Page 2 of Alien Boss. Human Pet

“What’s this, Christian? You taking a little trip upstairs?” His voice is quiet, but there’s an edge to it that makes my blood run cold.

I swallow hard, my mouth suddenly dry. “Just… double-checking some numbers.”

“Double-checking?” He straightens up, his eyes narrowing. “That’s funny. Because it looks like you’re stirring up trouble.”

“I’m just doing my job,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper.

The air between us thickens like concrete. Jim’s eyes narrow, the corners of his mouth twitching into something that’s not quite a smile. I glance around the empty hallway, my stomach twisting. The office is a ghost town. Everyone’s gone home, leaving me alone with the human equivalent of a bear trap.

“Give me the papers, Willow.” His voice is low, calm, and utterly terrifying. He takes a step forward, his polished shoes clicking against the marble floor.

The elevator dings, its cheerful sound a cruel joke at this moment. I see my chance and take it. I point behind him, my voice pitched high with panic. “Help! I think he wants to hurt me!”

Jim’s face goes pale, his head snapping around to look behind him. It’s the split second I need. I bolt, my heels clacking like gunshots as I sprint down the hall. The damn buckles on my shoes jangle, slowing me down, but I don’t have time to stop and kick them off.

I dive into another elevator car, mashing the button for the top floor. The doors start to close, and I see Jim charging toward me, his hand outstretched. The doors slam shut just as he reaches them, and I sag against the wall, my chest heaving. My finger must’ve slipped because the elevator lights up like a Christmas tree, stopping at every floor on the way up.

The ride feels like an eternity. Each ding of the elevator makes my heart jump. Finally, the doors open, and I step out—only to freeze. Jim’s already there, leaning casually against the door to Ray’s office, his arms crossed.

“If you’d stop running,” he drawls, his voice dripping with mockery, “you could hear my offer. This could be one hell of an opportunity for you, Christian. I can cut you into my little side gig. But only if you don’t spill the beans.”

I don’t wait for him to finish. I scream, “HELP!” and take off in the opposite direction. The elevator doors are closed, and I’m not sticking around to wait. I sprint for the only other door I can see—the Carpenter Boardroom.

I burst inside, slamming the door behind me and quickly tipping over chairs and a podium in a desperate attempt to slowhim down. Jim laughs, the sound echoing through the room. He steps inside, his movements smooth and deliberate.

“You’re running out of places to go, Willow,” he taunts, his voice light, almost playful.

I back up until I feel the cool glass of the window pressing against my back. My legs give out, and I slide down to the floor, trembling. Jim stalks closer, his shadow looming over me.

“Please,” I whisper, my voice breaking. “Don’t hurt me. I won’t tell anyone, I swear.”

His face hardens, the mask of civility slipping away. “That’s right, bitch,” he hisses, his eyes gleaming with malice, “you won’t!”

Jim lunges forward, fingers curled like claws—then a massive hand slaps down on top of his greasy head with a sound like a watermelon dropped on pavement. Jim’s scream cuts through the boardroom as his feet leave the floor. The polished leather of his loafers dangles a solid foot above the carpet, kicking like a wind-up toy.

Raymond Keong—Jesus Christ, how does anyone move that fast or lift like that?—holds him aloft like a misbehaving kitten. His grip doesn’t even tremble.

Mr. Rader’s face purples. "Mr. Keong!" His voice cracks into a falsetto. "She’s stealing! Embezzling! Dozens of discrepancies?—"

"I’mnot!" My voice shatters, raw and desperate. The tears are hot, my cheeks wet, but I force the words through clenched teeth. "I ran the numbers.He’sthe one skimming. A million, hesaid it?—"

Raymond’s golden eyes snap to me. I freeze.

For a second, the world narrows to that stare. Not just a color—actual gold, molten and relentless. His nostrils flare, scenting the air like somethinghunting. Then, without breaking eye contact, he drops Jim.

The thud of Rader hitting the floor is deeply satisfying.

Raymond crouches beside me in one fluid motion, his tailored suit stretching over shoulders broad enough to block out the sun. The scent of him—spice and something sharp-edged, like lightning—hits me full force. His eyes rake over me, lingering on my throat, my collarbones, the frantic rise and fall of my chest.

"Innocent." The word rumbles out of him, gravel and velvet. His thumb brushes my cheekbone, smearing a tear. "Prove it."

I swallow. "The spreadsheets. His ownvoice?—"

Jim scrambles to his knees. "Lies! That little pencil-pusher can’t track her own lunch receipts, let alone?—"

Raymond’s head turns just enough to pin him with a look. Jim’s mouthclicksshut.

Then—

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