"Where am I?" Andie mumbled. "Oh, my god. I'm blind." She shook like Han Solo when he emerged from his carbonite prison.

"You are in my office. On my sofa." Oliver's sexy baritone. Yum. Wait, I'm supposed to be freaking out, Andie reminded herself. Someone covered her with something warm and soft. It smelled like him, intoxicating—like cinnamon rolls fresh from the oven. Her mouth tasted like oranges.

"What am I doing here? Why aren't I in the hospital or dead? I thought I was going to die. Am I blind?" Her voice warbled.

"Your vision will return in a few minutes. It is merely a side-effect of the antidote."

"Antidote? Did someone poison me?" She tried to push herself up, but her arms were as limp as jellyfish tentacles.

"Do not overexert yourself."

The room took shape. First there was a fuzzy light. Then Oliver's face shimmered and slowly came into focus. He sat on a chair across from her, looking ... worried? And something else as well. Guilty? His office was different. He'd taken down the framed covers of Sterling. His creepy carnivorous plants still lined the shelves, however.

As Andie regained feeling, her arms prickled as if being jabbed by a million tiny needles.

"Feeling better?"

"Not really," said Andie, finally lifting an arm to rub her sore neck.

Oliver tugged at the collar of his starched white dress shirt. The outline of his muscular arms and torso showed through the thin fabric. Where was his jacket? Oh, that's what was covering her, keeping her warm.

"Can you sit?"

"I think so." She turned on her side and nearly rolled off the edge. Oliver caught her and set her down in a seated position as if she weighed nothing at all. "Thanks." Something niggled at her. She was pretty sure there was an important question she should ask, but what was it? Why couldn't she think straight? It was as if there was one of those cellphone jammers lodged in her right temple.

Oliver searched Andie's eyes. God, his eyes were incredible. And his mouth. And his chest. Even his earlobes were sexy. That strange, freaky, yet amazing blue light crackled in his irises. Andie leaned in to get a better look. So mesmerizing! Like being held in the thrall of a magician right before he saws you in half. Maybe that wasn't the best analogy. The light arced between them and drew her closer. Closer. What would it feel like to have his lips against hers?

WAIT!

No! Wait for what? Bad Andie protested, as she did whenever Andie thought before acting.

I should not be wanting to kiss my boss. Especially one who might've just tried to poison me, no matter what he looks like under his super-thin white shirt or whether he smells like fresh baked goods or whether his eyes are literally crackling with desire. This is actual life, NOT A ROMANCE NOVEL! I am obviously losing all sense of judgment! One does not want to kiss one's boss. Period.

You were finally acting almost normal! said Bad Andie.

Normal people do not act like sex maniacs at the office.

You need to get out more.

Oh, like you've been to more offices than I have? Because we are the same person, and you can't go anywhere without me!

You can believe that if it helps you sleep at night.

Whatever. Ignoring you now.

A flash of a now shirtless Oliver flashed across Andie's consciousness. Why was Bad Andie so good at conjuring libidinous images?

Thank you for the compliment, said Bad Andie, before retreating into the darkness. But Andie could tell her bad self was figuratively smirking as she disappeared.

"Andie? Andie? Earth to Andie," said Oliver, waving his hand across her face. "Are you there?"

"Um ... yeah ... I'm actually feeling much better."

Stop looking at his lips. Stop looking at his lips.

He leaned closer, narrowing his eyes as if he didn't quite believe her. Andie lifted her head toward his. Somewhere in the middle, their lips met. A tiny brush of skin against skin. But OH. MY. GOD! There was a flash of electricity, and all Andie wanted was for the kiss to be ... MORE!

Someone's throat cleared. "Oliver."

He pushed Andie away and stood. "Talia, I told you to knock."

"Sorry. I thought I would see if you and Miss Bank needed anything. But it looks like you two are ... doing fine," she said, flexing her fingers. "The antidote worked, I assume."

Antidote. That was what I was going to ask. "Who poisoned me?"

"You did," said Talia.

"Talia, that will be all," Oliver said.

"Wait a minute," said Andie. "Tell me what's going on. I have a right to know. Someone's going to tell me the truth."

"I thought I already did," said Talia. "You are just too stupid to believe it. By the way, did you know your eyebrows are asymmetrical? Did you notice that, Oliver?"

"Why would I believe someone who threatened to shoot me with her camera ray gun thingie? And by the way, I know those are real. Did you poison me?"

"No. Why don't you tell her about the microchip, Oliver?"

"That is enough," he glared at Talia. "Go."

"Oh, I will go all right. I have a few things to discuss with Mrs. Lieder."

"Talia, I am warning you ..." he said, through gritted teeth.

"No. I am warning you," said Talia. She slammed the door so hard, dozens of carnivorous plants fell off the shelves and exploded on to the floor—a mass of dirt and broken ceramics.

Apparently Oliver wasn't the only super-strong weirdo in this building.

"Nice person," said Andie. "Where d'you dig her up? Demons 'R Us?"

"I don't understand the reference," said Oliver, still watching the door.

"What was she talking about when she asked if I knew about a microchip?" said Andie.

Oliver exhaled, sat back down, and crossed his legs. "I guess I have to tell you. First, I tried not to hire you, but they overruled me."

"Thanks. That makes me feel so appreciated, you have no idea."

"I had no choice."

"About what."

"The microchip. I told them we could trust you."

"I'm getting creeped out here. Who is we? Where is this microchip? And who in the hell poisoned me? Tell me right this minute, or I'm outta here. I don't care how good a kisser you might be." Oliver's eyes brightened. "Please tell me I didn't say that last sentence out loud."

"Do you want me to lie?"

"Yes, but only about this one thing. For the rest of my questions, I want the truth."

"All right. No, you did not say that I might be a good kisser out loud."

"Thank god," Andie said.

"I told you I am not a god."

"Okay, we need to add that to my list of questions. Why do you keep thinking I'm accusing you of being god? What I do know is you are not a god. What I don't know is who, or rather, what, you are."

Out of the corner of her eye, something moved on the floor. Andie's mouth fell open, because apparently the plants and dirt were creeping toward the pots, which were reassembling themselves like things do in music videos sometimes when they're trying to be all deep and metaphorical and time reverses and broken stuff becomes whole again. But this wasn't a music video. There was no special-effects team making this happen.

"Uh, what's going on with your plants?"

"I'm from Amu," said Oliver.

"Is that in South America?" Andie chastised herself for the millionth time for daydreaming in geography class.

"No," said Oliver. "It is in the Andromeda galaxy, Andromeda."

"Is this your idea of a joke?"

"I would not joke with you about this. I would not dare."

"What do you mean?"

"Only that you have a bit of a violent streak."

"I do not."

"As I recall, there was an incident between you and one of our paparazzi at your friend Sterling's swimming pool."

"That was you?"

"Not me personally..."

"That is not an excuse for an invasion of privacy! Also, you're an alien?" Andie knew she should be way more freaked out about this. She ought to run out of the room, call NORAD or SETI or NASA or George Lucas or someone and say, THERE ARE ALIENS ON EARTH, PEOPLE! STOP WHAT YOU'RE DOING IMMEDIATELY AND DEAL WITH THIS NOW BECAUSE ... ALIENS!!! But she couldn't do this, because they would think she was a lunatic and would send her to a mental institution, which would help no one. She needed more information. And proof. Like the camera in her desk drawer.

The plants were now all reassembled and in their pots. Oliver got up and casually placed them back on the shelves.

"Yes, I am from the planet Amu as are all the other employees of The Star Enquirer, except for you of course."

"That explains a lot."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, for example, how you knew about Sterling's wrinkle before she did. Also, I need to talk to you about the naked strawberry-margarita-guzzling cowboy who urged me to call about this job. I assume you were behind that too. It's all bizarre, and frankly I'm getting a terrible headache trying to sort it all out."

"We have some fairly advanced techniques that allow us to get what we want. Hold on ... did you say something about a naked cowboy?"

"I did. I'd love to know more about how you pulled that one off. Using advanced alien techniques to trick innocent accountants into working for you is bad enough, but using them to ruin celebrities' lives is even worse. Not very sporting. I'd like to know a little more about these 'techniques.'"

"We are in business, Andromeda. Surely you understand the need to produce a healthy profit, especially in this tough intergalactic economy," he said, but it was like he was reciting a corporate press release, not speaking his own opinion.

"You mean the entire galaxy is in a recession? But where do I fit in to this picture? If you are all so advanced and perfect, why hire a paltry human? And do you have like the Force and real light sabers?" Of all the multitude of questions to ask, this is what she came up with? Though if she could come up with a real light saber, someone would have to pay attention.

Oliver narrowed his eyes, then touched his temple. "Ah, a Star Wars reference. Well, we do not have the Force or light sabers. But about why we need a human, the Amu are not without their weaknesses," said Oliver. "We find the recording and reporting of financial data on earth to be terrifying. The IRS is illogical. We have tried to figure out your laws, which are the most complex in all the galaxy. Recently we incurred some unpleasant fines and realized the Zuts, while better with accounting than normal Amu, were not enough to keep us out of trouble with your government. We needed a human."

"Zuts?"

"Your staff. They are Amu mutants. The result of some genetic testing."

The Zuts were serious when they said they were mutants. Poor things.

"This is all pretty messed up," said Andie, lost in the amount of shocking revelations. She needed to take one bizarre issue at a time. "Who poisoned me?"

"This is the hard part."

"I'm waiting."

"When you came to the interview, we had you ingest a microchip."

"The water?"

"Yes. It was a precaution. To prevent you from discussing anything about what happens here with other humans. Secrecy is paramount. We are not prepared to be on earth overtly."

"What does the microchip do?"

"If you try to speak of us to any outsider, you will have difficulty. Physically."

"You mean like my throat will close up, and I will die?"

"No. That part only lasts for a few minutes. After which, if not given the antidote, you get a terrible rash, go mute, and you might eventually lose motor control."

"For how long?"

"Forever."

"Are you kidding me? You're a bunch of lunatics. Who does something like that? Take it out. Now." How would she tell George Lucas or the President or NORAD about the aliens if she'd get a terrible rash and lose control of her muscles and go mute for the rest of her life?

"I cannot."

"Why not?"

"It is a dangerous surgical procedure. You could end up a mental vegetable."

"Goddammit. I cannot work here. I almost kissed you."

"I remember," said Oliver, staring at his clasped hands. "Andromeda, I apologize for the microchip. I know it was wrong. Believe me, if I had my choice, we wouldn't be operating a Hollywood tabloid or ab ... " He winced and pressed his own temple. "Never mind. All I'm trying to say is that I'm sorry."

"It was a mistake. This whole thing is a mistake. I can't work for aliens."

"Are you prejudiced against our kind?"

He had the audacity to look wounded. "What? No, of course not. I don't care about anyone's nationality or race or anything else. But what I do care about is integrity, and it's obvious that you and your, um, brethren, have none. You've lied to me, withheld information, and mucked around with my brain—an organ I am particularly attached to."

"It was for your own safety. If you'd spoken a word of our existence, the repercussions would've been far worse. I want nothing bad to befall you, Andromeda."

Was that a threat or did he really care? The way he looked at her, his eyes pleading, it seemed as if he was sorry. Truly. But it didn't matter. She couldn't work for aliens who invaded her brain. "I quit."

Andie threw Oliver's suit jacket at him, raced out of his office, and into the waiting area where Talia was bent over the floating coffee table, arranging issues of The Star Enquirer, Cyra seated on the sofa, in her white suit with her white bun—a pillar of ice.

"Leaving so soon?" said Talia. "One can only hope."

Cyra smiled. "She is not leaving just yet."

"Oh, yes I am," said Andie, pressing the button for the elevator.

"Some parting advice. Do something about those eyebrows," said Talia.

"You should do something about your personality," retorted Andie.

"You are not going anywhere," Cyra said.

"Mother. Let her go."

Obviously Oliver couldn't wait for Andie to leave. And why did this bother her? Luckily, the elevator doors opened quickly, and she escaped this lunacy.

But as she descended, Andie worried about her accounting staff. Former accounting staff. What would happen to them? What if they all got fired? And now The Star Enquirer would probably go after Sterling with a vengeance. And worse, Andie had a feeling the microchip wasn't just to keep her from blabbing their secret. It all made sense now. They were planning to use Andie to stalk Sterling, and every moment Andie spent with Sterling put her friend at risk.

Also, there were aliens on earth, and she couldn't reveal this to humanity!

Who cares about humanity? griped Bad Andie. That guy could have given us the sex of a lifetime.

Could you please shut up?