Page 1 of Grumpy Alien Billionaire (Mates of Veritas #2)

CHAPTER 1

TYLER

C indy’s scissors slice through my paper like it’s nothing. My stomach drops.

“Ha, good luck with Jurassic Bark,” she says, leaning back against the counter with a smirk that could cut glass.

“Damn,” I blurt out, then clap a hand over my mouth. My cheeks burn. “I mean, dang!”

Cindy rolls her eyes so hard I’m surprised they don’t get stuck. “You’re hopeless, Ty. Seriously, it’s like you’re allergic to swearing.”

“I’m not hopeless,” I mutter, tugging at the hem of my apron. “I just… don’t like it.”

“Uh-huh. Sure. Meanwhile, Goliath’s waiting for you in the back. Better grab the trimmers before he figures out what’s coming.”

I groan, dragging my feet toward the grooming station. Goliath’s already there, his massive head resting on the table like he’s posing for a Renaissance painting. He’s a sweetheart, sure, but the second he sees those trimmers, it’s like trying to wrestle a freight train.

“Hey, big guy,” I say, forcing cheer into my voice. His ears perk up, and he gives me a slobbery grin. “We’re just gonna do a quick trim, okay? No big deal.”

He tilts his head, like he’s considering it, but I know better. I grab the trimmers from the drawer, and his eyes lock onto them like they’re a snake about to strike.

“Easy, easy,” I coo, stepping closer. “It’s just me, buddy. Nothing to?—”

He bolts. One second he’s on the table, the next he’s a blur of fur and drool, skidding across the floor like he’s auditioning for the canine Olympics.

“Goliath, no!” I shout, chasing after him. He’s surprisingly fast for a dog the size of a small horse. He darts around the corner, knocking over a stack of shampoo bottles with a crash that echoes through the shop.

Cindy’s laughter follows me. “Need a hand, or are you gonna let him redecorate the whole place?”

“I’ve got it!” I snap, though I’m not entirely sure I do. Goliath’s now wedged himself between the dryer and the wall, his tail wagging like he’s proud of himself.

“Sure you do,” Cindy calls back. “Just don’t let him eat the trimmers. Sandy’ll kill you if we have to buy another pair.”

I shoot her a glare over my shoulder, but she’s already turned back to her own station, still chuckling. Great. Just great.

“Alright, Goliath,” I say, crouching down to his level. “Let’s make a deal. You let me trim your nails, and I’ll sneak you an extra treat. Sound good?”

He cocks his head, considering. Then, with a dramatic sigh, he flops onto his side, exposing his paws like he’s surrendering.

“Atta boy,” I say, reaching for the trimmers. “This’ll be quick, I promise.”

Famous last words.

Cindy peeks around the corner just as I finish the last nail. Her jaw drops.

"How do you do it? How do you get giant beasts to roll over for you?"

I shrug, scratching behind Goliath's ears. His leg thumps against the floor in pure bliss.

"I guess the animals know I'm not going to hurt them."

"Uh-huh." She crosses her arms, eyebrows raised. "There's a King Kong slash Faye Wray thing going on, I just know it." Her lips curl into a mischievous grin. "Maybe if I left you tied to a stake wearing a skimpy outfit some huge man would come along and actually take you on a date."

"I go on dates all the time!" The words come out squeakier than intended.

"Oh please." She snorts. "You mean those choir boys who text their moms every five minutes? The ones who ask 'Mother, may I?' before pecking you on the cheek?"

"Jason didn't text his mom!" Heat creeps up my neck. "He just... needed to check if his grandmother's cat took her medicine."

"My point exactly." She shakes her head. "Face it, Ty. You're like catnip for the pure and wholesome. Even Goliath here knows it."

Goliath's tail thumps against the floor in agreement, the traitor.

Cindy’s grin lingers like she’s won some unspoken bet, and I feel my face flush hotter than a sunburn. I focus on Goliath, running my fingers through his fur, pretending he’s the only thing that exists in this room. But my mind’s racing, and it’s not Jason or his grandmother’s cat that’s on it.

Cindy’s right about one thing—I’ve got a type. It’s just... not the type she thinks. If she knew what was on my Kindle, she’d probably keel over from shock. Or laugh so hard she’d need a doctor.

“You ever think about…,” I start, then stop, biting my lip. What am I doing?

“Think about what?” Cindy’s leaning on the counter now, chin propped in her hand, like she’s waiting for me to say something ridiculous.

“Never mind.” I shake my head, focusing on Goliath’s nails. “It’s stupid.”

“Oh, come on, Ty. Don’t leave me hanging. Think about what?”

I hesitate, my fingers pausing mid-trim. “Do you ever think about… I don’t know… meeting someone who’s just… dangerous?”

Cindy’s eyebrows shoot up. “Dangerous? Like a guy with a criminal record? Or a guy who doesn’t use his turn signal?”

I laugh, but it comes out a little strangled. “No, not like that. More like… someone who’s strong, you know? Protective. A little rough around the edges.”

She snorts. “Rough around the edges? Ty, you’re describing a lumberjack. Or maybe a guy who works at a hardware store.”

I roll my eyes, but my stomach’s doing cartwheels. If only she knew. If only she knew about the Kindle in my drawer, the one with the stories that make my cheeks burn just thinking about them. The ones where the hero’s not a hero at all—he’s a villain, a captor, someone who takes what he wants and doesn’t apologize for it.

“Never mind,” I mutter, finishing up Goliath’s last nail. “It’s dumb.”

“Nah, it’s not dumb,” she says, still smirking. “Just unexpected. You’re all sunshine and rainbows, Ty. Didn’t think you’d be into the bad boy thing.”

“I’m not!” I say too quickly, and Cindy’s smirk deepens.

“Sure you’re not,” she says, dragging out the words.

I exhale, trying to steady my racing heart. “Anyway, Goliath’s done. You can take him back to his owner.”

She pushes off the counter, still grinning like she’s figured out some big secret. “Whatever you say, Ty. But if you ever want to upgrade from choir boys, let me know. I know a guy.”

“Thanks,” I mutter, though I’m not sure I mean it.

She leads Goliath out, his tail wagging like he’s the star of the show, and I slump back against the wall. My Kindle’s burning a hole in my bag, and I think about the story I was reading last night—the one where the hero kidnaps the heroine and keeps her in a cabin in the woods.

Cindy would probably have a field day if she knew.

A deep bark rips through my daydream, followed by Cindy's shriek. My heart leaps into my throat as I bolt toward the front of the store.

"Tyler, help!"

Cindy's arms strain against Goliath's leash, her feet sliding on the tile floor. Outside the window, a scrawny orange cat sits cleaning its paws, completely unbothered by the chaos it's causing.

"No, Goliath, stay!" I lunge for the leash, but my fingers brush empty air.

The leather slips through Cindy's grasp. Goliath charges through the door, the bell clanging wildly against the glass. The cat's eyes go wide, and it shoots into the street like an orange bullet.

"Goliath, come back!" My feet pound against the sidewalk as I chase after him. The cat darts between parked cars, Goliath hot on its tail.

"Stop!" Cindy's scream pierces the air.

Metal screeches against asphalt. I turn my head, and time freezes. A cherry-red sports car fills my vision, bearing down on me with unstoppable force. The sun glints off its hood, blinding me. My muscles lock. I can't move. Can't breathe.

The convertible's top is down, and time slows to a crawl. A man in an expensive charcoal suit grips the wheel, his mirrored sunglasses reflecting my frozen form. His jaw clenches. The muscles in his forearms flex as he wrenches the wheel right.

The car's tires screech past me, so close the wind whips my hair across my face. The scent of burning rubber fills my nose. My heart pounds against my ribs like it's trying to escape.

Metal crunches. Glass shatters. The sound pierces my ears like physical pain.

The driver's body launches through the air in a graceful arc that seems to defy gravity. His sunglasses fly off, catching the sunlight for one brilliant moment before his head connects with the telephone pole with a sickening thud.

He crumples to the ground like a broken marionette.

My legs give out. The rough concrete scrapes my palms as I hit the sidewalk. Bile rises in my throat.

"Oh God." The words barely squeeze past my lips. "He's dead. He has to be dead."

My chest constricts. Black spots dance at the edges of my vision. This is my fault. If I hadn't chased Goliath into the street...

My feet won't move. I should check on him, but what if... what if he's... The image of blood and broken bones freezes me in place.

"Sir?" My voice comes out as a squeak. "Are you... alive?"

A groan answers me, followed by the tinkle of glass hitting pavement. The man shifts, brushing shards off his suit like they're nothing more than lint. He slides off the crumpled hood with the grace of someone stepping out of a limo.

My jaw drops. Not a scratch on him. Not even a hair out of place.

He straightens his tie, then pats his face where his sunglasses should be. His head snaps up, scanning the area until his gaze locks onto something behind me.

I turn. His sunglasses are embedded in the telephone pole like some weird modern art installation.

"My com-glasses." He sounds more annoyed than injured. "Those were one of a kind."

The car's front end is wrapped around the pole like a metal pretzel. Smoke curls from the engine. Yet here he is, fussing over designer sunglasses.

My brain short-circuits. This can't be real. People don't just walk away from crashes like that. They don't shrug off hitting telephone poles with their heads.

I tug at his sleeve. The fabric is impossibly smooth under my fingers, and the arm beneath is like steel. He turns, and suddenly I'm in shadow. He towers over me, blocking out the sun entirely.

"Um, excuse me." I have to crane my neck to look up at him. "But don't you think you should go to the hospital?"

A cloud drifts across the sun, and my breath catches. Without the glare, I can finally see his face clearly. My knees go weak. He's... he's beautiful. Not in the pretty-boy way Jason was. No, this man is all sharp angles and dangerous curves, like a weapon wrapped in designer cloth. But it's his eyes that freeze me in place - pure, molten gold that seems to glow from within.

Those eyes lock onto mine, and the world tilts sideways. His nostrils flare, like a predator catching a scent. Then his gaze drops, dragging over my body with such raw hunger that my skin burns in its wake. Heat pools low in my belly as his eyes linger on my curves, my throat, my lips.

Oh. Oh no.

The look in his eyes... I know that look. It's the same one the heroes in my books get right before they throw the heroine against a wall and... and...

My face flames. We're in the middle of the street, for heaven's sake! There are people watching! And he's looking at me like he wants to devour me whole, like clothing is just an inconvenient barrier to be torn away.

"I'm fine." His voice rumbles through me like distant thunder, and something deep inside me quivers in response. "I don't need a medivac."

"Medivac?" The strange word snaps me out of my daze. "Don't you mean ambulance?"

My heart's still racing, but now it's from frustration rather than... whatever that was before. "You need medical attention. That crash was serious."

He glances at his mangled car, and something flickers across his face - worry? Fear? The wail of approaching sirens cuts through the air, and his shoulders tense.

"No, I didn't." His golden eyes dart around like he's searching for an escape route.

"What do you mean 'no'? I watched you hit that pole!" I jab my finger at the splintered wood where his sunglasses are still embedded. "With your head!"

"I jumped." He straightens his tie again, not meeting my eyes. "Got clear just in time."

My mouth drops open. The audacity! "You did not jump! You flew through the windshield like a - like a human cannonball! Your head made a dent in the pole!"

"You must have been mistaken." His voice is smooth as silk, but there's an edge to it now. "The sun was in your eyes."

I sputter, gesturing wildly at the wreck. The evidence is right there - the shattered windshield, the crumpled hood, the splintered telephone pole. How dare he stand there in his perfect suit with his perfect hair and tell me I didn't see what I absolutely, definitely saw?

"I know what I saw!" The words burst out of me. "You hit that pole so hard it should have killed you!"

His finger is warm against my lips, the contact so sudden and unexpected that my breath catches. My whole body seems to hum, like a tuning fork struck hard, and my knees wobble. I should step back, put some space between us, but my feet are glued to the ground. His touch is electric, sending tiny shocks racing down my spine.

"Shhhh," he murmurs, his voice low and smooth, like honey dripping over velvet. His yellow eyes lock onto mine, and I feel like I’m falling into them, drowning in their molten depths. "Don’t trouble yourself about trifling matters. There are much more important things to discuss."

Oh God, he’s still touching me. His finger lingers, tracing the curve of my lips before sliding down to my jaw. His touch is impossibly light, barely there, but it sets my skin on fire. I fight the urge to lean into it, to melt against him like I’m some kind of over dramatic romance heroine. My brain short-circuits, torn between panic and… something else. Something that makes my stomach twist and my pulse race.

"L-like what?" I manage to choke out, my voice breaking on the last word. It’s a miracle I can even speak, honestly. My heart is pounding so loud I’m sure he can hear it.

"Like you, me, and candlelight on a moon-drenched bay," he says, his voice dropping to a purr that sends shivers down my spine. His finger continues its slow exploration, skimming along my jawline, brushing against the hollow beneath my ear. His touch is hypnotic, and I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from making some embarrassingly needy sound. "Magic time, Mamacita."

Magic time? Did he just say magic time ? My brain scrambles to process the words, but all I can focus on is the heat of his hand, the way his thumb grazes my cheekbone. My stomach twists, and I’m pretty sure I’ve forgotten how to breathe.

"A-are you, um, asking me out?" The words tumble out in a squeak, and I immediately want to die. I sound like a middle schooler, not a grown woman who’s supposed to have her life together. My face feels like it’s on fire, and I’m torn between the overwhelming desire to pass out, throw up, or maybe just spontaneously combust.

His smirk deepens, and I can see the amusement dancing in those golden eyes. He’s enjoying this. Of course he is. He’s probably used to reducing women to stammering messes with just a touch and a few well-chosen words. Meanwhile, I’m over here trying to remember how to form a coherent sentence.

"You tell me," he says, his voice dripping with that same honeyed smoothness. "Does the idea of candlelight, a moonlit bay, and me… intrigue you?"

Intrigue me? That’s one way to put it. My brain is currently a swirling mess of panic, confusion, and… something else. Something warm and fizzy that makes my cheeks burn and my stomach dip. I open my mouth to say something, anything, but the words get stuck somewhere between my brain and my tongue. All I can do is stare up at him, my heart hammering in my chest.

"I'll pick you up at eight." His voice wraps around me like silk, and my knees nearly buckle.

"My name is Lanz. To whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?"

"Tyler," I whisper, barely recognizing my own voice. My heart's doing a samba against my ribs, and I'm pretty sure I've forgotten how to breathe properly.

"Tyler." The way he says my name makes my toes curl in my shoes. Like it's precious. Like it's poetry.

His fingers brush mine as he takes my phone, and electricity zips up my arm. I watch, dumbstruck, as he types in his number with casual confidence. My phone looks tiny in his hands, and I can't stop staring at his long fingers moving across the screen.

The wail of sirens grows closer, but Lanz doesn't seem concerned. He strides toward the approaching emergency vehicles like he owns the street, leaving me frozen in place. My brain's still trying to process what just happened. Did I really just get asked out by a man who should be dead? Who walked away from a car crash like it was nothing?

I watch as he speaks to the first responders, his voice too low to hear. His hands move as he talks, painting some story that has nothing to do with me standing in the street like an idiot. Nothing to do with him hitting a pole with his head.

"Tyler, I caught him!"

Cindy's voice snaps me back to reality. She's running up, red-faced and panting, with Goliath's leash wrapped tight around her hand.

"Did that guy get killed trying to not run you over or what?"

I open my mouth, but no words come out. How do I even begin to explain what just happened?