"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.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Well, you are a secretary."

"Assistant," Talia corrected with a withering glare. "Ouch," she said, holding her broken nose.

"Okay, if you know so much, why don't you tell me what the hell you're talking about being 'Madeover' into a 'D-lister?'"

"I am a Class IV right now, but once I am married to my fiancé, Prince Oliver, I will be Class I. Class I's get the A-listers."

"Prince Oliver?"

"Oh, he did not tell you? I suppose that is because you are only a lowly human."

"Some respect here. I have the weapon, dammit."

"So?"

"Are you kidding me? If I have the weapon, it means I have the power. The playing field is over here. You're supposed to be cowering. Don't you know how this works?" Had this woman ever seen an action movie? "I'm asking you for the last time. I'll say it real slow. What is an A-lister?"

"Hollywood A-lister. Duh."

What was she talking about? Did these aliens try to look like Hollywood stars? Did Sterling, the biggest A-lister of them all, have something to do with their evil scheme? "What?" Andie said, stunned. Suddenly, Talia had the Cannon and Andie, an empty hand.

How had she let herself get distracted?

Talia took aim. "Sorry to see you go. Not."

Oliver popped into the room.

"Oliver," said Talia, finger on what must have been the trigger button.

"Talia, no," he yelled. He ran toward the evil secretary at near light speed. Okay, maybe not quite that fast. But before he got there, Andie had already kicked the Cannon out of Talia's grasp just as it was firing. The laser fried a ficus a foot away from Andie and fell to the floor. The Star Enquirer seemed a risky place for foliage.

"What the hell is going on here? I leave for five minutes. Talia?" demanded Oliver.

"I was not going to kill her," said Talia, wiping the blood from her nose, which was already pert and perfect again.

"Yeah, sure," said Andie, pointing to the spot where the ficus used to stand.

"Talia, this is the last polypropylene beverage transfer tube."

"What?" said Andie.

Oliver rubbed his temple. "Straw. The last straw. You are fired. I will have you escorted to the brig."

Wow, this day was turning out much better than Andie had thought when she woke with a crimson face and non-functioning vocal cords. She could not suppress a grin only because she knew it would piss Talia off.

"You cannot fire me. Wait until I tell Cyra what you and that human were doing in your office."

"Tell her whatever you like. Guards!"

Two scantily clad supermodels emerged from columns of smog-colored smoke on either side of Talia. Both guards balanced on thigh-high black leather boots with seven-inch stiletto heels on legs already strictly longer than necessary for non-giraffed individuals. Besides the boots, they wore crisscrossed studded black leather banners across their chests and belts slung low, bearing the same Emerson Lieder sunburst as the one on the Star Enquirer lobby floor. One of the Amazonian creatures had red hair, the other looked so much like Andie (albeit an idealized version of what Andie might look like after being bitten by Edward Cullen and changed into a powerful, gorgeous, immortal vampire) that Andie gasped.

While the look-alike guard was taller and thinner, her hair had the same waves and striations of light browns and dark browns and all the other browns, and identical hazel eyes, narrowed at Andie in disgust. Andie wondered if she should get a facial, better posture and pump some serious iron. While the guard seemed to loathe Andie, she winked at Talia and smiled conspiratorially. Oliver didn't seem to notice.

"Sir?" said the Andie look-alike.

"Ixis, Raina. You will accompany Talia to the brig. Collect your things, Talia," said Oliver.

"Fine." Talia went for the Cannon.

"I believe that is company property," said Oliver.

"Fine." She slithered back around her desk and picked up her Starbucks."

"I believe that is also company property."

Talia flashed her evil blue stare at Oliver and poured the contents over her computer keyboard. "You will suffer for this human. See you at our wedding, sweetheart."

"Goodbye, Talia," said Oliver. As the guards reached for Talia, they wobbled on their heels, giving Talia the split-second opportunity to leap over her desk, grab the Cannon and pop out of the room. Andie made a mental note to recommend more practical footwear for the guards. She should be scared with an armed Talia on the loose, but what she felt right now was relief that no one was currently pointing a laser at her.

"Guards."

"Sorry, sir. We will find her."

"See that you do."

"She mentioned a hair appointment," said Andie helpfully. "At Bergdorf's." Villains can't help bragging even though it inevitably gets them into trouble.

"We will start there," said the redheaded guard right before they popped out of existence like bath bubbles.

Oliver pulled Andie into his arms. "I am sorry for what she did," said Oliver. "I did not know she had lost all reason."

"It's okay," said Andie. "But how did you know to come back so fast?"

"Dad was ... what should I say? ... busy. So I returned. Nice kick, by the way. Remind me never to make you angry."

"Consider yourself reminded," said Andie. "Which reminds me. Prince?"

In order to convince Oliver it was okay to leave his presence and check on her staff, Andie first had to force her hands to stop trembling and second, make vehement assertions as to her wellbeing. After all, she had pointed out, Talia no longer worked at the Star Enquirer and would soon be captured and jailed.

Andie knew she deserved a nap after being poisoned, eating waffles for 3 days, surviving the side-effects of carbonated-orange antidote, kissing Oliver, and being attacked by Talia. But she'd already missed too many days, and Mr. Montgomery would expect his tax return. If she had to stay and work here, she'd better get the job done; hence the lie to Oliver.

Now that she was in the quiet elevator ignoring her ashen reflection in the mirrors (why did elevators always have mirrors?), on the way to the dungeon, er, Accounting, she tried to process what had happened.

"You kissed Oliver," Bad Andie said.

So much for quiet. "Is that all you ever think about?"

"I have to. You never do."

"I have more important things on my mind."

"Nothing is more important than sex."

"Actually, there is. Death and taxes. I'd pretty much like to avoid death if I can, but it's hard when there's an angry, jealous, vain alien secretary with perfect eyebrows who wants to blast my molecules apart. You saw what she did to that poor ficus. And the IRS is after me because of the Star Enquirer's insane tax return. So sex is the last thing on my mind."

"What's new?"

"Apparently Oliver is some kind of alien prince."

"I know. That's kinda hot."

"Stop with the images of Prince Oliver in medieval garb. Not helping. I need to focus."

"Has anyone ever told you that you're a killjoy?"

"Yes. I think you've told me that about a thousand times. Anyway, the elevator doors are opening now, and I haven't figured out a thing. Enough with the naked prince images."

"As if!"

Andie exited the elevator to an icy blast of motor oil-scented air. The thrum of machinery came from behind that blasted secret door. She had to find out what was in there. But first, she had to find out what Talia meant about being "made over" into an A-lister. Sterling was an A-lister. Was there a connection? But then, perhaps the answer could be found beyond that door? Maybe now that she and Oliver had an official date, he'd tell her more. There was something big going on at the Star Enquirer. Bigger than just an alien-run tabloid. And Andie would do anything to figure out what it was if it meant keeping Sterling safe.

"Sure," Bad Andie said. "It has nothing to do with you being curious."

"Stop listening in on my personal thoughts. I wasn't talking to you."

"What else is there to do in here?"

Andie arrived at the door to Accounting. It was new, smelled like varnish, and was fully attached to the door frame. What had happened in her absence?

***

The condition of the Accounting Department was as shockingly good now as it was bad when she arrived for work on her first day.

The tall, pale, bald Zuts leapt to their neon Nike-clad feet and cheered. "We thought you would not come back, Andie."

"It's great to see you guys. Wow. There've been a lot of changes since I left."

Indeed, the hole in the sheetrock from the computer debacle on her first day had at last been mended and a lush new ficus prospered in a basket in the corner. Each desk had a shiny new computer. What looked like a toy model of a Star Wars security droid—with a spherical, spiked body that resembled a mace from the Middle Ages and two robot-looking legs stuck out from underneath—was perched on a new stainless sink and counter next to a microwave. The carpet was new. Clean. And lavender. The room smelled like roasting coffee beans, and Andie could practically see the caffeinic energy vibrating off her staff.

"It was because of what you said to Mr. Lieder," said Cash, polishing a leg of the weird robot with the corner of his chartreuse shirt."

"What did I say?"

"You told him about the scary ocean," said Ernest.

"OSHA?"

"That is right," said Rosalie, smiling at Ernest. "And Mr. Lieder said also that it would make you happy, Andie. So now we have all this." She gestured her very long arm at the clean, new, and very lavender accounting department.

"I don't know what to say," said Andie. "Wow."

"Oliver did it for you," Bad Andie said.

"That can't be true. I had already quit."

"He knew you cared about the staff."

"Or maybe he knew I'd be back. That I'd end up being poisoned. Which is infuriating."

"Or romantic."

"You are warped."

"Are you well, Andie?" Frank's skin looked even paler. He seemed to be the shyest member of the staff.

"Uh, I suppose I've been better. Talia tried to shoot me a few minutes ago."

"That is bad," said Cash, plunked down into his chair. On his desk, his Star Wars action figure war, still waged, even after the office makeover. He opened his drawer, peeked in, smiled, closed it, opened it again, smiled, then shut it. Zuts apparently had a lot of weird quirks and mannerisms, and she'd better learn them quickly. (Speaking of weird quirks, Rosalie was walking around Andie, letting out little barking sounds.) "I will take care of Talia."

Again with the "taking care" of "people." She did not want Cash fired for violent behavior. "It's okay, Cash. She missed and got fired, and it was only a moment of terror."

Rosalie stopped circling and touched Andie's forehead with the back of her cold, dry hand like her mom used to do when she was a little girl to check for fever. A tiny jolt of electricity prickled at her temple. Rosalie frowned. "You are not well at all, Andie. I recommend a caramel vanilla latte and schnecken."

Andie wrinkled her brow. "Shcnecken?"

"Snail' in German," Bad Andie said.

"How can you possibly know that?"

"I paid attention in German class," said Bad Andie, who never paid attention to anything academic.

"Uh, huh."

"The teacher was hot."

"Snails?" Andie said aloud, trying not to look too horrified. She didn't want to offend Rosalie. Maybe snails are a common food on Amu. But weird that snails developed in another world. The Amu too, for that matter. Why did they look so human? What were the chances such similar biological beings could develop light-years apart? Maybe the Amu were like the Thermians in Galaxy Quest and really looked like giant octopuses. Was Andie about to go out on a date with an octopus? What if they had kids someday? Would they have eight legs, bulbous heads, and squirt her with ink when they didn't want to get up for school?

"You're already planning to have his children, and you call me Bad?"