The question of why Andie had ended up back on Oliver's office couch after having dramatically quit her job working for him and his fellow evil aliens may be answered by the following axiom: "No one can live forever on waffles."
It's true.
She didn't want to upset Sterling, who felt responsible for what happened to Andie and also kept asking questions about aliens, which she didn't even want to risk answering in writing. And if her mom saw the condition of Andie's skin, she would insist on quinoa/kale/carob poultices, or hold seances in her bejeweled turban, or ask her "psychic" seeing-eye dog, Pilot, for answers.
So Andie had no choice but to have food delivered to her apartment. And the only option was General Sherman's Chicken & Waffle House. It had a website where she could order from her laptop without having to talk to anyone (a plus when you can't talk) and the delivery guy there didn't care about Andie's severe skin rash.
The other delivery people tried to act all cool about it, but some of them couldn't even look her in the eye. Others recounted long stories about how their Aunt Millie once had the same thing and cured it with rice poultices or virgin sacrifice or whatever. And of course Andie, being mute, couldn't shut them up by saying: "No, it's an alien poison and Aunt Millie didn't have the same thing."
So that left General Sherman's. And since Andie despised chicken, that meant waffles.
After two days, to combat the boredom and pain, Andie turned on her laptop. (She had been afraid to turn on the television after the strawberry margarita cowboy incident). Unable to help herself, she pulled up the Star Enquirer website and entered her password to log into the accounts. She was in! The Star Enquirer hadn't even thought about removing her as an authorized user. These aliens had so much to learn about internal controls! So as she dug into her waffles, dripping syrup on the keyboard, she scanned the accounts, hoping to find anything that to help her with an antidote. Like maybe an account labeled "Antidote" that had a bunch of ingredients charged there. But no such luck.
So after three days of maple syrup-soaked, perforated, cooked batter, it all became intolerable. But even worse was her conscience. She'd left her staff to the merciless Cyra. She had to make sure they were all right. This had absolutely nothing to do with seeing Oliver.
"Yeah, right," Bad Andie said.
Andie huffed and grabbed a white board and red dry-erase marker that had survived the purge of possessions, and headed to the Star Enquirer building. Even if she made a disparaging remark about Oliver's manhood, or alienhood, she was pretty sure he cared enough about her to end her suffering.
***
Here she was. Back in Oliver's office. On his couch. Where they'd shared that brief kiss. Where she'd thought he was incredibly hot. And even now, thanks to Bad Andie, naked images of the rippling muscles of his naked chest flashed across her consciousness.
Cut it out! At least she didn't need an audible voice to yell at Bad Andie.
I don't even know why I waste my talents on such a Philistine, said Bad Andie.
Quiet! I have things to do.
Bad Andie rolled her eyes. Wait, how can a disembodied voice that is really a manifestation of your subconscious roll her eyes? Apparently with Bad Andie, eye-rolling was more of a feeling than a physical act.
Anyway, here Andie was, mute, skin the color of ... well ... her red dry-erase marker, scribbling her request on the whiteboard.
Oliver sat behind his desk in his perfect suit, back straight, looking at Andie everywhere except her eyes in the same disgusted way the delivery people had. His mother, in her usual winter-white suit with a collar no doubt made from the fur of an endangered animal, was feeding the Venus fly traps live crickets from a Baggie. "Aren't the plants precious? Gifts from my garden," said Mrs. Lieder. "They remind me of home. Anyway, I did not mean to get sentimental. Tell us, why are you here, dear?"
Andie looked up from her whiteboard. Of course Mrs. Lieder knew why she'd come. The evidence was so, well, evident, that the room practically glowed red from the reflection of the overhead lighting off of Andie's skin.
Andie held up her sign so Oliver and Mrs. Lieder could read:
Maybe if she asked nicely, they'd give her the antidote, let her check up on her staff, and send her on her way.
"I knew you would return," said Mrs. Lieder. "Tell me, Ms. Bank. Are you planning to beg?" Her eyes narrowed with a dangerous predatory glint.
Andie erased the whiteboard and wrote and triple underlined (in case she hadn't made her point):
Maybe that was too harsh. But why did his mother have to be here? She had been pretty confident that Oliver would give her the antidote without a problem.
Mrs. Lieder laughed coldly, like Santa Claus would not, even if he did supposedly live in the North Pole and thereby be justified if his laugh was cold. Was the North Pole part of Canada? Andie wondered.
"Mother, please. I can handle this," said Oliver.
"You already had your chance, darling. Now it is my turn."
As if things couldn't get any worse, the door opened, and in walked Talia. The woman had the nerve to look like she had just stepped out of a Vogue cover shoot. "I like what you have done with your skin," said Talia, smirking at me. "I have the antidote. Oh, and Oliver, the lab says your human better not keep doing this because we are running low on supplies. What a shame if she had to go forever without speaking. Hello, Mrs. Lieder." Talia handed her the tiny vial of bubbling orange liquid.
"Hello, Talia dear. You are looking very pretty." Mrs. Lieder said this, glancing at Oliver. "Do you not think Talia is lovely today? Such a nice skin tone." Andie wanted to crown Oliver's mother with the whiteboard. But why ruin a perfectly good board?
"That will be all, Talia," said Oliver. Talia slammed the door (so unoriginal!) on her way out, but not hard enough to dislodge the plants and have one fall off a shelf on to Mrs. Lieder's perfect blonde bun.
"She has quite the temper," said Mrs. Lieder adoringly. "Reminds me of me when I was her age. I think. I cannot seem to remember much about that time in my life. Very odd. Never mind." Mrs. Lieder's eyes blinked a few times and her irises momentarily went back in her head. What next? Would her head swivel and then a bunch of demons would fly out? "Do you want the antidote?" Mrs. Lieder tapped the vial with one super-long pearlescent claw. Andie stuck out her hand. "I assume that polite gesture means, 'yes, please.' Well, my dear, I would love to give it to you, but I am afraid we have some business to attend to first. I cannot wait to negotiate with you, because frankly, negotiating with you without that annoying voice of yours is so much less, well, complicated."
What did she mean, annoying voice?
I'm glad someone else thinks so, said Bad Andie.
Shut up!
You talked to me first.
Ignoring her bad self, Andie wrote:
Mrs. Lieder gave that chilling laugh once again. Was it a trick of the light, or had a few tears trickled down her cheeks and frozen into tiny icicles? "I get it. You have made a joke. Very clever. Now be quiet, and listen. 'Be quiet!' Now I've made a joke. I know you are angry about the microchip, and that Oliver has explained we cannot remove it. And I'm also afraid that we need your services here at The Star Enquirer. More than you will ever know, as a matter of fact. So I would like to list your options as I see them:
"One: I can give you the antidote, and you may walk out of here. Of course next time you let something slip, even unintentionally, you will be in the same ruddy, mute condition you are right now ... forever." Mrs. Lieder paused to make sure the word "forever" sunk in. "And of course, as I can only assume you have surmised the other benefits of the microchip, that of hearing your every word and transmitting your location, you will also live knowing that we can ruin your reputation or abduct you whenever we like. So option one 'sucks for you' I think is the human phrase."
"I will ignore that because I am feeling so cheerful today. Option two: You can come back to work for us, earn a lot of money, be part of the biggest thing to happen to humanity since solving the mystery of the Big Bang."
"Mother, I do not believe humans have done that yet."
"Oh, bother. You humans are so primitive. Took you years to figure out that your puny sun was not the center of the universe. Nevertheless, here is the best part—we no longer listen in on you. You will have privacy once again, but you still won't be able to speak about us to outsiders."
"I am afraid we cannot turn off the tracking."
"Look, Miss Bank, I hate to remind you, you are not in a very good position to negotiate. I hold all the cards—all the power. All the antidote." Mrs. Lieder shook the vial.
Andie had to admit the despicable alien witch was right. At least if they stopped listening in, she could speak to Sterling on the phone. She could also see her friend as long as it was a visit that Sterling didn't mind being interrupted by paparazzi. If she could trust them.
"I love to win. Could you please write that a little larger so I can savor the joy?"
"Oh, dear, I've forgotten. There is one more stipulation." Mrs. Lieder glowered at both her son and Andie. "In case I did not make this clear enough in your interview, Miss Bank, there will be no unauthorized fraternization allowed in this company. Capisce?"
"No buts. Quiet Oliver. I will deal with you later. Here you go," said Mrs. Lieder, handing over the vial.
"Talk to you later," said Mrs. Lieder. "I will let myself out." Of course, she just disappeared in a cloud of smoke. Aliens!
Andie dropped the whiteboard and guzzled the antidote. It tasted like Orange Crush, which was a surprise. Andie thought anything given to her by Mrs. Lieder would be more along the lines of battery acid-flavored.
All right. Back to "Han Solo coming out of the carbonite prison mode." Why did the antidote have to have terrible side effects? Andie was convinced it was pure alien sadism.
***
Once the blindness and shivering subsided, Andie felt almost normal. She shrugged off Oliver's jacket; did he have to be such a gentleman? Once again he was sitting on the sofa next to her as she went through her "detox." Having him so close made it even harder for her to think straight. Why did she have to be attracted to an evil alien?
"Are you all right?" said Oliver. Boy, could he fake concern well.
"Is she gone?" Andie rasped. Her throat burned as if she'd swallowed a flaming sword.
"Yes."
"Then I'm sort of all right."
"I am so sorry, Andromeda. I did not invite her to meet with you. She is the Chairman of the Board, a fact she loves to queen over me."
"Queen? Huh? You mean 'lord over you?' Anyway, that doesn't matter. Don't even bother apologizing. You're all horrible."
"I am not like her," said Oliver.
"Right," said Andie. "Then prove it."
"How?"
"You can start by telling me what's behind the secret door next to Accounting, and why your company needs to spend thousands of dollars on red wine and shower caps? Are you doing something illegal to the IRS auditors who've been investigating our books? And most concerning of all, why are none of your investments in interest-bearing accounts? Oh, and also, you better not have done anything to my staff."
"I cannot tell you about the door. I wish I could, but it's for your own safety. Maybe someday."
"You mean if you tell me you'll have to kill me?"
"You could say that. I do trust you, but my primary goal is to keep you safe. My mother can be ruthless. My father stays on the ship because I think even he is afraid of her."
"Mommy Dearest."
"What?"
"Oh, it's a tell-all book by the daughter of a famous actress who apparently lacked any sort of parenting gene."
"That describes my mother. Once she locked me in my room for a week because I asked her something about growing up on Amu. Another time I was in Intergalactic Starship Training, and she came in and announced that she discovered an embarrassing hobby of mine. Some of my artwork I kept hidden—in front of everyone."
Andie could definitely identify with the embarrassing mom thing. But deliberately embarrassing her son in front of his peers was way worse than coming to P.E. with feminine napkins. And the truth was, she did start her period that day. Rachel was loving and warm. Cyra was a narcissistic iceberg. A lump formed in her throat imagining growing up with such a horrible woman. And it seemed like Oliver's dad was not very involved. "She sounds pretty awful."
"Mother is difficult to say the least," he whispered. "Oh, and by the way your staff are fine. They miss you terribly, however. I have never seen them so attached to anyone. You made quite an impression on them. On me too," he said, eyes doing that weird blue sparky thing again.
Which was quite attractive once you got past the whole "there's a guy next to me with literal lightning in his eyes" aspect.
Oh, come on already. Kiss him! snarled Bad Andie.
For once, Andie didn't have the energy to fight. She gave Oliver that "kiss me, kiss me" look that Anastasia gave Christian Grey when she had been nearly run over by that cyclist. Anyway, it was all imploring but not quite full-on begging.
He wrapped his arms around her. A blast of electricity circulated throughout Andie's body. She could almost see a force field of blue lightening surrounding them. Andie pressed her head into his chest and breathed in his spicy scent. She held the breath inside her lungs as if to hold a fragment of him inside her own body.
I can think of pleasanter things to have inside. Cue Bad Andie.
Are you never satisfied? Andie scolded.
No, and neither should you be.
"Before you get back to Accounting, I wanted to ask you one question," he breathed into her hair.
"Okay. But I might not answer. For your own safety you see."
"Will you have dinner with me?"
"You mean like a date?"
"I suppose that is what I intend."
"But didn't your 'mommy dearest' just give us the big 'no fraternization' warning?"
"Mommy, ha. I would never call her that. And yes, she threatened, but as her son, it is my responsibility to defy her. No one else would dare."
"But I thought you were engaged to Talia."
Oliver laughed. "Not true."
"Well, that's what Talia told me."
"She would like to be, but she is not my type."
Andie loved hearing him say those words. "And I am?"
"Yes."
"But why? Talia is like a supermodel. I am ... well ... not."
"You are very exotic to me, Andromeda."
"Only because I'm a different species."
"True. But it is also your spirit. Your honesty. You do not need constant approbation like Amu women. Frankly, I find them tiresome."
"Great. I mean great for me. What are you doing a week from Saturday?"
"On Saturdays I usually go for a spin in my spaceship. I must keep up my skills. Also, it is fun reading about the UFO sightings afterward on your internet. I would love to show it to you," he said, eyes sparkling, not with blue lightning, but with something more like adorable enthusiasm. "Why, did you have something else in mind?" He seemed completely serious about this—both the date and the spaceship practice.
"Well, it doesn't compare with buzzing Air Force installations and sending farmers to the loony bin, but I thought maybe you could come with me to the Ban Plastic Surgery Now! banquet." Andie would love the look on Sterling's face when she saw them. Sterling isn't the only one who can date the handsome.
"I would love to. Maybe I can do both."
Wow, was he offering to take her for a ride? What she would give to fly in a real spaceship. "Great. Oh, and one more request."
"Anything."
"Take out this goddamned microchip."
"You know I cannot," said Oliver. He folded her into his arms and breathed into her ear, "but I can tell you, Andromeda, you have a Type 3.7.2π microchip, and it can be an asset and a liability."
Oh, he knows accounting terms. Now that was a turn on!
What is wrong with you? said Bad Andie.
Ignoring you.
"How can it be an asset?" Andie asked.
"I do not have time to explain right now. I am late for a meeting with Father."
"Speaking of assets," said Andie, finally remembering what she wanted to ask. "Have you seen the investment report I did? The company can vastly improve its income and cash flow with a few simple changes."
"I have not seen this report, Andie."
Talia must have interfered and made sure Oliver didn't get it. Unbelievable.
Not as unbelievable as you cuddled up on a couch alone with a hot alien and you thinking about cash flow, said Bad Andie.
Talia burst through the door. Andie and Oliver separated like atoms splitting in nuclear fission. That 'woman' had the worst timing. "I have these articles for your approval."
"Thank you, Talia."
Oliver waited until after Talia slammed the door and whispered one last thing to Andie. "It is not true."
"What?"
"What you said about my male parts the other night."
Andie blushed. "I was pretty mad. But honestly, you listening in on my conversations was really creepy."
"I'm sorry. No more of that. I just thought you ought to know about the, what did you call it? Man sword?"
"Bye," Andie said as Oliver held the door open. Andie could not get the image of Oliver's male equipment out of her mind. All Bad Andie's of course—she could never let sexual imagery zoom by.
Andie tripped over the threshold, then popped up. "I'm fine." She waved goodbye to Oliver, who promptly disappeared. What was it with these aliens and their disappearing acts, and could she learn how to do it? She had to admit, it was pretty cool. Her head in the clouds, heart drumming a love song in her chest, Andie stumbled toward Talia's desk, barely noticing the Cannon sitting next to a Venti Starbucks. Andie should grab the Cannon and run to NASA or whatever with proof of aliens. But she didn't have a chance.
Talia appeared from beneath her desk like one of those scary jack-in-the-box clowns. Or maybe she looked more like a yellow jacket—with her yellow clothes, black hair, and metaphorical stinger coming out of her pert ass. Andie leapt as far from Talia as possible, meaning so far that the backs of her knees hit the floating coffee table. "Ow. Dammit." Her head hit the loveseat, luckily as it was softer than the table. The front side of her knees still bore bruises from the car accident. The sharp edge of the table must have sliced Andie's legs, though she felt nothing. Her legs were numb, i.e. she could not feel them. Blood seeped on to the table.
Talia jumped easily over her desk, the show off, clutching the Cannon. "You are ruining my furniture. You are ruining my life."
Because Andie was fairly certain she couldn't use her legs, she tried to back farther away on to the sofa using her upper body. She only succeeded in spreading the blood like a smear on a microscope slide. Andie tried to sit, but Talia pushed her down with one hand. God, this bitch was strong. Andie thought she ought to scream. She did, but no one came. Why had she asked for the sound monitoring on the microchip to be turned off?
"No one can hear you, puny human. You know that eyebrow is pissing me off." Talia set the Cannon on the floor and with her free hand, pulled some sort of stick out of her pocket. With the tip, she flicked light feather strokes along Andie's eyebrows. "Better," she said. Then she picked up the Cannon and trained the lens of the weapon at Andie's face. "Smile," she said sweetly.