Page 2 of Grumpy Alien Boss

The glass doors part with a soft whoosh. My heels click against polished marble as I step into an honest-to-god indoor forest. Water tumbles down a rock wall, its mist catching rainbows in shafts of sunlight. Ferns and tropical plants create natural walls between seating areas.

A stream cuts through the lobby floor, crossed by scattered stepping stones. Each stone lights up as my foot touches it, creating a path of soft blue light. Show-offs.

"Welcome to Rook Enterprises." The receptionist's smile could power Manhattan. "Interview candidates are gathering in room 114. Just follow the blue line."

My heart sinks as I push open the door to 114. Suits. Everywhere. Young, old, designer labels, off-the-rack - at least fifty people packed into a space meant for twenty. The buzz of nervous conversation fills the air with phrases like "MBA" and "six sigma certification."

The metal bracket scrapes against the floor as I find an empty spot against the wall. So much for standing out.

Two women in matching Chanel suits glance at my shoes. Their perfectly manicured hands cover glossy lips as they whisper and snicker. The metal bracket on my heel might as well be a neon sign screaming "doesn't belong."

The Harvard MBA next to me drones on about his thesis on sustainable economics. Another candidate mentions her summer internship at Goldman Sachs. My bachelor's from Eastern Illinois University feels like a participation trophy at the Olympics.

"Did you see her shoes?" The whisper carries just enough for me to catch it.

My cheeks burn. The resume in my portfolio suddenly reads like a bad joke. Student council president? Laser tag champion? What was I thinking including that?

The old familiar fire rises in my chest. The same one that got me kicked out of ballet for correcting the instructor's form. That had me organizing a protest when the school board tried to cut art funding.

A voice that sounds suspiciously like my mother's whispers: "Just smile and nod. Be agreeable. That's how you get ahead."

My fingers clench around my portfolio. The sharp edge of the leather digs into my palm.

No. That's not me. Never has been, never will be. I'd rather fail as myself than succeed as someone else.

The rent notice pinned to my fridge flashes through my mind. The dwindling balance in my checking account. The credit card bill from moving to the city.

Being true to yourself is great and all, but it doesn't keep the lights on.

The Chanel twins titter again. One of them points at my blouse with a perfectly sculpted eyebrow.

My spine straightens. Screw it. They can mock my shoes, my degree, even my "sweater meat." But they can't touch who I am.

The question is: will Rook Enterprises want who I am?

The door crashes open, making me jump.

Holy. Shit.

Darwin Rook fills the doorway, all six-foot-something of him. The pictures don't do him justice. That mohawk should look ridiculous on a CEO, but somehow it works with his sharp features and powerful build. His presence commands the room like a general surveying his troops.

Chanel Twin Number One practically leaps from her chair. She stretches her face into a smile as she grabs his hand.

"Mr. Rook, what an honor! I've followed your career since your first startup. Your work in sustainable technology is revolutionary. The way you've transformed corporate responsibility..."

He lets her ramble, his expression unreadable. One eyebrow arches slightly as she continues to gush about his achievements. The silence when she finally stops stretches just a beat too long.

"By standing up and talking before I even had a chance to speak, you're seeking to assert dominance and make yourself stand out from the other candidates. This and your heaping endorsements are all part of that plan, yes?"

The blood drains from her face. Her mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water.

He gestures to her abandoned chair.

"Sit down. I'm conducting this interview, not you."

That voice. Deep, commanding, with an edge that makes my thighs clench. She starts to protest.

"You're not in charge." His eyes flash, hard as steel.

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