My Crazy Hot Interstellar Affair

11. Ficus is Collateral Damage in Office Dispute

"You're insane. In the office? You'll never get away with it," Andie said, trying to remain calm despite having no feeling in her legs, while the veins in her upper body were on fire from being drenched in several gallons of adrenaline. Fight or flight? Well, flight was out of the question due to numb-leg problem. Fight then. Be serious. Fight an inconceivably strong, pissed off alien holding a ray gun to her head?

If only Andie's legs worked, she could unleash her secret weapon—six hours of private kickboxing lessons with Sensei Roberto.

Andie had to distract Talia long enough for someone to discover them or for Andie's legs to join the living parts of her body. Probably asking about the investment report right now was the wrong tactic. She bit her lip, desperately trying to come up with something.

Talia lowered the Cannon. "Ugh, how could I forget lip gloss?" said Talia, extracting a tube from her pocket. She applied it carefully to Andie's mouth, licking her own shiny lips all the while. "Better. Kissing is just murder on a proper lip regimen. He is a good kisser, isn't he?" Talia said. Then she kissed Andie.

"What the heck? No!" Andie said, turning her head away.

It wasn't that bad, said Bad Andie.

"Why would you do that?" said Andie.

"I wanted to see what the big deal was with you. But turns out you are so ordinary."

Andie resisted wiping away Talia's kiss. The bitch kissed her? The bitch kissed him? Stay focused. Stay focused. Wait. She remembered something she learned in that self-defense class: exploit your opponent's weaknesses and use them to your advantage. And what was Talia's weakness? Easy.

"Before you kill me," Andie began, "I want to thank you for the makeover. It's hard to be ordinary, not that you'd understand what it's like, you being so pretty and all. You know a lot about makeup."

"I do," said Talia. "I'm glad you appreciate it. Oliver thinks feminine grooming is a waste of time, though I love it. But enough of the girl talk; I must vaporize you now, or I will be late for my 3 p.m. hair appointment at Bergdorf's. I had to kill to get in. Once I'm an A-lister, I will not have to worry about getting reservations anywhere."

Kill? Bergdorf's? A-lister? Appointment in New York, 3,000 miles away in five minutes?

"Oliver has kept you in the dark," she cackled in that Cyralike fashion. "Stop bleeding on my table," she screamed. She yanked Andie's feet hard and dropped her to the floor.

"Ouch, my feet." God, Andie couldn't follow Talia's mood swings. One minute they're just two girls chatting about make-up; the next Talia kisses her; then she's back to the whole murder idea.

Wait. Her feet. Andie felt them. She could feel her legs, and they hurt like hell—or more specifically, like someone in hell kept poking them with the tines of a red-hot trident. The Cannon lay on the floor, only inches away. Talia launched into a tirade about eye-shadow, giving Andie a split second to grab the weapon, leap to her feet, and sock Talia in the nose. A satisfying crunch reverberated throughout the office. Sterling would be so proud. "I need this face," Talia shrieked. "I will not be Madeover as a D-lister."

"What's a D-lister?" said Andie, heart still pounding and gasping for breath. Keeping the Cannon trained on Talia, Andie leaned against the desk in order to remain upright.

"You think I am going to tell you anything, human?" she spat blood.

"Spitting is not polite. And if you haven't noticed, I'm the one with the weapon." Andie had no clue how the thing worked, but Talia couldn't know that. "I'm thinking maybe you know nothing worth knowing." A little reverse psychology. It always worked in movies.