By a Thread: A Grumpy Boss Romantic Comedy Read online

  Lying to myself was my new favorite hobby.

  Of course she’d look like that in fucking couture. Half angel, half devil in siren red. But I’d still be compelled to watch her from across the room if she’d showed up in sweatpants and an I Heart NYC sweatshirt.

  I was drawn to her. Inexplicably. Unfairly. Stupidly.

  And I had to do something to get her out of my head. It was unhealthy. This week I’d actually looked up the dance studio schedule where she taught and thought about having Nelson cruise by after her class. Then I thought about how stalkers probably felt about their victims, and I had him take me to a bar instead.

  I was drinking too much tonight, but I could blame that on my mother. Apparently, Drunk Me was nicer than Sober Me. My mother always encouraged me to have a few drinks before social events so I wouldn’t scare away advertisers.

  If I had too much—breaking news: hell yeah, I had too much—I’d Uber home, leave my car for an intern to pick up.

  I ditched my empty glass on the bar and waited. The bartender in a gold lamé vest shot me a knowing look. “Rough night?” he asked, pouring me another.

  “You speak the truth,” I said. Dammit, the niceness was kicking in already. I picked up the fresh drink and turned to scan the ballroom. Where was she?

  I didn’t see a goddess in red. She’d camped out in front of the kitchen to snag more appetizers, which immediately made me worry that she wasn’t using her new paycheck to buy actual food. I spent a lot of time worrying and wondering about her.

  What she ate on the weekends.

  What she did late at night when she couldn’t sleep.

  If she thought about me half as much as I thought about her.

  I hadn’t seen her since I’d worked up the nerve to go over and strike up a conversation with the women she’d been talking to. It was reasonable that I could ask the ad rep about the new online ad sizes we’d be rolling out. And I could have looked at Ally. Maybe even smiled?

  But she’d disappeared. Whisked away by that goddamn designer who should have been more worried about the success of his line than one woman in a dress.

  Even if it was Ally. Especially if it was Ally.

  This cold, professional thing with her was killing me. I missed her sitting on my desk and fighting with me. I missed the sparks that ignited when we argued. I missed her.

  The lights began to dim in the room. A buzz of excitement rose as people moved to take their seats next to the runway on white linen-covered chairs.

  I still didn’t see Ally, and I was beyond the point of trying to hide the fact that I was looking for her. I stopped Irvin on his way to the front row. “Have you seen Ally?” I asked.

  “Who?”

  “My assistant,” I said dryly. I lived in a world where everyone should know her.

  “I think I saw her in a little United Nations circle.” He chuckled.

  Another comment that rubbed me the wrong way. I was going to revisit the topic of Irvin with my mother and soon. “I meant recently.”

  “In that dress? If she’s smart, probably off enjoying a tryst in a dark corner.”

  I suddenly wanted to throw up the three or four scotches that were hitting my empty gut like a stomach bug. And then punch someone. Or maybe vice versa. My plan was a little muddled.

  “Dominic!” My mother waved us both over, and we took our seats in the front row.

  “Are you all right?” she asked.

  I had been better. “Great,” I muttered.

  “You smell like a distillery,” she whispered.

  “You smell really nice,” I said sullenly.

  Her lips curved in amusement. “Thank you.”

  At least my mom thought I was being a dutiful employee and not an obsessive, creepy stalker.

  I didn’t think she could afford to have both men in her immediate family disappoint her.

  The show began, and I maintained a modicum of interest while carefully searching the faces of the audience on the other side of the elevated runway. No red dress. No Ally.

  The thing about fashion shows is it’s a lot of buildup, a lot of invested time, money, and energy for a few minutes of payoff. The models made their way past me one by one. Beautiful women in beautiful clothes. And not a damn one of them held a candle to my missing-in-action personal assistant.

  Finally, the lights came up, and that’s when I found her.

  On the arm of Christian “About to Be a Dead Man” James.

  They strolled down the runway arm-in-arm, laughing at an inside joke that they shouldn’t have. There was a stir around me. I don’t know if it was the dress, the designer, or the girl. My girl.

  He pirouetted her like a fucking ballerina at the end of the aisle to the delighted applause of the crowd.

  My mother elbowed me. “Start clapping, you clod,” she said out of the side of her mouth.

  I clapped with a decisive lack of enthusiasm, imagining smashing Christian’s face between my palms. They were coming back now, still laughing, the crowd still applauding. Trailed by the rest of the models that I didn’t even see now. Because my attention was focused entirely on the small, white pearlescent heart sewn onto the dress’s bodice.

  Right over Ally’s breast.

  It was cracked down the middle.

  Just like Christian’s face would be if he’d sewn it on her personally.

  43

  Ally

  Okay. So it had been pretty damn cool to strut down the runway in a beautiful dress on the arm of a very attractive man in front of the guy who’d rejected me repeatedly.

  When I returned to the party, I felt almost cheerful.

  And suddenly exhausted. I wanted to go home, curl up in bed, and relive Dom’s shock over and over again in my head. I’d give it another twenty minutes, say my goodbyes, and be in bed within an hour.

  “Oh. My. God. That was amazing. You were amazing,” Gola squealed.

  “I’m considering murdering you and assuming your identity,” Missie trilled. I got the feeling she was only half-kidding.

  “Not creepy at all,” I told her.

  “That was incredible,” Ruth said, throwing her arms around me and hugging me tight.

  “Thanks. Now I could use a drink.”

  We moved en masse toward the bar. When I ordered a water, the bartender shot me a sly smile and leaned in. “Someone in a vest almost as sexy as mine was frantically scanning the crowd looking for you earlier.”

  I grinned. Victory was mine. It was a good night.

  A very young woman I didn’t know popped up next to me and squealed. “Girl, you are already trending.” She held up her phone to my face. A fashion blogger had tweeted a photo of the end of the show, me and Christian laughing at the end of the runway.

  Christian James ends show with mystery woman in #heartbreakerdress on arm.

  I felt almost euphoric.

  And then I wondered where Dominic was.

  And then I wanted to slap myself for wondering.

  I was going to need to start wearing a rubber band on my wrist and snap it every time I thought of him. At this rate, I’d amputate my hand inside of twenty minutes.

  The runway was disassembled into artsy cubes and rearranged for uncomfortable perching. Everyone was hitting the open bar like it was last call, and those little appetizers were doing nothing to soak up the liquor. It was entertaining, but I had a feeling this is how bad things happened at office Christmas parties.

  Inhibitions lowered, tongues loosened, and shit went down.

  I wanted to be out of here before that part happened. I’d rubbed my awesomeness in Dominic’s face, and now it was time to go the hell home and eat some leftovers in bed.

  Fifteen more minutes and I could slip out of here and fall asleep looking impossibly glamorous on the subway.

  I limped toward one of the cubes with my water, wondering how the hell I was going to make it to the nearest subway station in these shoes. I didn’t quite make it.

  A set of
keys dangled in front of my face so close they bounced off my nose.

  A hard listing Dominic was attached to them. He had both of our coats draped over one shoulder.

  “Are you playing Oprah? Did I win a car?” I asked warily.

  “You won the honor of driving me home.” He was tilting his head, making his grin lopsided. “You’re so pretty, Malef, uh… malcifa… Ally. Is your real name Ally, or are you Allison?”

  Oh, boy. I’d heard rumors of Drunk Dominic. But they hadn’t prepared me for the reality of him. He was adorable… and in no way capable of functioning as creative director right now. I needed to get him home.

  “Let’s go, boss,” I said, snatching the keys from his hand.

  “Yay!” he said goofily. His smile was so sweet it made my teeth hurt.

  Oh, no. Nope. Nope. Nope. Not happening. I was not going to fall for sweet, drunk Dom. No! I would remain steadfast in my resolve and other fancy words.

  “Come on, big guy,” I said, guiding him away from the party and toward the side entrance.

  It was hell-froze-over cold outside, and Drunk Dominic insisted on wearing my coat draped over his shoulders because “It smells nice.” So once again, I shoved my arms through his wool trench and towed the man toward the parking garage. At least this time I was wearing more than pasties and a thong under it.

  “Why didn’t you use a driver?” I asked.

  “Firstly, Nelson is at a science fair tonight for his granddaughter. And third, if I did, you wouldn’t be going home with me,” he said, throwing a heavy arm over my shoulder and nuzzling into my ear.

  “I’m driving you home, not going home with you,” I corrected.

  The keys belonged to the Range Rover, and thanks to the “beep boop” of the remote—which Dominic helpfully recreated a dozen times—I found the SUV on the second level.

  I opened the passenger door for him since he seemed incapable. But he didn’t get in. Instead, he wrapped his arms around me.

  “What are you doing?” My words were muffled against his chest.

  He stroked a big hand through my hair a little harder than he probably intended. His fingers snagged clumsily on bobby pins. “Hugging you.”

  “I can see that. Why?”

  “I’ve always wanted to,” he confessed.

  My heart melted like full fat, salted butter. Drunk Dom was Tell All the Truth Dom. Oh, this drive was going to be fun.

  I weighed my options but finally gave in and wrapped my arms around his waist. He rested his face on the top of my head. “This is really nice,” he slurred happily.

  Dammit. It was.

  He was transferring more and more of his weight onto me until I was the only thing holding up his two hundred and twenty-some muscled pounds. “Okay, buddy. Let’s get you in the car.”

  “I’m not Buddy. Buddy is Buddy,” he insisted. “Dr. Chopra loves Buddy.”

  “She does, does she?” I said, guiding him toward the passenger seat.

  “Yep.” He nodded forcefully. “She says his wife is doing great.”

  “That’s nice. Don’t hit your head.”

  He smacked his head getting in. “Ow.”

  “Are you okay?” I asked, cupping his face in my hands, looking for blood.

  His eyes were almost indigo in this light.

  “Can I hug you in the car?” he whispered.

  “Probably better not. I’ll be driving.”

  He looked so sad my heart cracked right down the middle.

  “Oh,” he said. Then he brightened. “Can I have a milkshake?”

  I sighed. My dairy hiatus hadn’t solved my problems. And a milkshake sounded really good right now. “Sure. Why not?”

  I buckled him in, accidentally discovering that the man was ticklish, and then got behind the wheel. I mashed the push-button start and fired up the seat warmers. Then froze.

  “Dominic Russo.”

  His head lolled to the side so he could stare lovingly at me. “That’s me.”

  “How do you know Buddy’s wife’s physical therapist?” I asked.

  He leaned forward. “How do you know I know her?” he asked.

  “You just told me.”

  “I did?”

  “You’re drunk, not stupid. Spill it, Charming.”

  “I’m not supposed to tell.”

  “Says who?”

  “Me. It’s a secret.”

  “Did you hire Dr. Chopra for Buddy?”

  “Absolutely not,” he said very seriously. Then he started laughing. “I hired her for his wife because you were all ‘Oh, Buddy is the greatest human being in the history of the world!’” Dominic emphasized his relatively accurate impression of me with a sweeping gesture that nearly put his fist through the window. “Ow.”

  “Dom, maybe try not to flail around so much.”

  “’Kay.”

  “Why did you do that for Buddy? Do you even know him?”

  “I did it for you,” he insisted.

  My wall was tumbling down one brick at a time, and I didn’t want to let it go. I backed out of the space and found my way out of the parking garage.

  “Don’t tell Buddy about my secret,” he said when we pulled onto the street.

  “Why don’t you want him to know? You’re doing something amazing for his wife.”

  “Shh!” He slapped a finger over my lips and slid it partially up my nose. “He can’t know. This way he earned it. He’s the hero.”

  “Oh, Dom.” Damn it. My shattered broken heart was trying to knit itself back together just so it could fall for him all over again.

  “Pinky promise me,” he said, jabbing his pinky in the vicinity of my eye.

  “Ah!” I jerked to avoid losing my cornea. The Range Rover followed suit and swerved into the other lane.

  I answered the cab’s angry horn with a middle finger. “Yeah, okay. I’m losing an eye here, and you had to use your brakes. Big freaking deal.”

  “Ally,” Dominic whispered.

  “Dom, I’m a little busy trying not to kill us.”

  “You didn’t pinky promise me yet.”

  “Oh for fuck’s sake.” I hooked my pinky around his and tried not to fall in love with the idiot when he pressed his lips to our joined fingers.

  44

  Dominic

  I felt warm and cozy and safe and happy. And very, very drunk.

  I couldn’t hug Ally because she was driving, but I could wrap up in her coat. So I shoved my arms through the sleeves and wore it like a blanket.

  “What kind of a milkshake do you want?” she asked, double-parking and throwing the hazards on in front of the golden arches. She was so pretty.

  “Pfft,” I snorted. “The only kind there is.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Chocolate?”

  “Duh. Don’t say the v-word in my presence,” I warned.

  She gave me a “you’re so stupid” smile, and in my drunken state, I decided to treasure it always. “I love it when you smile at me.”

  The smile faded from those lips, and I realized I’d said the words out loud. “Oops. I’m not supposed to say that stuff.”

  “What other stuff aren’t you supposed to say?” she asked.

  “That I think about you all the time and I really want to see you naked.” Somewhere deep in my brain, where the obscene amount of scotch I’d consumed hadn’t yet penetrated, I was yelling at myself, pushing alarm buttons, and tapping out Morse code. Shut. The. Fuck. Up. Man.

  “Oh, boy,” Ally sighed. “Wait here. I’ll be back with your milkshake.”

  She slid out of the vehicle and jogged around the hood. I pushed all of the buttons on my door before the window went down. “Get us burgers too. Those spoon thing appetizers were stupid,” I called after her.

  She waved over her shoulder, and I watched her disappear into McDonald’s. I entertained myself by making up songs about her.

  “Ally in the red dress makes me feel like a mess,” I crooned through the open window.


  A guy in a yellow ski jacket threw a buck at me.

  I was working on the second verse when Ally came back with a greasy fast food bag and two chocolate milkshakes. She looked tiny, dwarfed by my coat.

  “Look!” I held up the dollar triumphantly. “I was singing, and a guy gave me this.”

  “Wow, Dom. Maybe you can quit your day job.” She thrust the bag and one of the cups at me through the open window and then climbed behind the wheel.

  “If I quit my day job, I wouldn’t get to see you,” I reminded her.

  “Gee. Darn.”

  “You’d miss me. Like a lot.” I knew she would. At this point, I couldn’t imagine not seeing her five days a week. At this point, five days a week wasn’t enough.

  “Did you pay Greta to leave for two months?” she asked.

  Those warning bells were clanging loud and clear in my head. But I was too drunk to pay attention. “Yep. She deserved it after all those years of putting up with me.”

  “So you sent your admin away to give me the job?”

  Danger, Dominic Dumbass. Danger.

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Was it because I needed money or because you wanted to pull my strings?”

  “Pfft. You don’t have strings. You’re a person, not a Pin… pinochle puppet. You were so tired. And scared. And I have money. But you wouldn’t take it. So I made you take it.”

  “I want to be so mad at you right now,” she said.

  “Let’s go home. You can be mad at me at home. Brownie’s there, and he loves me,” I sighed, grabbing a fistful of French fries and shoving them into my mouth.

  She looked at me and shook her head.

  “Wha?” I asked, and a French fry fell out of my mouth into my lap.

  “Nothing.”

  “Hey, do you see all this glitter in here?” I asked.

  “Shut. Up. Dom.”

  She sounded serious, so I kept quiet. I drank my entire milkshake and ate fries—all of mine and accidentally half of hers—until she turned onto my street.

  She found a space at the end of the block, and I climbed—or, more accurately, fell—out of the SUV. Ally, carrying the rest of our food and her milkshake, hurried around and picked me up.