By a Thread: A Grumpy Boss Romantic Comedy Read online

  “Magic.”

  “Exactly.” The eyebrow he arched was elegant. “Turn for me?”

  I shrugged. He pulled me in like we were on the dance floor and then gently pushed me away. I twirled like that faceless ballerina in the jewelry box my dad got me for my fifth birthday to store all my plastic rings and bracelets.

  Then he was playfully pulling me back in. On a devilish grin, he used my momentum and leaned me back over his leg in an extravagant dip.

  The guests around us broke into spontaneous applause, and I came up laughing. God, it felt good to laugh.

  Someone at the bar behind us slammed a crystal glass down hard enough to crack it.

  “Let me help you with that, sir,” the bartender said, taking the broken glass from Dominic. That glower was a whole lot warmer up close. I felt like my dress was going to catch fire, burn off my body, and leave me standing here naked. Maybe I should have worn pasties again.

  “Dominic.” Christian turned his wattage on my boss and offered him that friendly manshake with the shoulder slap. “Good to see you. I’m hearing a lot of good things about you at Label.”

  Dom’s eyes blazed with something unrecognizable. He was looking at me.

  “Do you have a minute? I’d like to discuss some logistics.” The question was for Christian, but Dom’s eyes burned into my flesh like a brand. The hand he clamped on Christian’s shoulder didn’t look friendly as he steered my dance partner away from me.

  “Honey, I don’t know what that was about,” the bartender said, staring after the men. “But Vest Guy looks like he can’t decide if he wants to spank you or devour you.”

  I blinked. “So I’m not imagining it?”

  “That was a code nuclear. If I had lady parts and took him to bed, I’d be concerned about my vagina spontaneously exploding.”

  It was a real concern.

  “I think I need another drink.”

  “I think you do too,” he said placing another flute of champagne on the bar and then pouring a shot. “This is to take the edge off Vagina Exploding Vest Guy.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Cheers, doll.”

  I made a few rounds, checking in on Dalessandra, and landed with a few of the ad sales reps near the kitchen. We’d astutely discovered we got first dibs on trayed appetizers if we actively stalked the waitstaff.

  I kept tabs on Dominic as he circulated the room. Every time it looked as if he were heading in my direction, I made a hasty exit and went somewhere else. I’d even hidden in the restroom for twenty minutes trying to calm down. He was prowling. We were circling each other, and I just didn’t have it in me for another argument or another ten reasons why I wasn’t good enough for him.

  “Can we just talk about how delicious Dominic Russo looks tonight?” Nina from advertising sighed into her wine glass. She was tall and slim with untamable curly hair and blue eyes that always seemed to twinkle.

  “Yes, please,” Ruth said, feigning a swoon.

  “I don’t think it’s fair that someone that attractive isn’t dating. Me. Dating me,” Copywriter Missie said. Missie was a petite little thing who had a tendency to burst into song when she was nervous.

  “What’s his deal?” asked Gola, who was looking entirely too fabulous in a navy slip dress that highlighted her truly fantastic shoulders.

  “Yeah, Ally. What’s his deal?” Ruth asked.

  All eyes turned in my direction.

  “Uh, how should I know?”

  “You work five feet from the man. How is your brain still functioning?” Nina asked. “Mine would have turned to hormonal mush by now.”

  “Have you tried giving up cheese?” I offered.

  “Ally is immune to the guy,” Gola insisted.

  “Immune? I wouldn’t go that far,” I said, pretending not to remember that I’d recently put new batteries for my vibrator on my shopping list.

  “He’s so different from his dad. Like, besides the looks, I can’t believe they’re related,” Missie said.

  “Yeah, Dominic Russo wouldn’t corner someone in the copy room and show them his dick,” Gola agreed.

  No, he wouldn’t. Not even if she—I—wanted him to.

  “Isn’t that a pity?” Missie said.

  We all laughed. Some champagne made its way up my nose.

  “It’s a little ironic, isn’t it, that what’s harassment from one douche would be welcome coming from someone else?” Gola mused.

  “Consent makes everything sexy,” Ruth said.

  “To consent,” I said, raising my glass.

  “I’d consent all over Dominic Russo if he’d let me,” the adorably drunk Missie said to the bottom of her cocktail.

  “Did that really happen? In the copy room, I mean?” I asked, swinging the conversation back in the direction from whence it had come.

  “Girl, Paul Russo was a straight-up creeper,” Nina said. “The day he left, a bunch of us went out at lunch and bought cheap ass champagne and drank a toast to never having to get our asses groped again.”

  “And then we did it again when Dominic came on board,” Missie added dreamily. “Because he’s so beautiful.”

  “You guys ever think about telling Dominic that?” I asked.

  “What? That we think he’s crazy hot? Like ‘the devil created him, he’s that hot’ hot?” Nina frowned.

  “Uh. No. The part about you’re glad he’s here and you like working with him.”

  “You mean actually speak to that fine man filet? Nope. No thanks. I once ran into him coming out of a conference room, and rather than apologize, I sprinted into the bathroom. The men’s bathroom,” Missie confessed. “He’s so beautiful and broody, and I just want to be the one to tame him and show him love.” She sang the last few words Broadway-style.

  “But he’s so ungettable. I think that’s what I like about him best. If I could ‘get’ him, I’d be beautiful and special and obviously really good in bed because he’s not the type of man to settle for anything less.” Ruth sighed.

  I covered my laugh with another sip of champagne. Dominic would literally die if he could hear this conversation.

  “What’s it like being his assistant?” Gola demanded.

  “Yes, spill. All the details.”

  Why was everyone pumping me for information on the man tonight? “Uh. I don’t know. He likes tea. He’s crotchety on the outside, but he’s mostly an okay human being.”

  They waited raptly for more Dominic tidbits.

  “He listens when I talk. He’s careful, conscientious. He cares about what he’s doing. He is definitely not his father. Overall, he’s a good boss.”

  “You guys fight a lot. Not gonna lie, it’s totally hot. I want to be you when I grow up,” Missie trilled.

  “We just rub each other the wrong way. And I’m only with him until his admin Greta comes back. Here’s hoping I end up with a husband who surprises me with a two-month European tour next, right?”

  They exchanged glances.

  “What?”

  “Her husband didn’t surprise her,” Nina said. “Dominic sent her away.”

  41

  Ally

  I was blinking so rapidly, my eyelashes felt like hummingbird wings.

  “Dominic sent Greta away?” I asked Nina, going for nonchalance.

  “Would any of you lovely ladies like to try—”

  “Not now, Carl!” I yelled at the approaching server with his tray of butterflied shrimp. The man ran off with his appetizers.

  “Oh, yeah,” Nina said, waving a hand. “I heard it from a friend of a friend of a friend. Dominic personally arranged the vacation time with HR. He called Jasmine—the grumpy one with zero camera skills—at home at two a.m. on a Friday night and said he needed the deal done that weekend.”

  “Technically she wasn’t at home. She was out clubbing with a super cute jazz singer she met on a pub crawl,” Missie chimed in.

  “Wait a second. Grumpy HR Jasmine, the mid-sneeze immortalizer, goes clubbin
g with jazz singers?” I asked. “You know what? Never mind. Please continue.”

  “Anyway, he said it was a thank you for putting up with his bullshit for so long. He paid out of pocket for her time off and her travel. Can you imagine?” Nina gushed.

  “Two a.m. on a Friday?” I asked.

  “What would he have been doing at that time of night that he decided he needed to send his assistant away for two months?” Gola asked.

  “Maybe she witnessed him committing a murder,” I said nervously.

  I knew exactly what he’d been doing that Friday night. It would have been about ten minutes after I stormed out of his townhouse in my fancy stripper clothes.

  I needed another shot from potentially bisexual bartender guy.

  By the next morning, I’d had the promotion and “signing bonus.” I knew he’d puppet-mastered me into it. I just hadn’t realized how diabolical he’d been. I thought he’d taken advantage of a situation, not manipulated his admin into a sixty-day paid vacation.

  “Not to stir up the rumor mill, Ally,” Nina said, pulling me out of my bitter fugue state, “but I think he likes you. Like really likes you.”

  “Or hates you,” Missie added. “We honestly can’t decide. We go back and forth about it. I personally hope he hates you because he’s saving all his love for me. But he looks at you like he wants to throttle you or throw you out of a moving vehicle or—”

  “Fuck your brains out,” Nina filled in helpfully.

  I choked on my own spit. “Guys, I’m not like sleeping my way to the top. I assure you. And Dominic has no interest in me whatsoever.”

  “First of all, you’re no Malina. You wouldn’t bang your boss to get ahead. You’d bang him because he’s so hot I bet he can make scrambled eggs on his abs,” Gola insisted. “He’s said that though? About not being interested in you?”

  I closed my eyes. “On multiple occasions.”

  “He’s lying. He’s totally lying,” Ruth squealed.

  “I’ve never seen a man look at a woman like that. Like he’s a kid looking in the window of a candy store and he’s deciding if he’s willing to break the glass to get to the candy and devour it,” Missie said, glassy-eyed.

  “Well, that’s an uncomfortable description,” I said.

  I felt a thrill of heat work its way down my spine.

  “He’s looking at you right now,” Nina said without moving her lips, which made it all the more suspicious. Everyone but me whipped around to zero in on Dominic.

  “Definitely wants to throw her off a roof.”

  “After he gives her like ten orgasms.”

  “Can I please be you when I grow up?” Missie whisper-sang.

  “Why wouldn’t you two just get together?” Ruth asked, fanning herself with a cocktail napkin.

  “Besides the fact that I’m not his type, he’s not my type, he’s not interested in me, and sleeping with coworkers is a bad idea?”

  “Yeah. Besides all that,” Ruth said.

  “His dad,” I said.

  I faced four confused-looking women. “We’re not picking up what you’re putting down,” Gola said.

  “He takes your inability to stare directly into his beauty and your mad escapes to the men’s room to mean you’re afraid of him. You know, like you think he’s another pervert.”

  Their resounding chorus of “Are you fucking kidding me?” was instantaneous and loud enough that half of the room turned to see what all the fuss was about.

  “Oh my God! Pull yourselves together,” I said, shushing them.

  “You know. If we lowered some of the barriers, maybe he’d make his move on Ally?” Ruth said.

  “Lowered barriers? Guys, I don’t think we should be conspiring against management.”

  “We’re conspiring for him. Not against him,” Gola mused. “If Dominic understood that we thought he was a good boss, that we weren’t comparing him to his dad, maybe he’d break the glass and eat the candy.”

  “No, no, no. Nope. Nope. Uh-uh. No one is conspiring against or for anything. No one is eating any candy.”

  “Ally, you’re the kind of fairy tale we all need,” Nina insisted. “Poor country bumpkin—”

  “Hey, I’m from Jersey, jerk.”

  Nina waved me off. “Shh! I’m telling a story here. Poor Jersey bumpkin comes to the big city and catches the eye of the gorgeous, grumpy boss who refuses to fall for anyone. But there’s something special about her. Something he’s never seen before in a woman.”

  “I want to be special,” Missie whined.

  “You are special. We are all special,” I insisted.

  I felt the frisson again. This time it started at my toes and spread through my entire body.

  “He’s coming this way,” Missie sang.

  “Be cool, guys. For the love of God, be cool,” I hissed.

  “He’s practically pushing people out of the way,” Ruth observed.

  I hoped to God she was exaggerating.

  “Hey, beautiful. Feel like causing a stir?” Christian appeared at my side and gave me a heart attack.

  I clutched my heart. “Jiminy Crickets! Where did you come from?”

  “Uh, the bar.” He grinned at me and wiggled a rocks glass. “I have an idea. Come with me.”

  He was safer than whatever torpedo of sexy was headed my way. I took the hand he offered and let him drag me away.

  * * *

  Five minutes later, an up-and-coming designer was on his knees in front of me backstage, and his hands were on my breast.

  “Ouch. That’s boob,” I hissed. “Are you tattooing me?”

  “Sorry,” Christian said, through the pins in his mouth. “Try to hold still, and I won’t stab you as much.”

  “You know, usually I wait until at least dinner and drinks before I let a guy feel me up.”

  “This is completely professional. I promise,” he insisted with a lecherous wink. “Not that you’re not built to perfection, of course.”

  “Oh, of course.” I rolled my eyes.

  “I just only have room for so many obsessions. I’ve got a limited amount of bandwidth. Right now, mine is this line. What’s yours?” He sat back on his heels and admired his handiwork.

  “Oh, I don’t think you have the time. Besides, tonight’s your night.”

  He picked up the top layer of my skirt and fluffed it. “You know what I see when there’s a pile of fabric in front of me and a beautiful woman?”

  “I’m guessing not just a pile of fabric and a beautiful woman?”

  He shot his pointer finger at me. “Bingo, smartass.”

  I helped him to his feet.

  “I see a story, and I try to tell that story with cut and color, thread and accessories.”

  “I like that,” I mused into my now warm and mostly flat champagne. I’d clung to the idea of using it as a prop. Also I didn’t want to get shitfaced at a work function and throw myself at Dominic or throw him off a rooftop.

  “Do you want to know what I see in you?”

  “Definitely not.”

  “I see sexiness. Struggle. Someone who isn’t living the life she set out to build,” he mused.

  “Are you like one of those fortune tellers who spouts generic crap until they hit the mark?” I joked.

  He grinned, then continued. “I see a woman who would do anything for the people who have earned her loyalty. Someone who’ll stand up for those who can’t. I see someone who is fighting tooth and nail for something… or someone.”

  I frowned into my champagne.

  “And I see that you have a very complicated relationship with Dominic Russo.”

  “Oh, come on. Not you, too. Is it a full moon tonight? This entire city is obsessed with the guy.”

  “From where I stand, the guy is obsessed with you,” Christian insisted.

  “Okay, enough of this artistic babble. You’re starting to freak me out.”

  “Don’t be embarrassed. You’re amazing. Own it.”

  “I ca
n’t afford to own anything right now.”

  “Then that’s where this dress comes in,” he said. “You’re stunning. And bold. And your boss is going to have a coronary in about half an hour.”

  “I don’t care if Dominic ever looks at me again,” I lied. My neck immediately started itching.

  Christian’s smirk told me he wasn’t buying it.

  “I don’t,” I doubled down. “He had his chance, and I have too much self-respect. I just want to make him suffer. Like a lot. But not enough for me to lose my job. It’s a fine line to walk.”

  He flashed those dimples at me. “Then let’s make the man suffer.”

  “Are you sure this is okay? I’m a nobody in the fashion world, and I don’t look anything like the rest of these women.” I looked around at the models in the midst of hair and makeup and fittings. They were all half-naked and looked bored. Just another day at the office.

  “That’s the point. Besides, I’ve never walked the end of a show with anyone. It’ll get the press talking. You don’t mind, do you?”

  “I might wreck your entire show and ruin your launch, your career, and then your life. I’m not very lucky right now.”

  “I’ll take my chances. Maybe you should take a couple of your own.”

  God willing, in a few short months, the house would be sold, Dad’s bills would be covered, and I could afford to take a few chances. Maybe start a new life somewhere nowhere near Dominic Russo. Perhaps the West Coast. Or I don’t know, Thailand? Although, I wouldn’t feel comfortable leaving my dad. Not now. Maybe I’d just vacation in Thailand?

  Bottom line. A little fashion industry speculation would have zero effect on my life.

  “Eh. It’s fine. Let’s go stir up some shit,” I decided.

  “Good. It’ll be fun,” he promised.

  42

  Dominic

  The show was finally about to start, and I was beyond grateful because it meant that in thirty minutes I:

  A) could give up the pretense of small talk and schmoozing.

  B) had time for one more drink.

  C) could go home and forget about Ally and that goddamn red dress.