Alien's Head
~~SLOANE
Another day, another round of awkward stares at the office—because apparently, everyone on my floor thinks I’m their boss now, even though my cubicle is still right next to theirs.
The worst part? I haven’t even accepted the promotion. I haven’t signed anything. But just one rumor, one sighting of me being called upstairs for a private meeting, and now I’m some unspoken corporate deity.
And just when I think the day can’t get any more absurd, I step outside after work and find that Knox has doubled my security detail. Two new bodyguards wait beside the usual pair, like I’m some kind of political target instead of a woman just trying to go home from work. I'm afraid to even ask what this means. He got a call from Hunter this morning, and now I’m getting additional security? What did Hunter say to him at his house?
I climb into the backseat and get crammed in between two enormous strangers. This car was never designed to seat five full-grown adults. Yet here we are. My knees are knocking against theirs. I try to shrink myself, folding my arms tight against my chest like it might make me invisible.
“You alright, ma’am?” the one on my right asks, his voice surprisingly gentle.
“Peachy,” I mumble, eyes fixed on the back of the driver’s seat.
This can’t keep going on. The constant protection. The feeling that I’m being watched even when I’m alone. Knox needs to find a way to deal with Mateo—once and for all. I don’t care how he does it. Kidnap the man, lock him in a basement, force a conversation if that’s what it takes to end this madness.
God.
What is wrong with me? The lines between right and wrong are dissolving faster than I can keep track of these days. And the terrifying part is, I’m starting to think I could live with it.
I don’t say anything else the entire ride home. When we arrive at Knox’s place, I slip out of the car quickly. The guards exit too but don’t follow me to the door, as always.
Inside, I let the door fall shut behind me with a quiet click.
Instinctively, I reach for the strap of my heel, prepared to take them off the way Knox insisted I do the first time I came over. But I pause, fingers hovering.
Knox doesn’t do that anymore.
Somewhere along the line, he’d stopped asking anyone to remove their shoes. At first, it was this unspoken rule in his house—like sacred ground. No shoes. No dirt. But now, he doesn’t seem to care. Doesn’t even bat an eye when I forget and walk across the hardwood in heels.
I still don’t know why he insisted on it back then—or what made him suddenly change his mind. And something tells me I never will. Not with how tight-lipped he is. Sometimes, when I catch myself wanting to ask about these random and weird things he does, I remind myself it’s Knox. There’s always a chance it traces back to a painful memory.
I lower my hand and let the strap be, heading deeper into the house.
There’s a scent of grilled rosemary and thyme in the air, light but mouthwatering. My stomach makes a sound of approval. As I round the hallway that leads to the dining space, I catch sight of a figure—slender, brunette, setting down a covered plate beside the folded napkins.
It takes a second for me to place her.
She looks up at the sound of my steps. “Evening.”
I stop, a little surprised. “Hi. Sharon, right?”
She straightens with a smile. “Yes.”
“Wow. I actually caught you in action. You’re not invisible today.”
She catches my meaning, of course.
“Mr. Hartley thinks we should all hang around more so you’ll be familiar with our faces. Security reasons mostly. So I stayed back to meet you.”
“Right,” I nod, stepping a little closer. “So I’ll be meeting everyone now?”
“Before the weekend,” she says. “The maids run different shifts—twice a week. The gardener, I don’t think you’ve met him yet, will be around tomorrow morning. A few other staff too. You’ll get used to us.”
“I’m sure you’re all wonderful,” I say with a smile. “Can’t wait to meet the rest.”
She gestures toward the kitchen. “Just holler when you and Mr. Hartley are ready for dinner.”
“He’s around?”
“Yeah. Upstairs. Been there since I came in.”
I nod, thanking her with a small wave, and take the stairs two at a time.
The master bedroom door is slightly ajar. I push it open gently and step inside.
There he is.
Knox stands near the window, sleeves rolled to the elbows, one foot braced against the side of a tall, bulky cardboard box. The box reaches almost to his height, and it leans a little with the pressure of his boot. He’s holding a box cutter in one hand, dragging the blade carefully through the thick packing tape along the top. His brow is furrowed in concentration, like he’s dissecting a puzzle instead of just opening a package.
He stops mid-slice and turns the moment he hears the door. His eyes meet mine, and they soften.
I walk in fully and shut the door behind me. “Hey, you.”
“Hey yourself,” he says. “You're home early.”
“What do you mean? This is when I always get home.”
“No. You're usually about thirty minutes later than now.”
I make a face, toe off my heels, and set my bag gently on the ottoman. “What are you, my timekeeper?”
“I’m just good with numbers.”
“Is that right?” I say, crossing the room.
Once I’m standing just in front of him, I tilt my head.
He drops his gaze to mine, and I reach up and lazily loop both arms around his neck. His body is warm, always warm. My fingers trail along the collar of his shirt as I look up through my lashes.
“Okay, Mr. Good-with-Numbers, solve this: One Sloane multiplied by one Knox, divided by one Sloane, plus one Knox.”
His eyes darken, mouth twitching in that way that always tells me I’ve lit a fuse.
He drops the box cutter to the side with a clink and slides one arm around my waist. Then he dips down and kisses me. It’s not rushed. His lips meet mine with warm pressure, as though he’s taking his time to memorize the shape of my mouth.
His hand moves to the back of my head, fingers spreading gently through my hair, pulling me in.
My heart trips. Not just from the kiss, but from the way it makes me feel loved and claimed. When he pulls back, I almost bring his head back. Almost.
Instead, I say, “Is that the answer to my question? A kiss?”
“No. If one Sloane multiplies one Knox, you get a creampie. When you divide that product by the addition of one Sloane and one Knox, you get two bald-headed twins in the space of nine months.”
I burst out laughing, resting my forehead against his chest for a second to steady myself. “You’re unbelievable, Knox.”
“That's God-honest mathematics.”
“If you keep talking about babies,” I say between chuckles, “we’re going to have a problem.”
He leans in again, this time pressing a kiss to the bridge of my nose. “I’ll convince you soon enough, Bunny.”
And then, just like that, he releases me gently and returns to the mysterious box. Like he didn’t just casually mention impregnating me with twins.
Still smiling, I move to stand beside him, watching as he bends to pick up the box cutter, which he then digs back into the top seam of the package. His hands are focused again, careful and practiced.
I squint at the enormous thing. “What is this?”
“You’ll see,” he says.
He keeps working at the box, tearing at the flaps until the outer shell falls away with a dull thunk. I decide to busy myself as I wait by asking some very important questions.
“You do realize my car is designed to carry four people, right?” I ask, arms folding across my chest.
“Uh-huh,” he mutters, crouching to slice a line from top to bottom of the box. Why he doesn't just pull the damn thing off is beyond me.
“You can’t send out an entire football team to protect me, Knox. I was riding awkwardly in the middle like a poorly placed sandwich.”
“Would you like an upgraded car with extra seats?”
“You’re so annoying.”
He grunts as the last bit of tape gives way. The box peels off entirely now, dropping to reveal a shape beneath protective packaging—those inflated air columns that cushion impact during shipping. The object beneath is large and greenish, but something familiar sticks out from the top.
I squint. “Is that an alien’s head?”