Taken by the Aliens

by Anna Lewis

  ***

  Abbie stood nervously in the side lines with Travis, while they watched Rex step up to that podium. They had wanted to do it all together, but Rex and his publicist had wanted him to do it alone – after all, he was the one that the public were most interested in, so it made a lot of sense.

  They gripped hands, nervous for how this was going to pan out, and watched intently as he started to speak.

  “Thank you everyone for coming to hear my side of the story,” Rex said over the microphone in front of him. “I have lots to tell you.”

  Abbie’s heart raced and her mouth ran dry with pure terror. This was so scary, the worst thing that she’d ever experienced in her entire life, and she had no idea how she was supposed to react to it. Travis was anxious too, frozen to the spot, but he was much better at disguising that – hiding it from his face – so Abbie couldn’t tell. She wanted to cling to him, hold on to him for dear life, but she couldn’t when there were so many people in the room; people that were undoubtedly going to stare at her as soon as the announcement was made. In fact, that thought was so powerful that she even slipped her hand away from his, not wanting anyone to see them touching. If Travis was upset, he didn’t show it on his face. He remained stoic and serious, focused only on what was happening in front of him.

  Abbie had discussed it further with her mom, but she wasn’t sure how much she understood, and Rex had told his own family – to a very mixed reaction – so there was a lot riding on this. If the rest of the world could accept what they meant to one another, then their friends and family would come afterwards… surely?

  “I would like to start by saying that I would appreciate it greatly if you would all keep an open mind.” He took a few deep breaths, finally looking nervous. “So you have all heard about my girlfriend – Abbie – and her supposed indiscretion.” The room buzzed for a moment before falling into a hushed silence. “Well she did nothing wrong. She is an amazing woman who I love very much…”

  What? Love?

  Abbie glanced up at Travis, but he didn’t look shocked at all. Her mind was reeling, but she tried to put that information in a box to deal with later.

  “Abbie and I are in a polyamorous relationship with Travis Bunney, the man she was pictured kissing, and we are very happy…”

  More was said, but Abbie didn’t get to hear it over the questions yelled from around the room. There was so much noise, but she could pick out a few, instantly overwhelming her.

  How does that work?

  What do your families think about this?

  How will this work in the long term?

  All of a sudden she felt dirty. She didn’t like all those people picking through her private life like it was public property, and she started to feel overwhelmed. Travis gripped tightly onto her, holding her upright, but she found herself falling anyway.

  “We love you,” Travis whispered to her, pulling her from the room. “We both love you very much, and we can make this work no matter what.”

  Love.

  That was the only word she needed to get her through anything.

  ***

  It wasn’t easy. In fact, the three of them had to live through nearly a year of intense media interest, abuse and confrontation about their relationship. But somehow, with the help of each other, they made it through and came out of the other end of it stronger than ever. They were well and truly in love, and extremely solid. It seemed like their temporary relationship was becoming something permanent after all, which made Abbie very happy.

  After the first few months of exhausting media scrutiny, which they all really hated, another celebrity got caught in a drug-addled orgy, and the attention and focus was taken off of the three of them. The respite allowed Abbie to see just how it was all worth it. Now that people had lost interest, she was able to see the relationship clearly, and she liked it. Their lives were much easier, and they’d finally gotten to a place where they were all really happy.

  Even their families were starting to come to terms with them, including Rex’s mom who had decided to believe that true love was more important than anything else. They hadn't met her yet, but they felt like that time was coming and they were all prepared for it. They had already suffered one awkward dinner with Abbie’s family. She did not want a repeat experience.

  Abbie lived in Rex’s home, and so did Travis these days – most of the time anyway. He kept his own home for when any of them needed space, which helped them to keep as strong as they were. It allowed them to take time out when needed, giving them the breathing space to grow.

  But things were about to change all over again. The boys didn’t know it yet, but Abbie was sitting in the bathroom, waiting for that stick to reveal one line or two. They hadn't exactly planned to bring a baby into their situation, but they hadn't exactly been careful either. Abbie was happy though, she knew that if they were strong enough to go through all that they’d suffered, then they could do this too.

  Of course, they wouldn’t know who the biological father was, but that didn’t matter. They were a solid family unit, and that amount of love would be enough to keep any child safe and happy.

  The long three minutes that she spent waiting for the truth to reveal itself, she imagined how their future would look, and it was all really good. They would remain a solid unit, they would raise their child, and they would be happy forever more.

  Tick, tick, tick…

  Her eyes finally flickered down, watching the test reveal itself, and it was the news that she’d wanted all along. Two blue lines… positive.

  They were having a baby!

  “Travis!” She called out excitedly. “Rex! Come here, you’ll never guess what!”

  She raced from the bathroom, too excited to wait for them to join her. She needed to tell them about their new future, and she needed to do it now.

  THE END

  = Bonus Book 7 of 11 =

  Billionaires’ Game

  Shelby Stuart stepped into the pristine, marble foyer of Archer Enterprises, took a deep breath and crossed her fingers that her boss, Jackson Archer, would be in a good mood that day. Sometimes Jackson was a dazzling charmer, sometimes he was in a dark temper. When you worked for the world’s most handsome billionaire, you never knew what you were going to get.

  People milled around Shelby as they waited for the elevator, some greeting her, some avoiding her. She didn’t really mind that people kept their distance. As Jackson Archer’s personal assistant and senior member of his personal staff, she thought it best to keep the rest of the company at arm’s length.

  “I don’t trust any of them, Shelby,” Jackson had said to her on more than one occasion after a board meeting or stockholder conference. Jackson had inherited Archer Enterprises after his father’s death only a year ago, and it was obvious that some of the senior staff had a deep-seated resentment toward the boy who seemed to have usurped their places.

  Not that anyone would dare call Jackson Archer a “boy.” Shelby was positive that if you opened the dictionary and looked in the M section, she would find a picture of Jackson right next to the definition of the word “man.” Sometimes, Jackson was too attractive to be believed.

  Shelby glanced across the lobby of Archer Enterprises, to the enormous painting of Jackson that hung behind the security desk. From his position on the wall, Jackson’s smiling, oil-painted doppelganger seemed to inspect everyone who walked beneath him, and he clearly found them all wanting. His grin was broad and white, his clear blue eyes sparkled, but there was a hint of disdain in his expression that the artist couldn’t seem to avoid.

  Perhaps that natural disdain is what sparked an intense dislike of Jackson among his peers. The upper-echelon of billionaires in America was a bit like a fraternity: everyone knew each other, and everyone knew each other’s business. But Jackson remained apart from all that. None of the other men—old white men, for the most part—were particularly cordial to Jackson. He tended to get the cold shoulder when he arri
ved at social events.

  Which reminds me, Shelby thought, glancing down at the gold embossed invitation clutched in her manicured hands. He’s going to hate this.

  The card had arrived weeks ago, an exclusive invitation to a charity gala at the Central Opera, a centuries-old institution in New York City and one of the chicest non-profit boards in town. Jackson had waved Shelby off, agreeing to attend but insisting that Shelby take care of the details.

  As Shelby responded to the invite in the outer-office, Jackson had been entertaining the Greek ambassador’s daughter in his inner-office. Shelby rolled her eyes as the sound of the Greek girl’s laughter tinkled through the firmly closed door, but still wrote down “Alecta Eliopoulous” as Jackson’s plus one to the gala.

  That turned out to be a mistake, because the next day, Jackson was out with another heiress, Ana Estes, treating her to a picnic on his private yacht. It looked to Shelby like Anna was in and Alecta was out, so she’d contacted the Opera and changed the name of Jackson’s plus one. Turns out, Shelby had moved too quickly yet again.

  Jackson had a steady stream of dates that week, and Shelby eventually grew exhausted trying to keep up with which woman would be attending the Opera gala with him. Finally, she told the nice, slightly frazzled woman who was coordinating the benefit to just leave the place card for dinner seating blank and that she’d let them know on the day of the gala. Between now and then, Jackson could switch dates dozens of times.

  It was now the day of the gala, and Shelby desperately hoped that Jackson had finally decided which dazzling socialite or heiress would be decorating his arm at that evening’s soiree. She promised, swore, that she’d give the gala organizers a name by noon. And it would look simply scandalous if Jackson showed up at the event and his date’s place card was simply blank.

  The press would have a field day with that one.

  The elevator dinged and Shelby stepped in, nodding politely to the elevator operator. The operator was a hold-over from Jackson’s father’s days of running the business. Although hospitality personnel went out of vogue sometime in the mid-1980’s, Jackson’s father insisted that his buildings and businesses maintained a level of old-fashioned hospitality and charm. Jackson, for all his arrogance and self-absorption, adhered to this peculiar aesthetic of his father’s.

  “How are you today, Ms. Stuart?” inquired Perkins, the elderly operator, nodding his chin deferentially.

  “I’m quite well, Perkins,” Shelby replied, following the pattern of social nicety. “Thank you for asking.”

  They fell into a comfortable silence as the elevator sped up dozens of floors to Shelby’s destination: the Archer penthouse.

  The mirrored walls of the elevator showed Perkins looking down at his own hands, so Shelby stole a moment to inspect her own reflection. A sleek, polished executive assistant looked back at her: curly black hair pulled into a neat bun at the nape of her neck, bright green eyes peering through dark-rimmed glasses, a tailored black dress clung to her curves and a dreadfully expensive pair of black and white high heels finished off the look.

  While some of her critics on the Archer Enterprises board might judge Shelby for her youth—she was only thirty-two years old—they couldn’t find fault in her appearance. She was every inch the capable, put together young businesswoman. Too bad her business involved babysitting the CEO.

  “Shelby!” Jackson crowed as she stepped off the elevator. He was seated at her desk, feet propped up on the rich mahogany surface. She secretly wondered if he’d waited for the elevator to arrive before adopting the position. His pose was calculated in its casualness.

  “Mr. Archer,” she replied. “How are you this morning?”

  Jackson slid his feet off her desk, looking a bit irritated that she hadn’t called him out on his bad behavior. “Everything’s terrible, Shelby,” he pouted, pursing his delicate lips in frustration. “Those additional Archer Enterprises shares are hitting the market sometime this week and if we don’t snatch them up, we’re fucked. Excuse my language.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that, sir,” she responded, stepping around him to drop her brown leather briefcase at her desk. Although he no longer had his feet propped up, he was still in her chair. “What can I do to help?”

  Jackson’s bright blue eyes lit up. “I knew you could help, Shelby,” he said. “Could you please contact the Opera gala people—”

  Shelby did her best not to roll her eyes, but couldn’t completely resist. Of course, even in the middle of a stock acquisition emergency, Jackson would be in a last-minute panic about the gala. He’d done his best to ignore Shelby every time she’d mentioned it and it wasn’t until now, the very last possible second, that he’d decided to give the benefit his attention.

  “Of course, Mr. Archer,” Shelby told him, cutting him off. “I’ll be happy to provide them with the name of your guest.”

  A slow, almost tentative grin slid over Jackson’s face, his blue eyes twinkling apologetically. “Actually, Shelby, I need to talk to you about that.”

  Shelby raised one dark, perfectly groomed eyebrow. “What exactly do you mean, Mr. Archer?” she replied, her voice impossibly cool. When Jackson Archer started to turn on his boyish charm, she knew she was in dangerous water. Jackson’s charm was his deadliest weapon.

  “I don’t exactly have a date for the evening,” Jackson admitted, his grin widening enough to show off his dimples. The dimples were the last line of defense in the Jackson Archer charm strategy. He must need a big favor if he was breaking out the dimples.

  Shelby sighed. “But you’ve been seeing so, so many women, Mr. Archer.”

  “I know, right?” Jackson sighed. “But they’re all mad at me or suddenly dating movie producers or, I don’t know, gone back to Greece or some nonsense.”

  Shelby chewed on the inside of her mouth. Normally, she tried to hide any outward signs of nervousness or anxiety—such things were signs of weakness and there was no room for the weak in the upper-echelon of New York businessmen—but she allowed herself this one small bad habit. Especially when Jackson was clearly up to something.

  “Do you need me to arrange a companion for this evening, Mr. Archer?” Shelby asked, but what she meant was Please don’t ask me to hire you an escort.

  Jackson noticed her subtext, his eyebrows shooting up and his clear blue eyes widening in surprise. “No! Oh, god no, Shelby,” he replied, the grin wiped off his face. “Tonight’s going to be hard enough as it is without worrying about wrangling a call girl.”

  Shelby didn’t even try to hide her eye roll at that one.

  Jackson ignored her, plowing on through his diatribe. “I mean, half the board members will be there, judging me for not being my father. Plus, the head of Slaterson Inc. will be there and he keeps trying to get me to sell my shares of this hotel to him—”

  Shelby smiled politely and tuned him out. Sometimes Jackson needed to rant for a bit before he got to his point. When he got like this, she just let him talk until he wore himself out. A short phrase caught her attention again.

  “—and of course, fucking Andre Kennedy will be there, gloating about his prize for—”

  Andre Kennedy was Jackson’s bitter rival. While most of the men of wealth in the city, and country, were old and getting older, Andre Kennedy was the only one who compared to Jackson in looks, success and, most importantly, age. Both men were barely over thirty-five, but Jackson had inherited his wealth and Andre had earned his.

  Although Jackson never brought it up, it was clear that he was horribly jealous of Andre’s rise to fame and fortune. Where tabloids promoted Jackson’s jet-setting, womanizing habits, they lauded Andre for advancements in science and all the patents he held.

  They were both on equal financial footing, but Andre was getting all the glory.

  It drove Jackson crazy.

  “So?” Jackson asked. “Will you do it?”

  Shelby realized that she’d barely been paying attention to the stream of words flowin
g from her boss’ mouth. She’d been too busy thinking about the handsome, successful Andre Kennedy.

  “Do what now, sir?” she stammered. Shelby hated being caught off her guard.

  Jackson furrowed his brow. “Go to the gala tonight with me,” he clarified. “As my date?”

  Oh no, Shelby thought. What have I gotten myself into?

  ***

  The only positive thing about being Jackson’s date to the gala, as far as Shelby was concerned, was that she got to take the afternoon off to go buy a gown, and have her nails done and hair styled, all on Jackson Archer’s dime. And, for a favor of this magnitude, it was going to be a very, very expensive dress.

  Shelby had attended a party with Jackson once before, back when she was an associate executive assistant to his father, Jackson Archer Sr. Jackson had been dating a B-list Hollywood actress at the time, currently creating controversy for a graphic nude scene, and his father had put his foot down and absolutely forbade Jackson from bringing her to the gala as his date. A screaming match had ensued and, although Shelby wasn’t privy to what actually happened, another member of the Archer Enterprises staff told her that Mr. Archer Sr. had threatened to disinherit his son if he dared bring the actress to the party.

  So, Shelby had been dressed, groomed, and sent into battle as date/babysitter to the younger Mr. Archer. The night had been awful: Jackson had barely spoken to her and gotten absolutely sloshed at the gala. They’d left early and she’d loaded him into the limo with every ounce of strength and persuasion that she possessed.

  Neither of them ever talked about it, but Shelby counted that night as one of the worst of her entire career. Frankly, she was shocked that Jackson hadn’t fired her when his father passed and he took possession of the company. She thought for sure he’d kick her to the curb, so she wouldn’t always be there, a reminder of that disastrous gala.