. Same result. Someone’s either criminally incompetent or criminally motivated. Either way, it’s not my fault, but it’s about to become my problem.

I mutter under my breath, “You wanted Manhattan, you wanted the big leagues. Congrats, Willow, you’re in the big leagues. Now stop being a coward and go tell Rader.”

My fingers tap a nervous rhythm on the edge of my desk. The office hums around me, a symphony of keyboard clicks, hushed chatter, and the occasional printer jam. My cubicle walls are beige, the carpet is beige, and honestly, my existence feels pretty beige right now. But this? This is neon.

I grab the printed spreadsheet and my notes, stuffing them into a folder like I’m hiding evidence. My palms are slick, and I wipe them on my skirt before standing. My heels click against the floor as I head toward Rader’s office, each step feeling heavier than the last.

The door is open, which is worse than closed. Closed implies privacy. Open feels like a trap. Jim’s sitting at his desk, his facetwisted into that permanent grimace that makes him look like he’s just smelled something rotten. He doesn’t look up when I knock lightly on the doorframe.

“Uh, Mr. Rader? Got a minute?” My voice comes out too high, too squeaky.

He finally glances up, his eyes narrowing like he’s already regretting this conversation. “What is it, Christian?”

“I found something. In the copy toner budget. It’s… off.” I step inside, holding out the folder like it’s a ticking bomb.

He takes it, flipping through the pages with the speed of someone who’s already decided this is a waste of his time. “Off how?”

“Someone’s either terrible at math or actively stealing.” I brace myself for his reaction.

He pauses, his face doing this thing where it gets even pinched-er, if that’s possible. “You sure about this?”

“I’ve triple-checked it. The numbers don’t add up. Someone’s funneling money somewhere, and it’s not going to copy toner.” I cross my arms, then uncross them, then wonder what to do with my hands.

Jim leans back in his chair, the leather creaking under his weight. He stares at me like I’ve just accused him of being the culprit. “You realize what you’re suggesting? Accusing someone of embezzlement? That’s a big claim for someone who’s been here, what, three months?”

“It’s not personal. It’s math.” I clench my jaw, refusing to back down. “And I’m good at math.”

He sighs, long and dramatic, like I’ve just ruined his day. “Fine. I’ll look into it. But if this is a mistake on your end, Christian, you’re going to regret it.”

“It’s not.” My voice is steadier now, though my stomach is churning.

He waves me off, already burying his nose in another file. “Close the door on your way out.”

I step back into the hallway, letting out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. My hands are still trembling, but I feel a weird sense of relief. At least I did something. At least I didn’t just let it slide.

Now I just have to wait and see if I’m about to be the office hero or the office pariah. Or worse, both.

The clock on my desk ticks louder than it has any right to. It’s like it’s mocking me, eachclickechoing in my ears. I’ve been jumpy all day, my nerves frayed like old rope. Every time someone walks by my cubicle, my head snaps up like a meerkat on alert. But Jim hasn’t come back. No call. No email. Just silence. And silence from Jim is never a good thing.

Five o’clock rolls around, and I can’t take it anymore. My stomach is in knots, and my hands are ice-cold despite the thermostat being set to “sahara.” I grab my printed spreadsheets, my fingers trembling so much the papers shake like leaves in a storm. I head to Jim’s office, my heels clicking faster than my heartbeat.

I raise my hand to knock, but then I hear his voice. It’s low, urgent, and dripping with something I can’t quite place. Fear? Anger? Both? I freeze, my knuckles hovering an inch from the door.

“Five Gs to end somebody?” Jim’s voice cuts through the wood like a knife. My breath catches in my throat.End somebody?

There’s a long pause, and then he laughs, but it’s not the kind of laugh that’s funny. It’s the kind that makes your skin crawl. “Relax, nobody’s tapping the phones. Old man Keong has no idea we’ve siphoned almost a cool million out from under his big nose.”

My heart hammers in my chest, and for a second, I think I might pass out. Are they talking about me? Would they really—? No. No, that’s insane. But then again, Jim’s voice doesn’t sound insane. It sounds calculated. Cold.

I back away from the door, my mind racing. I can’t take the risk. I run back to my cubicle, my heels clacking against the floor like a frantic Morse code. I print out another set of spreadsheets, my hands shaking so much I almost drop the papers. I don’t bother with a folder. I just grab them and bolt for the elevator.

I’m halfway there when I slam into something solid. The papers fly out of my hands, scattering across the floor like confetti. I drop to my knees, scrambling to gather them, but a pair of polished black shoes steps into my line of sight.

“Let me help you with that,” Jim says, his voice smooth as silk. He crouches down, his fingers brushing against mine as he picks up a sheet. He’s silent for a long moment, then his eyes flicker over the numbers. His jaw tightens, and when he looks at me, his smile is gone.

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