Page 2 of My Big Fat Fake Alien
I swallow hard, my usual defenses faltering. “Real? In this place? That’s a first.”
He doesn’t respond, just watches me with those impossible eyes, and for the first time in a long time, I feel seen. Not ogled, not objectified—seen. It’s terrifying and exhilarating all at once.
“Well,” I say, my voice softer than I intended, “enjoy the champagne.”
I turn to leave, but his voice stops me. “Raven.”
I freeze, my heart skipping a beat. How does he know my name? Slowly, I turn back to him.
“How do you?—?”
“I make it a point to know what’s important,” he says simply, his gaze never leaving mine.
I give him a small smile, my mind racing. “You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?”
“You have no idea,” he says, and there’s a hint of something in his voice—something dangerous—that quickens my pulse.
I leave the table, my legs unsteady, my thoughts a jumbled mess. Who is this guy? And why does he make me feel like I’m standing on the edge of a cliff, ready to fall?
I know I should get back to work, but my feet feel like they’re rooted to the spot. His presence is magnetic, pulling me in even as my brain screamsdanger.I tug nervously at the spiked collar around my neck, the metal cool against my fingertips. It’s always been a statement piece, not a damn invitation.
“You must be a very dominant woman,” he says.
I bark out a laugh, louder than I mean to. “What makes you think that?”
He gestures to my collar, his fingers tracing the air like he’s sketching the spikes. “It’s the mark of a dominant to wear spikes like that.”
My cheeks burn, and I’m suddenly hyper-aware of the collar digging into my skin. “Oh, I don’t know anything about that,” I say, waving a hand like I can bat the words away. “But since you know my name, it’s only fair you tell me who you are.”
He leans back, that same unreadable smile playing on his lips. “Kirk Stephens.”
The name nags at me, like I’ve heard it somewhere before, but I can’t place it. I narrow my eyes, trying to piece it together. “Football player?”
He shakes his head, amused.
“Pro wrestler?”
Another shake.
I cross my arms, pretending to be annoyed. “Okay, Mr. Mystery, whatdoyou do if you’re not out there tackling people or body-slamming them through tables?”
He leans forward, resting his elbows on the table, his eyes never leaving mine. “I do a lot of things. I travel, see exotic places, meet interesting people. I make obscene amounts of money, and—” He pauses, his gaze intensifying. “When I’m lucky, I get to make love to a beautiful woman like yourself.”
My stomach bottoms out, and for a split second, I’m dizzy. But then it hits me—that familiar warning bell in the back ofmy mind.Don’t fall for it.I’ve been down this road before—the charm, the promises, the inevitable crash and burn. Love bombing, gaslighting, abuse. Not again. Never again.
“I have to go,” I say quickly, turning away before I can change my mind.
“Stay.”
The word is a command, not a request, and it stops me in my tracks. His voice carries a kind of authority that makes my knees weak, and I hate how much I want to obey. I hesitate, my back still to him.
He pats the seat next to him, not saying another word. I turn around, my resolve crumbling as I meet his gaze. My legs feel like jelly as I take a step back toward the table.
“Sit,” he commands, and my legs betray me before my brain can catch up. The chair is cool against the back of my thighs as I sink into it, my pulse thrumming like the bassline from the club below. I cross my arms, trying to hold onto some semblance of control. “I really should get back to work,” I say, but the words sound weak, even to me.
He tilts his head, that infuriatingly confident smile never wavering. “Hush now, Raven. You’re a customer service specialist, yes? Well, I’m a customer. Service me.”
My jaw tightens, and I lean forward, my elbows digging into the table. “Hey buddy, I don’t know what kind of transaction you think you made, but all you bought was a bottle of champagne.”
