Page 8 of Alien War Daddy's Got Rizz
“I aim for consistency.”
He chuckles, handing me the drink. “Did you see the message from Jaiden?”
“I saw it.”
“And?”
“I’m ignoring it.”
He tuts softly, sitting across from me again—same seat, same posture, like this whole thing’s a rerun I didn’t realize I’d scheduled.
“She’s the best in the system,” he says.
“She’s a luxury consultant,” I counter. “I’m running a company that’s five wrong steps from being auctioned off to the lowest vulture.”
He doesn’t flinch. “You’re allowed to breathe.”
“I’m allowed to lose my job if I keep putting personal needs before corporate ones.”
“Yara.”
The way he says my name—calm, fatherly, full of the same tone he used to use when I scraped my knee as a kid and thought the world was ending.
“You’re burning out,” he says.
“I’m adapting.”
He leans forward. “You’re flinching from shadows. You didn’t sleep last night, did you?”
“I got four hours.”
He raises a skeptical brow.
“Okay, three.”
“I’m not saying you need to take a vacation,” he says. “I’m saying… take a night.”
“A date?” I scoff. “With a stranger? Do you know how many data leaks happen during social events like that? Do you know how many of our competitors have people on Jaiden’s payroll?”
He gives me a patient look. “Then we vet them.”
“There’s a negotiation with IHC’s board tomorrow,” I snap. “If I’m not fully prepped for Foster, we could lose a contract worth more than our last two quarters combined.”
He nods. “Reschedule it.”
“What?”
“Push it twenty-four hours. You’ve already got the leverage—Foster needs your cybertech more than you need his bid. You postpone, you signal confidence.”
I shake my head. “That’s not how?—”
“It’s a subtle flex,” he interrupts. “He’ll read it that way. Trust me.”
I stare at him, trying to read the subtext.
But Jonathan’s good. Too good.
Every time I think I’ve caught him manipulating something, he shows me the puppet strings were my own.
