Page 35 of Grumpy Alien Boss

Dar steps away, adjusting his clothes with an ease that’s infuriating, while I’m left trying to remember how to breathe. He glances at me, that smirk playing at the corner of his lips, and I can’t help but glare.

“You’re impossible,” I mutter, though my voice is too shaky to carry any real venom.

He chuckles, the sound low and dangerous.

“And yet, you keep coming back for more.”

My legs wobble as I make my way to the waiting limo. The choker feels heavy against my throat, a constant reminder of what just happened upstairs. Of what Dar does to me. Of how he owns me.

Focus, Olivia. This is about the mission. Not about how his hands felt on my body, or the way he?—

No. Mission. Right.

The limo glides through Manhattan traffic, and I try to review my cover story. But every time I shift in my seat, I feel the delicious ache between my legs, and my mind drifts back to Dar's office.

When the car stops, I blink in confusion. This can't be right. The strip mall looks like it's been here since the 70s, all faded signs and cracked concrete. Between a vape shop and a discount furniture outlet sits "Hurst Electronics & Repair."

A neon "OPEN" sign flickers in the grimy window. Behind it, rows of outdated computer parts gather dust on metal shelves.

This is where the infamous conspiracy theorist broadcasts from? The guy who claims to have "proof" of aliens walking among us runs his show from the back of an electronics repair shop?

I touch the choker, drawing strength from it. The cool metal grounds me, reminds me why I'm here. These people might seem ridiculous, but they're dangerous. The Grolgath are using Hurst's paranoid ramblings to further their agenda.

Time to play my part. The scared whistleblower, ready to expose her alien boss to the world.

I straighten my skirt, check my reflection in the limo window. I look properly nervous – though that has more to do with what happened in Dar's office than any acting on my part.

The bell over the door chimes as I step inside. A lanky man with wild gray hair bursts from behind the counter, nearly tripping over his own feet in his excitement.

"You came! You actually came!" Hurst's voice cracks with enthusiasm. "This is going to be huge for the show!"

I hold up my hand. "Remember our agreement. Complete anonymity."

"Of course, of course!" He nods so vigorously his glasses slip down his nose. "Voice modulation, no names, the works. I understand - you're risking a lot coming forward about your... employer."

"More than you know." I let my voice quaver. "If he finds out I'm here..."

Hurst ushers me through a beaded curtain into what looks like a converted storage room. Ancient sound equipment crowds the space, cables snaking everywhere like technological kudzu.

He hands me a headset that's seen better days. The foam padding gives off a distinct processed cheese aroma. I slip it on, trying not to think about how many conspiracy theorists have worn it before me.

"So tell me about the evidence you found," Hurst says, adjusting levels on his mixing board.

"Well, there was this strange scale-like thing in his office." I touch the choker at my throat. "Bright red, about the size of a quarter. At first I thought it was some kind of sequin..."

Hurst's eyes light up. "Red scales! I knew it! This confirms everything about the Reds infiltrating human society, manipulating our history from the shadows!"

If he only knew how close to the truth he is. The Vakutan are trying to change history - but only to stop the Grolgath from destroying humanity's future. Sometimes the good guys have to work in secret too.

The shop owner's voice cuts through Hurst's latest theory about lizard people controlling the Federal Reserve.

"Hey! Those computers aren't going to fix themselves! Get back to work!"

Hurst jumps like he's been shocked. "But Mr. Chen, this is important! We're exposing?—"

"What's important is paying rent. Now move!"

I slip off the headphones while Hurst scrambles to shut down his equipment. So much for the fearless truth-seeker. Just another conspiracy nut working a dead-end job, living in a fantasy world.

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