Page 4 of Grumpy Alien Boss

CHAPTER 4

DAR

T he rotors whirl to life as I climb into the cockpit. Another day, another performance for the cameras below. Let them think Darwin Rook's ego demands he pilot his own aircraft. The truth would shatter their fragile minds.

"Clear for takeoff, Mr. Rook," the tower controller says through my headset.

"Roger that."

The disguised shuttle lifts smoothly from the pad. Below, smartphones point skyward, capturing footage of the eccentric billionaire's departure. If they only knew this "helicopter" could outrun their fastest jets.

Banking east toward the Atlantic, I punch through a layer of cotton-white clouds. Perfect cover. My fingers dance across the holographic controls, activating the cloaking field. The rotor sound fades to silence as the craft's true form emerges - sleek Vakutan engineering at its finest.

"Computer, plot course to Base Alpha."

The ocean stretches beneath me, an endless blue expanse concealing humanity's greatest secret. My thoughts drift to Olivia, to the file she discovered. To the way she stands up to me without fear. So much fire in such a small human.

The navigation system chimes. I nose the shuttle down toward the waves. The dome of Base Alpha shimmers into view, its forcefield parting like liquid crystal as I descend into the underwater city.

"Welcome back, Captain," the AI greets as I touch down in the hangar.

Time to see what new Grolgath schemes need thwarting today. At least the endless war gives me something to focus on besides my growing feelings for my assistant.

The door to Pyke's office slides open with a soft hiss. My commander sits behind his desk, scrolling through holographic reports that paint his scales in an eerie blue glow.

"Another successful quarter at Rook Enterprises?"

"The humans remain none the wiser." I settle my bulk into the reinforced chair. "Though I'd rather be crushing Grolgath skulls than profit margins."

"Your financial work funds our entire operation."

"I'm a warrior, not an accountant." My frill bristles with frustration. "Warriors need battle, need the taste of victory. Not spreadsheets and board meetings."

"The Grolgath fight with subterfuge and manipulation. We must do the same."

"At least let me track down their agents. One good fight-"

"You'll have your battles soon enough." Pyke's expression hardens. "With those shape-shifting bastards, there's always another war brewing. But for now, you serve Veritas best as a briefcase warrior."

"A what?"

"You fight for humanity's future with market strategies instead of plasma rifles. The pen is mightier than the sword, as these humans say."

I slam my fist on his desk, cracking the surface.

"Just one Grolgath. Give me one to pummel."

"Patience, old friend. Your time will come."

"Speaking of recruits," Pyke says, "tell me about this human assistant of yours. The one who found our secure files."

"Olivia?" My frill perks up. "She's remarkable. Quick mind, fierce spirit. You should see how she handles the corporate raiders. Like a true warrior facing down enemy battalions."

"Go on."

"She questions everything, challenges assumptions. Perfect Veritas material. And her tactical instincts - she organized our latest merger like a battlefield campaign."

Pyke's scales shift to a knowing purple hue. "You seem quite... enthusiastic about her qualities."

"Pure professional assessment."

"Really? No other factors influencing your judgment?"

"What? No!" I spring from my chair. "She's human! Smooth skin instead of proper scales. No battle ridges, no warrior's frill. Why would I be attracted to-"

The words die in my throat as my gaze falls on the hologram on Pyke's desk - him and his human mate Sarah at their bonding ceremony.

"I mean... not that there's anything wrong with... I wasn't suggesting..."

Pyke's rumbling laugh echoes off the walls.

"Sit down before you hurt yourself, old friend."

I slump back into the chair, my scales flushing dark with embarrassment.

"Permission to shut up now, sir?"

"Fine. Combat assessment it is." I push away from Pyke's desk, my frill bristling with annoyance. "But I maintain my edge. Daily."

"Then you should pass with flying colors."

The training chamber hums to life as I enter. Blue light ripples across the walls, forming into combat drones. Their solid-light bodies flicker into existence - perfect replicas of various enemy combatants.

"Begin sequence," the computer announces.

The first drone charges. I sidestep, catching its arm and using its momentum to slam it into the floor. The satisfying crunch as it dissolves almost makes this worthwhile.

Two more attack from opposite sides. I drop and sweep, taking their legs out. A quick strike to each throat destroys them.

But even as I flow through the forms, muscle memory taking over, my mind drifts. To red hair and green eyes. To the way Olivia's face lights up when she masters a new skill. To her fierce determination when facing down corporate rivals.

My fist passes through another drone's chest. "Assessment complete. Score: 98.7%"

I barely notice. The attraction I felt at first was simple enough to handle. Aesthetic appreciation, nothing more. But now...

Now I catch myself watching the clock, counting minutes until our next meeting. Planning projects that require her input. Finding excuses to work late, just to spend more time in her presence.

My life before her feels distant, incomplete. Like black and white footage compared to vivid color.

"Assessment recorded," the computer says. "Would you like to run another sequence?"

I shake my head, trying to clear these dangerous thoughts.

"No. End program."

The chronometer flashes red. Dawn approaches - time to return to my human masquerade.

Back in the disguised shuttle, I engage the rotor simulation and lift off. The dome of Base Alpha vanishes beneath the waves as I ascend through layers of dark water into pre-dawn skies.

Manhattan's skyline pierces through morning mist. I land atop Rook Tower just as the sun crests the horizon. Perfect timing.

The elevator deposits me on the executive floor. Through the glass wall of my office, I spot Olivia at her desk. She's already deep in work mode, fingers flying across her keyboard while she juggles three different calls.

"No, that won't work for Mr. Rook's schedule... Yes, I understand it's urgent... How about next Tuesday?"

Her efficiency sends a surge of pride through my chest. In just months, she's mastered the art of corporate warfare. The way she wields that phone like a weapon, decimating would-be schedule-wreckers...

A paper slips from the fax machine, floating to the floor. Olivia bends to retrieve it, her skirt pulling tight across her...

By the seven moons of Vakuta. My body responds instantly, primitive urges surging through my carefully maintained human form. The transformation matrix wavers, threatening to reveal my true nature. I force my scales to stay beneath the surface, but certain... anatomical changes refuse to be denied.

"Mr. Rook!"

Olivia straightens, document in hand, and spots me lurking in the doorway. Her face lights up as she strides toward me, hips swaying with each step.

I grip my briefcase strategically in front of my waist, praying my suit jacket conceals the evidence of my inappropriate thoughts.

"Good morning! How was your trip to the Jersey Office?"

"It went fine," I say, trying to sidle around Olivia and get to my desk before she notices the effect she's having on me. My briefcase strategically placed, I attempt a casual stride, but my body is anything but casual right now.

Olivia, oblivious to my struggle, squints at me, her gaze zeroing in on my collar.

"Hold still, you've got something..." She gets on her tiptoes, reaching up to brush off whatever offending speck has caught her attention.

I freeze as she leans into me, her body pressing against mine in a way that would normally be welcome. But right now, it's a torture of the sweetest kind. She leans right against my erection, her softness meeting my hardness, and I have to muster every ounce of self-control not to react.

Olivia stiffens for a moment, her eyes widening as she feels the evidence of my arousal. But she recovers quickly, her face a mask of professionalism.

"There, got it," she says, brushing off my collar and stepping back as if nothing happened.

My heart stops as Olivia examines the translucent red object between her fingers. One of my scales. Damn this holographic disguise and its limited range. The projection only extends an inch from my true form, which means loose scales can fall through the illusion.

"What is this?" She holds it up to the light, her brow furrowed.

I struggle to keep my voice steady.

"Probably just a piece of plastic."

"It's too organic looking." She runs her thumb across its surface. "Almost like some kind of weird fish scale."

Before I can snatch it away, she tucks it into her blazer pocket. My scales flush dark beneath my human disguise. That scale contains my DNA, my alien signature. If she shows it to anyone with advanced scanning equipment...

I need to get it back. Now.

But how? I can't just reach into her pocket. The headlines would write themselves:

"Tech Billionaire Gropes Assistant."

Then inspiration strikes. Lunch. Public setting, perfect excuse for gentlemanly behavior. When I pull out her chair, I can slip my hand into her pocket and retrieve the scale in one smooth motion.

"Ms. McGee..." I clear my throat. "Olivia. Would you like to join me for lunch?"

Olivia reaches for her briefcase, already in efficiency mode. "Let me grab the Mendoza proposal. They wanted to discuss the merger over lunch, right?"

"No proposals today." I keep my voice steady despite the mounting urgency. That scale burns in my mind like a beacon. "Just lunch."

She pauses, briefcase half-lifted. "Just lunch? We never do that. If there's no meeting, we order in and eat at our desks."

"This time we're doing it differently." I adjust my tie, buying time to choose my next words carefully. "Unless my company is objectionable. You're free to turn me down."

Her cheeks flush pink, matching her hair. "Objectionable? No! Not at all! I mean..." She sets down her briefcase with a thunk. "Your company is completely objectionable. I mean unobjectionable."

She takes a breath, steadying herself. "What I mean is, I'd love to have lunch with you. Sir."

The way she says 'sir' sends an inappropriate shiver down my spine, making my frill itch beneath its holographic camouflage. Focus, warrior. The scale is the mission. Nothing else matters.

But watching her flutter about, trying to hide her enthusiasm while simultaneously broadcasting it to anyone with functioning eyes... it stirs something deeper than mere physical attraction.

No. I am a Vakutan captain on a vital mission to save humanity's timeline. I cannot afford such distractions. Even if she does look absolutely radiant when she blushes like that.