Alien Sex 102 by Allie Ritch Page A

and well kept as you like.”
    If she’d been a less dignified woman, Katra might have scratched his eyes out. Instead, she stiffened her spine and lifted her chin higher.
    “You odious, gold-digging bastard.” The last of her heart broke and dissolved beneath her rage. “I don’t need to be kept by you or any other man. And here’s some other news for you. You claim to be literate, but apparently you don’t read so well. My name, the name I like to throw around so much, is Wi’Yalu bu Pol ti Sala. The Wi’Yalu part is my mother’s legacy. The rest is from my father’s side, which welcomed my mother even when the Wi’Yalus you’re drooling over refused to acknowledge her marriage to a commoner. Those heartless snobs rejected her marriage and her low-bred daughter. I have nothing whatsoever to do with them, and they have nothing to do with me. So sorry to disappoint you.
    “For your information, I’m a ti Sala. Ti Sala as in the company that packages seasonings for sale in your local supermarket. I founded the business under my paternal grandmother’s name and built it from the ground up. Not that I actually work for a living, right? After all, I roll around in money all day just for fun.”
    Turning on her heel, she started for the door, but stopped when she reached it. Facing him one final time, she was pleased to see him stunned motionless in his seat.
    “Oh, and the reason I hire a driver? My mother died in an accident just before I got my license. After working a double shift at my father’s restaurant, she fell asleep while running manual controls and slammed into oncoming traffic. She was killed instantly. I never drive, and I pay multiple chauffeurs to transport me so none of them is overtaxed or overtired. I’m such a spoiled princess.”
    Turning her back on him, Katra stepped outside and closed the door with a quiet click that was far more damning than a hardy slam would have been. She kept her head up and refused to cry as she walked down his driveway and called her driver. Maybe time had dimmed her memory, but she didn’t remember her breakup with her fiancé hurting this badly.
    *
    As the door shut behind her, one word circulated through Krux’s brain: shit! All his life, he’d prided himself on his intelligence and savvy, his competence and control. In a matter of minutes, he’d just blown his temper and shown himself to be nothing but a boorish idiot, effectively throwing away all he’d ever won from his Duosien lover.
    Sitting there alone, he called himself every foul name in the galaxy. How could he have done this? He’d accused her of being condescending and prejudiced when he was both those things and so much worse.
    All along, there had been so many clues staring him in the face, but he’d ignored them. He’d had a name and a handful of news references and assumed he had her pegged. Now everything he’d experienced with her had to be realigned to fit this new truth. Of course his independent and fiery Duosien had her own business. She worked hard and had her own ambitions in life, and she’d earned her confidence the legitimate way, by learning self-reliance. He’d seen enough counterfeits in his life; he should have recognized the genuine article the moment he met her.
    Instead, he’d bullied her, insulted her and, so much worse, hurt her. Although she’d held herself proudly and not shed a single tear, he’d seen the pain glimmering in her eyes. As far as she was concerned, he was just another power-hungry user like her ex-fiancé—the man who’d coveted the Wi’Yalu name. That guy had gone after the wrong Wi’Yalu, as it turned out, which meant, godsdammit, that the woman Krux had seen in the Society photo was another Wi’Yalu altogether. Probably one of Katra’s cousins who snubbed her like the rest of that family. Besides, Katra had kept saying party , not ball —probably some cocktail party she’d gone to for a “business arrangement.”
    Krux had to get her