Total pages in book: 44
Estimated words: 40274 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 201(@200wpm)___ 161(@250wpm)___ 134(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 40274 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 201(@200wpm)___ 161(@250wpm)___ 134(@300wpm)
The hours are good and the pay is great.
I don’t know what I’m doing, but I’d be a fool to quit.
There’s just one problem.
My boss thinks I’m hot, and sweet, and cute.
(He really doesn’t know me that well.)
The next thing I know?
I’m sleeping with him.
And he wants to marry me.
They used to call that making an honest woman.
(The irony is intense.)
There’s just one problem.
When he finds out how much I’ve lied, I’m going to lose it all.
My job, my home, and my big, handsome alien boss.
She thinks I don't know.
Watching this human brat muddle her way through what she imagines might be work is the best part of my day.
I know she’s a liar.
I know she’s terrified to tell me the truth.
And I know just how to teach her the lesson she needs to learn before I make her eternally mine.
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
1 MEETING MY ALIEN BOSS
Jessica
Desperate times call for desperate measures. That’s what I tell myself as Earth retreats behind me, turning from a big mass of buildings and people and events and news to a little blue and green dot.
“I’m as qualified for this job as anybody else who has absolutely no qualifications for it,” I murmur to myself. This is my version of a pep talk. I need it. This is the most important interview of my life, and I am in no way prepared.
For starters, this job is with an advanced race of aliens. Business people have always seemed like an advanced race of aliens to me anyway. This is just going to be another case of seeing how the other half live, I tell myself.
The job description is for a human-alien liaison. They’re looking for the best and brightest humanity has to offer in order to help them communicate with us. The call went out across all media channels, along with an email address we could direct our responses to. Some people thought it was a scam because aliens don’t have email and maybe they don’t, but they sure read my resume and invited me to be sucked up in one of the clear proboscis tubes that runs from our planet to the great glowing Halo that has dominated the skies of our world for weeks now.
I’m wearing borrowed clothes. Okay, stolen clothes. They still have the tags on them. I left them on because I doubt aliens know what dye packs are, but I am sure they will know what a big black/blue splotch is.
I’m clutching my interview token in my sweaty palm. It was sent to me three days after I sent my resume in. It has the image of the Halo on it, and some script in language I can’t read. The token gained me access to the elevator, the end of which terminates in Times Square, which is not nearly as busy these days as it used to be.
Armed alien guards wearing head-to-toe body armor had the place blocked off, but they respected the token and let me through. Nobody knows what these aliens look like as yet, though there are rumors that they shine like rainbows. So far they are nothing but booming voices in the sky and a cascade of incredible energy washing over the planet. Some say they’re going to save us. Others say they’ve come to destroy us. All I know is I need a job.
That’s what got me here, encapsulated in a clear tube like Augustus Gloop in the chocolate factory, except there’s no river of candy, there’s the steady unfolding of eternity all around me. I thought this part would be scary, but as soon as the planet retreats below me I find that my brain stops being able to process the sensation of height so much and just relaxes into the nothingness. We were not made to stand in the depths of space. We were made to worry about falling off tall things, but where I am isn’t high. I’m beyond high.
I can see my face and body somewhat reflected in the side of the see-through chamber. I got my hair done specially for the interview, thick dark locks tamed into something that looks professional as long as it doesn’t get wet, and as long as it stays tied back. My glasses, which I wear because I can’t afford contact lenses, add another level of geeky professional vibe, I hope. My outfit is basic, but tidy. Black skirt, black blazer, white blouse. I look like I’m going to interview at a bank or attend a parole hearing.
I look up now, away from space and the world beneath, up to the glowing circle above. This is the Halo. This is where the aliens came from.
“Welcome to Eros Station,” a soothing voice speaking with a New York accent says as my little capsule is sucked out of space and into alien perfection.