Page 3 of Grumpy Alien Billionaire (Mates of Veritas #2)

CHAPTER 3

TYLER

I ’m pacing back and forth between my room and the living room, holding up one outfit after another, and Cindy’s sitting cross-legged on the couch, sipping her iced latte like she’s the queen of fashion.

“Thoughts?” I ask, holding up a loose floral blouse and high-waisted jeans.

Cindy gives me a look that could wither a cactus. “Tyler, no. You look like you’re auditioning for ‘Grandma Chills at the Park.’”

I huff, tossing the outfit onto the back of the couch. “Fine.” I disappear into my room and come back with a sweater and a knee-length skirt. “This?”

She scrunches her nose. “You’re going on a date, not a church potluck.”

I throw my hands up. “Okay, Miss Fashionista, what do YOU think I should wear?”

Cindy’s grin is so wide I’m pretty sure she’s been waiting for this moment all day. She sets her latte on the coffee table and hops up, practically bouncing into her room. I stand there, arms crossed, tapping my foot as I hear the rustling of hangers and the occasional “aha!” from her closet.

She returns holding a hanger with a black dress draped over it. It’s short. Like, short short. And the neckline? Let’s just say it’s not designed for modesty.

My mouth drops open. “No. Absolutely not. I’m not wearing that.”

Cindy holds it up like she’s presenting a prize on a game show. “This, my dear, is your first-date dress. It’s flattering, it’s sexy, and it says, ‘Hey, I’m not just the girl who brushes your dog.’”

“It also says, ‘Hey, I’m freezing and possibly indecent!’” I shoot back, my face heating up.

Cindy rolls her eyes. “Tyler, you’re going on a date with a billionaire. Not some guy who thinks Olive Garden is fancy. This is your chance to go big or go home.”

I glance at the dress again, my stomach doing a nervous flip. “I don’t even know if I’m ready for ‘big.’ What if I spill something? What if I trip? What if?—”

Cindy cuts me off with a wave of her hand. “What if you have the best night of your life? Trust me, you’re rocking this dress. Now, go put it on before I start charging you for my fashion advice.”

I take the hanger, my fingers brushing against the silky fabric. It feels foreign, like something I’d admire on someone else but never dare to wear myself. But Cindy’s right about one thing—tonight’s different. Maybe I should be too.

“Fine,” I mutter, heading back to my room. “But if I end up on the floor because of these heels, I’m blaming you.”

Cindy laughs.

“Deal. Now, move it. He’s picking you up in an hour.”

I'm dabbing on the last touches of lip gloss when Cindy shrieks from the living room.

"Oh. My. God. Tyler, get over here!"

"What? I'm not done?—"

"Trust me, you want to see this."

I shuffle to the window in these death-trap heels. Cindy points down to the street where a sleek black car idles at the curb.

"Look what Mr. Moneybags is carrying."

My heart skips. Through the twilight, I spot Alonzo stepping out of his car, his arms full of... something. "Are those flowers?"

"Girl, those aren't just flowers. That's a whole garden."

The doorbell chimes and my stomach does a backflip. I've never gotten flowers before. Not even on Valentine's Day.

I open the door and forget how to breathe. Alonzo fills the doorframe, cream suit perfectly tailored to his broad shoulders. But it's what he's holding that stops my heart – an explosion of red roses, bigger than my torso, alongside a plush teddy bear and what looks like the fanciest chocolate box I've ever seen.

His golden eyes rake over me, lingering on the places where Cindy's borrowed dress hugs my curves. Heat floods my cheeks, and I resist the urge to cover myself. The way he looks at me – like I'm something precious and delicious all at once – makes my knees weak.

"These are for you." His voice rolls through me like thunder.

I reach for the gifts, my fingers trembling. The roses smell divine, and the bear is softer than clouds. The chocolate box has gold lettering I can't pronounce.

"I..." Words fail me. I'm standing here in borrowed courage and borrowed clothes, while this man looks at me like I'm the most fascinating thing he's ever seen.

Cindy swoops in like a hurricane, snatching the gifts from my arms. "Here, let me take those." She practically dances to the kitchen with my presents.

My mouth opens to protest but before I can speak, her hands plant firmly on my back. "Out you go!"

The gentle shove sends me stumbling forward, right into Alonzo's personal space. His cologne wraps around me – something spicy and expensive that makes my insides flutter.

My cheeks burn as Cindy's finger jabs up at Alonzo's face. He towers over her, but she doesn't back down an inch. "Now, Tyler is my best friend, and she hasn't been on a date with a decent guy in a long time, so I'm allowing you to take her out on one condition..."

Alonzo's lips curve into that dangerous smile. "Yes?"

"Don't behave yourself." Cindy's words hit me like a splash of ice water. "Trust me, she needs it bad! If you have her home before midnight I'll kill you."

The door slams behind us with a bang that makes me jump. I stand frozen, mortified heat crawling up my neck as Alonzo's golden gaze slides down to meet mine. That smile of his grows wider, showing teeth.

My heart pounds against my ribs. The things Cindy said... the way he's looking at me... it's exactly what I've been reading about in my romance novels. The kind of man who takes control, who knows what he wants.

A shiver runs through me that has nothing to do with the evening air.

He extends his hand, palm up, and I stare at it like it’s a live grenade. His fingers are long, elegant, yet there’s a strength in them that’s impossible to ignore. My heart’s doing gymnastics in my chest, and I’m pretty sure my palms are sweating. This is so not the kind of thing I’m used to. I’m more of a “netflix and chill with takeout” kind of girl, not “mystery billionaire with a voice that could melt butter” kind of girl.

"Come with me, Lovely," he says, and the way he says it—smooth, velvety, with just a hint of command—sends a shiver down my spine. It’s not harsh or demanding, but it’s not a question either. It’s an invitation, but one I don’t feel like I can refuse.

I hesitate, my brain and my body at war. My brain’s screaming, “What are you doing? This guy is way out of your league!” But my body? My body’s already leaning toward him, my pulse racing like I’m halfway through a marathon. I can practically hear my parents’ voices in my head, warning me about men like him—men who are too smooth, too confident, too… everything. But then I remember Cindy’s words, and the way she pushed me out the door like she was shipping me off to my destiny.

"Don't be afraid," he purrs, andgaze snaps onto me with an intensity that’s both thrilling and terrifying. "I do not bite… unless you want me to."

My stomach does a somersault, and my toes curl in my heels. There’s a heat in his gaze that makes me feel exposed, like he’s seeing every secret fantasy I’ve ever had. I’ve read about men like him—alpha males who know what they want and take it—but this? This is real, and it’s overwhelming.

I take a shaky breath, my hand hovering just above his. “I don’t even know if I’m ready for this,” I manage to say, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Ready for what?" he asks, his tone light but his eyes still burning into me. "A date? A conversation? Or perhaps something more?"

I swallow hard, my face heating up. He’s not even touching me, and yet I feel like I’m already in way over my head. But there’s something about the way he’s looking at me—like I’m the only person in the world—that makes me want to take the leap.

Finally, I place my hand in his, and the moment our skin touches, it’s like a current zipping through me. His fingers close around mine, warm and firm, and he pulls me gently toward him. My body trembles, not from fear, but from the sheer force of my own desires crashing over me like a wave.

"Good girl," he murmurs, and the words send a jolt straight to my core. I’m not sure what I’ve gotten myself into, but one thing’s for certain—I’m not going back.

His hand engulfs mine, warm and firm. A jolt, like static electricity, zaps me. He tugs me forward, and my ridiculous heels click against the pavement. We’re a spectacle—me, clinging to his arm like a life raft, him, radiating an aura of money and power that draws stares like moths to a flame. People openly gawk. A taxi driver nearly takes out a fire hydrant, his eyes glued to my legs. I shrink, wishing I’d worn something less…Cindy.

“Can I wear your coat?” I ask, my voice barely a squeak. “I feel like everyone is staring at me.”

“That’s because everyone is staring at you,” he says, his voice a low rumble beside my ear. “With good reason.”

Heat floods my cheeks. I try to hide, tucking myself closer to his side, using his massive frame as a shield. It’s no use. I’m like a beacon in this dress.

“Come on, let me wear it,” I demand, trying for a playful tone that comes out sounding more petulant than I intended.

“No.”

The word, flat and final, shocks me. No? He just…said no. No explanation, no softening. A strange mix of irritation and…excitement? ripples through me. It’s like stepping onto a roller coaster, all thrilled anticipation until the bar locks into place and you realize— I’m strapped in. I have no control.

He’s in charge. Lanz. Not Alonzo. The mask is slipping, and I glimpse the steel beneath the charm. And the most terrifying part? I like it.

"Why not?" I ask, my voice sounding smaller, more pleading than I’d intended. I cringe inwardly, hating how much I sound like a little girl begging for permission.

"Because," he says, his tone smooth but final, "I want to look at your gorgeous body."

My breath catches, and my cheeks flare with heat. Gorgeous? Me? No one’s ever called me that before—not like this, not with that kind of intensity. His golden eyes rake over me, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. I feel exposed, vulnerable, and yet… thrilled. My heart’s pounding so loudly. My brain scrambles for something to say, but all I can manage is a strangled, "Oh."

"Do not be ashamed," he says. He tugs me forward, adjusting my position so we’re walking side by side. His hand stays firm on mine, guiding me like I’m a skittish colt. "Be proud. Get used to people staring. Embrace it. You are an amazing, beautiful woman. Why conceal that?"

His words hit me like a punch to the gut. They’re everything I’ve never allowed myself to believe. My parents’ voices echo in my head— Pride is a sin, Tyler. Humility is your shield. I’ve spent my life shrinking, blending into the background, hiding behind baggy sweaters and self-deprecating jokes. The idea of embracing my body, my sexuality , feels… dangerous. Wrong, even.

But Lanz isn’t having it. His hand moves to the small of my back, warm and steady. "Chin up," he instructs, his voice soft but firm. I oblige, lifting my head. His other hand brushes my shoulders, straightening my posture. "Chest out, longer strides. And smile, my sweet."

I try to obey, but my legs feel like jelly. My steps are awkward, my smile forced. I’m hyper-aware of the way my dress clings to my curves, the way the heels make my legs look longer than they’ve ever been. People are staring—of course they are. Lanz is a magnet, and I’m the awkward accessory trying to keep up.

"The world is yours," he murmurs, leaning down slightly so his words brush against my ear. "You are a goddess of love."

A goddess of love? I almost laugh, but the way he says it—like it’s a fact, like he’s stating the obvious—makes me shiver. I glance up at him, and his gaze is steady, unyielding. He believes it. That’s the crazy part. He believes it.

I could never do this on my own. Never walk with this kind of confidence, this kind of boldness. But if I tell myself it’s him—if I tell myself he’s in charge, and I’m just following his lead—then maybe, just maybe, I can manage. My chin lifts a little higher. My steps grow surer. I can feel the warmth of his hand on my back, a constant reminder that he’s here, guiding me, pushing me. And for the first time in my life, I don’t want to hide.