By a Thread: A Grumpy Boss Romantic Comedy Page 11

  “Deal,” Ruth said.

  My lovely new phone made an angelic harp noise. My signal to hit the road. “Shit. I have to go.” I gathered my new coat, my old backpack, and the last few bites of fried rice. “Later, ladies.”

  “You look great,” Gola called after me.

  I raised a hand in the air and plowed my way toward the front of the building.

  I was delighted to find Nelson waiting for me at the curb.

  “Mind if I sit up front?” I asked him.

  “Not at all,” he said, opening the door for me.

  We chitchatted on the drive. Nelson had a wife, two daughters, and three granddaughters. He spent his weekends at soccer games and science fairs.

  The traffic gods smiled upon us. We were fifteen minutes early. I hopped out in front of a three-story brownstone and jogged up the stairs, my fancy new coat swirling around me nicely like the cape of a superhero.

  Had I done a better job with my hair and makeup this morning, I’d feel almost stylish.

  Stylish, in control, and basically killing it at my new job.

  I pressed the buzzer and smugly waited to succeed.

  * * *

  “Nelson, we have a problem,” I said, pulling the door shut and riffling through my bag for my phone.

  “I notice you returned without any four-legged passengers,” he mused.

  “There was a mix-up with the date. The dogs are at some fancy show in Connecticut.”

  “I hate when that happens,” he said.

  I found my phone and fired off a text to Linus.

  Me: There’s a problem.

  Linus: Do not bother me with problems. Dazzle me with solutions.

  Me: This is a big one.

  Linus: I’m deadly serious. I’m up to my well-groomed eyebrows in disasters. How can three models have pinkeye at the same time? Never mind. Don’t answer. Just solve the problem or don’t bother coming back.

  I was pretty sure he was going to regret that one. I could solve problems. But the solutions might not be up to his standards.

  Me: Fine. The photo shoot. What’s the vibe?

  Linus: Grey Gardens. Only less depressing and with more fashion. Now leave me alone.

  I could work with that. “Nelson, we need to make a stop.”

  18

  Dominic

  “Where are my dogs?” Linus demanded. He clapped his hands at a wardrobe assistant. “You there. Tell me how exactly we’re supposed to shoot this without any dogs.”

  The wardrobe assistant wisely tried to disappear into a hedgerow.

  It was fucking cold. February was right around the corner, and if there was anything colder and damper than January in New York, it was fucking February.

  Of course, fashion didn’t heed below-freezing temperatures. No. Fashion made its own rules outside of time and space and temperature. We descended upon Central Park with a team of forty people. It wasn’t even for the magazine. It was digital content for our YouTube channel and website.

  The models were huddled under blankets and coats around patio heaters staffers had hauled out here. There were cables and wires running everywhere except the fifteen feet of dreary, dead natural backdrop where we were supposed to be shooting models and dogs.

  Everyone was decked out in parkas and knit hats and gloves that made doing their jobs impossible. The skies were a dull gray, and I bet there would be snow tonight.

  A pretty whitewashing of snow was not the look we were going for here. We were shooting flower prints on a miserable, dead background. You know. Like the cavern in my chest where a heart should have been.

  This had all sounded fine and not completely stupid five months ago when it was brought up in an editorial meeting. Back when we were indoors and not battling frostbite. I shook my to-go cup of now cold tea and longed fervently for the days when my main fashion concerns were which cufflinks to wear and whether I should go with suspenders or a vest.

  “Since I have you, and absolutely nothing else is going right with this shoot, you’ll do a one-on-one with the camera while I find and fire Ally,” Linus said to me.

  “No. I won’t. And good luck with that.”

  The woman in question was the reason I was here. It wasn’t that I cared about her emergency Friday, it was that I was curious. A very important and, okay, maybe slightly ambiguous designation.

  “Yes,” he insisted. “And watch me. Why are you here anyway?” he asked, pausing as if noticing me for the first time.

  To check up on an annoyingly attractive admin. Fortunately, Linus wasn’t in the mood to wait for answers.

  “Never mind. I don’t actually care.” He snapped his fingers. “You there. Cameraperson. Get your tush over here and interview Mr. Russo on whatever the hell it is we’re doing.”

  The woman with the video camera sprinted toward me, and I swore under my breath.

  A guy from the media team with a scarf wrapped up to his eyeballs jogged after her.

  I glared at the red light on the camera.

  “We like to keep these informal, Mr. Russo.” Scarf Guy’s explanation was muffled by layers of blue and white stripes. “Just tell us what we’re doing out here.”

  “We’re freezing our collective asses off in Central Park,” I said.

  Scarf Guy laughed, mistaking my assholery for a sense of humor.

  I’d rectify that and make sure Linus had serious second thoughts about putting me in front of the camera ever again.

  I opened my mouth to deliver a scathing speech about whatever I felt like when someone shouted “Heel!” behind me.

  “Oh my God,” the camerawoman said, panning over my shoulder.

  I turned around and beheld the spectacle.

  Ally, in a tweed car coat that flapped in the wind behind her, was being dragged in my direction by four hulking dogs of questionable heritage.

  I’d checked the shoot notes before I left the office. Those were not dignified, well-groomed Afghan Hounds. Those were unruly, untrained mutts.

  “Where are my hounds?” Linus shrieked.

  “Scheduling conflict,” Ally called out, fruitlessly trying to dig her skinny heels into the sidewalk and stop the team of dogs before it plowed into him. “Bruno, sit!”

  The basset hound in a plaid sweater stopped abruptly and sat.

  I made a grab for one of the leashes before Ally was ripped in half by bad-mannered dogs who seemed hell-bent on sniffing things on opposite sides of the park. I came away with a psychotic chocolate lab who hurled himself at me. His front paws caught me in the gut, which apparently wasn’t high enough because the dog immediately leapt off the ground and into my arms. Long, pink dog tongue slathered my face.

  “What the h—” My words were choked off by a dog-instigated French kiss. I dodged the next assault, and the lab put his head on my shoulder and let out a sigh.

  “Aww. He thinks you’re his people,” the camerawoman said.

  “I’m nobody’s people,” I grumbled, wrestling away from joyful dog tongue. Dopey brown eyes looked into mine.

  Ally shoved the remaining leashes at Linus. The long-legged one was an interesting mottled gray and looked like it had been bred with a greyhound that had chased the rabbit on the race track a few times. The last one was a big-ass brindle pit bull with shoulders like a tank.

  “Where did you find these canine monstrosities?” Linus demanded, yanking a flask out of his jacket pocket with a free hand. “In a back-alley dumpster?”

  “Midtown Fur Friends Rescue. I promised them credit. Rescue name, dog names, and a link to the adoptables,” Ally answered, carefully reaching into her pocket.

  “These things are adoptable?” I asked. They looked like they could destroy an apartment in under two minutes.

  “They’re not that bad,” she insisted delusionally.

  The basset hound was happily trotting around Linus as he screamed, effectively ensnaring the man’s legs in leash.

  I choked out a laugh. I had to admit. The dog I was ho
lding might be ruining a perfectly good cashmere coat, but it was worth it seeing Linus lose his mind.

  Ally smiled up at me, and I forgot about the coat and Linus and the cold and the dog tongue.

  Scarf Guy hurried over and plucked the sixty pounds of dog out of my arms. “I’ll just take this before…” he trailed off and scurried away.

  Before what?

  Did I look like the kind of person who would drop-kick a homeless dog? Christ.

  “Here. Hold this one,” Ally said, shoving a tiny, scruffy, shivering thing into my hands. At least she didn’t seem to think I was going to devour it.

  “What the fuck is this, a hamster?”

  She pressed her lips together. “The shelter told me it’s a dog. But I’m not buying it. He might just be something one of the bigger ones coughed up. His name is Mr. Frisky, and he’s bonded to the one-eyed pit bull over there making time with your models.”

  The very large brindle dog was making moony eyes—correction, eye—at the women.

  “Aren’t you just the most handsomest boy in the whole world?” the Croatian, Kata, crooned to the beast.

  “His name is Pirate,” Ally whispered to me.

  “We can’t shoot with these mutants. Someone bring me a Xanax and a deep-dish pizza,” Linus wailed.

  “It’s your turn for his pep talk,” I said, nudging Ally forward. She grinned at me, and damned if I didn’t feel my own mouth responding.

  “You said solutions,” Ally said, taking the man by the shoulders. “Here’s your solution. Now show us how to make this work. Make it work, Linus, or a homeless dog just vomited in Label’s Escalade for no reason. Give us a reason.”

  The little blond ball shivered again, so I tucked it into my coat against my chest. “Your buddy is right there,” I told Mr. Frisky, pointing toward Pirate the pit bull who was curled up on one of the blankets belonging to a delighted model and showing the woman his belly. The hairball’s rat-like tail tapped out a happy beat.

  Linus pinched his eyebrows with his fingers. “This is impossible. This won’t work. We’ll be laughed out of the industry.”

  I waited for it.

  “Unless,” Linus said, lifting his head.

  “Unless?” Ally repeated.

  “I’m going to need sweaters, people. With flowers. And belts. Long, gold ones. Don’t just stand there!”

  19

  Ally

  “Give it to me straight. Am I fired?” I asked Linus, collapsing against the leather seat.

  He was slumped next to me as a car that hadn’t escorted five dogs all over the city headed toward the office. “I don’t have the energy to fire you,” he sighed.

  “I think it went well,” I said. “I checked with the online content team and they got video of Dominic getting French kissed by the lab.”

  That got the teensiest smile out of him.

  “It wasn’t the worst disaster in the history of my career,” he said magnanimously.

  “You managed to combine fashion, art, and good karma in one shoot. Face it, Linus. You’re a genius.”

  The rescue director had personally arrived to escort the dogs back to the shelter, and I’d noticed the Croatian model cornering her and demanding a business card. I had a feeling Pirate and Mr. Frisky were about to find the most amazing home.

  “Genius? Ha. I’m just lucky.” He produced the flask from his jacket and took a long pull before handing it to me.

  “Thanks. I can’t. I have a dance class to teach.”

  He wiggled the flask. “It’s not alcohol. It’s a super greens formula. It’s the reason I look like I’m forty-five when I’m actually 107.”

  Curious, I sipped and winced.

  “Beauty is pain,” he quipped.

  “And bitterness apparently,” I said, handing the flask back.

  “Speaking of bitter. You and Dominic seem to have a rapport.”

  “Do we?” I asked innocently, pretending not to notice his fishing expedition.

  “Oh, come on, Admin Ally. The man smiled. His mouth lifted at the corners, and the clouds parted and angels sang as a sunbeam held him in a spotlight.”

  I laughed. “Are you sure there’s no alcohol in that?”

  “I’m saying the man has been a miserable bastard since joining Label. But when he looks at you…”

  I wasn’t biting. “He looks like he wants to commit murder. We don’t get along. We don’t like each other. However, I do like annoying him.”

  “Well, keep annoying him. It’s nice to see him have a little fun for once.”

  “He is very serious,” I said, annoyed with myself for wanting to fish for information.

  “He was brought in to clean up a serious mess,” he said. “He takes family and business very seriously.”

  “He also takes the arrangement of pepperonis very seriously.”

  Linus sat up straighter. “That isn’t a rumor?”

  I shook my head. “Nope. He was an ass. I spelled out FU on his pizza. He had me fired. And Dalessandra offered me a job.”

  “You aren’t nearly as boring as you look, Admin Ally.”

  “It’s the coat,” I joked, brushing a clump of dog hair off the lovely wool.

  “You’re the only one brave enough to yell at him, you know.”

  “I’m not brave,” I told him. “He just can’t fire me, and this is all temporary. Once everything is fixed, I don’t plan on staying.”

  His eyes widened behind those owlish glasses. “This is a dream come true for a lot of girls out there.”

  “It’s not my dream.”

  “Is that why handsome ogres like Dominic don’t scare you?”

  “Or sharp-toothed Medusas like Malina.”

  Linus shuddered. “She’s one of the worst human beings I’ve ever met. And I work in fashion.”

  We rode in silence for a few minutes.

  “Thanks for my phone and laptop, by the way,” I said.

  He squinted at me behind his glasses.

  “Didn’t you arrange it with IT? I mean, since I was assigned to you this week, I assumed these came from you.”

  “I didn’t know that was a thing I could do,” he mused. “I wonder if I could requisition a new Dior scarf?”

  “If they’re not from you, and Zara had nothing to do with it, where did they come from?”

  “Maybe Dalessandra is playing Santa Claus,” he guessed.

  “Does she do that? With things other than jobs, I mean.”

  “Dalessandra does a lot of things that the rest of us don’t know about.”

  * * *

  It was almost six, and the forty-third floor was starting to clear out. A few panicked support staff sweated over emergency magazine tasks in cubicles and conference rooms. Some of the higher-ups were clustering near the elevator in gowns and black ties. Just another Monday night.

  I changed into my standard dance uniform, high-waisted tights and a cropped tank, and plopped down at my desk to check my emails while listening to tonight’s playlist before I left for class.

  The pay from the studio wasn’t great. But I loved dance enough that I allowed myself two classes a week instead of taking better paying shifts. I loved moving and sweating and feeling the music in my bones. It felt like a celebration of being alive.

  The kinds of classes I taught were less about technique and more about moving in ways that made you feel strong and sexy.

  Taylor Swift crooned in my ears as I shoulder shimmied and fired off an email.

  My old, crappy phone vibrated in staccato on the desk. It was a text from my neighbor.

  Mr. Mohammad: I visited your father. We ate Jell-O and watched Judge Judy.

  He’d included a GIF of two women Jell-O wrestling. I had some regrets about installing the GIF keyboard on his phone.

  I thanked him and gave him my new work phone number with explicit instructions that it was for emergencies only.

  He responded with a GIF of cartoon thumbs.

  “Working late?” Eve
n muffled by Taylor Swift, I recognized the voice.

  Dominic stood just outside my cubicle. Hands in his pockets. His coat was covered in muddy paw prints of varying sizes. I liked the imperfection. It made him look less formidable. More human.

  I pulled off my headphones. “Just catching up with work before I leave for more work.”

  He eyed my outfit, and I felt the heat of his gaze like it was an actual physical touch.

  I really needed to go on a date. Or at least get a hug.

  “Let me guess,” he said, blue eyes lingering for a moment on the strip of exposed skin between the bottom of my shirt and the waistband of my pants. “Kickboxing?”

  “Close,” I said. My work phone chimed out its reminder for me to get my butt in gear, and I rose. “Dance class,” I told him, pulling on my sweatshirt and tucking both phones into my backpack.

  “Did your family emergency resolve itself?” he asked.

  Surprised that he’d even given it another thought, I shot him a look. “Uh. Not yet, but it’s on the mend,” I told him. “Everything is under control.”

  “Good.”

  He waited, and I wondered if he was hoping I’d open up and tell him everything. More likely, he was hoping that I would shut up and leave.

  “New phone?” he asked.

  I looked up. His face was unreadable.

  “Did you have something to do with the IT fairies raining gifts on me today?”

  “Do I look like the type of person who would do that?” he challenged.

  “No. But the paw prints do soften you up a bit.”

  He glanced down at ruined cashmere. “Remind me to have Linus fire you.”

  I clamped a hair tie between my lips and worked my hair into a short tail. “Nice try. But I think he likes me,” I said around the hair tie. “You should give it a shot. Maybe give your blinding hatred a rest.”