By a Thread: A Grumpy Boss Romantic Comedy

by Score, Lucy

  I smiled and rested my fingers on my end of the keys. I remembered everything. And now I treasured it.

  * * *

  I stayed another hour before leaving Dad at the piano when he volunteered to teach another resident a jazzy little tune on the piano. It was always a struggle knowing when to leave. If I left while he was still present, I was missing out on time with him. But if I stayed too long and the mood slipped, the ensuing disappearance of Dad was devastating.

  Too in my own head, I didn’t notice the danger until it was practically on top of me in a pink chenille sweater.

  “Ms. Morales, I trust you’re here to pay your late fees?”

  Shit.

  Front Desk Deena, harbinger of late fees, lurked just outside the memory ward. She had thin, flat lips that were always painted a bright pink. Her red hair reminded me of Ronald McDonald… if Ronald dabbled with a jewelry fetish. Today she was wearing four diamond rings, a pendant with several birthstones that suggested this woman actually had a family, and rather large diamond studs in her long ear lobes.

  She terrified me.

  “Uhh…” I hadn’t even formed an actual word, but my neck was doing its best impression of a sunburn.

  “$5,327.94.” She rattled off the amount that I too knew by heart. It was exactly what stood between my father and another month in this facility.

  “I’m aware,” I said. “I believe it’s due next Saturday.” I’d memorized that, too, from the thirty-day eviction notice she’d so helpfully sent me. It was the day after my first paycheck from the magazine. And I needed every dime of that paycheck to make this payment.

  She pinched her lips together tighter, making the hot pink disappear completely. Her eyes narrowed behind purple-rimmed glasses. “I’d certainly hate to have to tell the nurses to start packing your father’s things.”

  Her tone suggested otherwise.

  “That won’t be necessary,” I assured her. My phone chimed. It was time to get back to the office and earn that paycheck.

  23

  Ally

  That afternoon, while Linus was out doing whatever Linus did, I was summoned for a meeting with the graphics team. I arrived early and was surprised to find coffee, tea, and muffins already neatly arranged on the impossibly hip glass conference table.

  I was just reaching for a chocolate chip muffin when the door opened behind me and Dominic strolled into the room.

  “Hi,” I said, guiltily dropping the muffin.

  After our bar shift confessional, I wasn’t really sure where we stood.

  “I heard you were late today,” he said, slipping his hands into his pockets. “Another emergency.”

  “This one was a good one,” I said. “Something I didn’t want to miss out on.”

  He studied me silently, and I realized how that must have sounded. His thumb was tapping against his pant leg. A tiny little tick.

  “I take my job seriously, Dom. Don’t think that I was blowing off work for something frivolous.”

  “It must have been good for you to give up two hours of pay.”

  My spine stiffened, and my shoulders ratcheted up under my ears.

  “Why don’t you tell me what your problem is instead of beating around the bush, Charming?”

  “I want to know what’s going on.”

  “It’s none of your business,” I told him. “We’re not friends. We’re not lovers. I work for you. The only relationship that exists between us is a professional one. We both made the call, remember?”

  “You missed work. I was concerned.”

  “Why? Lots of people miss work. I’m going to make up the hours.”

  “What do you want me to say, Ally? That I care?”

  I shook my head vehemently. I most definitely did not want him to say that. And I certainly didn’t want him to mean it. “I don’t want to play games. Not today and certainly not with you.”

  “Then tell me what’s going on.”

  “Why do you even care? I’m not some mystery to be solved. I’m a private person with a lot of shit happening right now that doesn’t affect you.”

  “It does affect me when it keeps you from showing up for work.” Frustration crackled off him like he was holding a live wire.

  “This conversation is ridiculous.”

  “You’re ridiculous,” he shot back.

  “I’m not sharing my personal life with you,” I told him. “Don’t take it personally. I have things going on that are easier to deal with than to talk about. And if you recall our conversation last night, we aren’t going to pursue any kind of relationship outside of work.”

  “We’re at work right now,” he stubbornly pointed out, crossing his arms.

  “Malina missed half a day this week,” I said. “Did you track her down to find out why?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I don’t care about her,” he shot back.

  We both sat with that pronouncement for a minute.

  “Dom,” I started.

  “Shut up. Forget it. I didn’t mean it that way.”

  “Oh, good. Mr. Darcy’s back,” I said dryly.

  “What does that even mean?”

  “Ugh. Another reason why I’d never let you get me naked. You haven’t read or watched Pride and Prejudice.”

  Dominic collapsed in a chair across the table from me. Even with the entire expanse of glass and a mound of muffins between us, I could still feel his frustration.

  “You annoy me on so many levels, it’s incredible. What could Pride and Prejudice possibly have to do with us not pursuing whatever the hell this is?”

  I sat opposite him. “Mr. Darcy pronounces his love for Elizabeth with an insulting speech about how he’s into her even though she’s incredibly unsuitable, poor, and ridiculous.”

  “I am not pronouncing my love for you,” he said crisply.

  “Did I not warn you that I’m irresistible?” I quipped.

  He looked so angry I was worried he might rip the arms off his chair. I took pity on him.

  “Look, Dom. Since we’re not pursuing anything—naked or otherwise—outside this building, I think it’s best that we know as little about each other as possible.”

  He glared at me. “I disagree.”

  Of course he did.

  “Okay. Why?”

  “We’re complete opposites. Wouldn’t it follow that the better we get to know each other, the less we would be attracted to each other?”

  It was stupid and yet… “Hmm.”

  “I thrive on challenges, Ally,” he warned. “And right now, you and this mysterious background are demanding to be solved.”

  “What are you suggesting?” I asked with a laugh. “We become friends?”

  “Not friends,” he insisted. “Workplace acquaintances.”

  “That’s what we are.”

  “No, we’re workplace associates,” he insisted.

  “Are you drunk? Do you have a family history of stroke?”

  “No and no,” he said. “Think about it. The more you get to know me, the less attractive you’ll find me, and the better I know you, the more repulsive you’ll be.”

  I laughed. I couldn’t help myself. Every once in a while, Funny Dominic snuck up on me to surprise and delight me. Thankfully the other ninety-eight percent of the time he was an insufferable ass.

  “Please. We both know the more you learn about me, the faster you’ll be scampering off to pick out a diamond engagement ring big enough to lose an eye on.”

  He rolled his eyes. “You wish.”

  “I am a delightful person,” I insisted.

  “You’re a delightful pain in my ass,” he shot back.

  I drummed my fingers on the table in front of me. “Are you purposely keeping the table between us?”

  “Yes,” he answered instantly.

  “Is it for my protection or yours?”

  “I haven’t decided yet.”

  “You’re acting like
neither one of us has any control,” I scoffed.

  He scowled at me, then stood.

  “What are you doing?” I asked as he rounded the table.

  “Proving a point.”

  Hastily, I got to my feet, but I didn’t get far because he was boxing me in against the table. So careful not to touch me. Yet there was no mistaking the buzz between us. My blood went hot, and I could hear my heartbeat ratcheting up the DEFCONs.

  “Is DEFCON One or Five worse?” I asked in a squeak.

  “One. Now tell me you don’t see the problem, Ally,” he said dryly.

  I was more interested in feeling the problem… until I glanced down. I couldn’t help myself. He was visibly hard. Like “stuck a kielbasa in his pants” visibly hard.

  He was looking down too. But not at the outline of his cock. No, his gaze was locked on my stupid, lack-of-self-respect nipples that were saluting him through my shirt.

  The door was closed, but the graphics team was due any minute. Anyone could walk in and see us like this.

  “This is the problem,” he insisted, his voice a rasp.

  “That’s a huge problem,” I agreed, still looking at his erection. “It looks painful.”

  “That’s not what I meant,” he growled. “This is what happens when we’re too close.”

  “So how do you propose we get to know each other without getting too close?” I asked. I sounded like I’d just climbed all forty-three floors at a dead run. One tiny step forward and my diamond hard nipples would connect with his chest. His hard-on with my stomach.

  He was looming over me, but rather than threatening, it felt intimate, careful, almost safe. Like I wanted to be exactly here with exactly him.

  I really needed to stop consuming dairy products. This had to be some kind of hormonal effect from too much glorious cheese.

  I had a swift vision of Dom placing me on the—hopefully reinforced—glass table at my back and sliding his hands under my skirt and slowly, slowly, peeling the underwear down my legs.

  My vision started to go gray around the edges, and I took in a shaky breath. His eyes sharpened to a crystalline, icy blue. It felt as though a storm was brewing in the sliver of space between us.

  “Completely inappropriate question,” I said. “If you were going to touch me right now, where would you start?”

  His exhale was a growl. “Your hair.”

  I blinked. “My hair?”

  “I’d fist my fingers in it and pull so I could taste your mouth and then work my way down your throat.”

  “Gah.” It wasn’t a statement so much as a swallow getting tangled up with a moan.

  “And this is exactly why we’re not going to do this in person,” he said softly.

  “Gah,” I croaked again.

  His lips, that firm, mean line of them, lifted just a little, and I felt an explosion of dairy hormones in my core.

  “Fine. Email then,” I squeaked.

  “On personal time from personal email accounts,” he said.

  The guy had given this a lot of thought.

  “That’s fair.”

  “Be honest. Brutally honest,” Dominic said. “So we can get this—whatever it is—out of our systems.”

  I wanted to be offended by the idea that getting to know me would be a major turnoff to him. However, I was damn certain the more I knew about Dominic Russo, the less my lady parts would lust after him. What could possibly go wrong?

  “Agreed.”

  He lifted a hand away from the table, and we both watched as it slowly moved toward my face, my hair.

  Goddesses of secret lusty meetings, please let Dominic Russo fuck me on this conference table right now.

  “Grab me a water, would you?” someone called outside the door. We jumped apart.

  I shoved Dominic—and his magnificent fuck stick—into the chair I’d recently occupied before my sexual spiritual awakening and took a guilty step back.

  The door opened.

  “I don’t care what you say. The Game of Thrones final season was not what fans were expecting,” I announced emphatically.

  He looked at me like I’d lost my damn mind.

  “Oh, wow. I gotta agree with Ally, Mr. Russo,” Shelly, a graphic designer with a penchant for facial piercings, agreed emphatically.

  As the rest of the team filed in, a ten-minute discussion of the show and final season ensued while Dominic and I both tried to get our hormones under control.

  24

  Dominic & Ally

  Maleficent,

  Now that I know your feelings regarding Game of Thrones, let’s move on. Why are you working so many jobs? Is the pay here really that bad?

  Charming

  * * *

  Charming,

  I wouldn’t know. I’m still a week out from my first paycheck. What did you want to be when you grew up? Or are you living your dreams as a vest-wearing fashion mogul?

  Maleficent

  * * *

  Maleficent,

  This was not my dream. In the spirit of honesty, this is closer to a nightmare. When I was nine, I wanted to be a math teacher. How many jobs do you have?

  Charming

  * * *

  Prince of Nightmares,

  I am the current holder downer of four jobs. Five if you count freelance graphic design, which is feast or famine—mostly famine. Bar shifts, a sporadic catering gig, dance instructor, and my illustrious career as a jill of all trades at Label.

  I need to know more about this math teacher dream job.

  For now, let’s put the “why I need 700 jobs” in the Don’t Talk About Column.

  Former Princess of Pizzas

  * * *

  Pizza Princess,

  The mystery of why Ally Morales needs 700 jobs is annoying me.

  I had a nice math teacher. His name was Mr. Meloy. He helped me with my homework after school sometimes. He loved math, and he loved teaching kids to love math. I thought being a math teacher would be cool.

  What did you want to be when you grew up? I’m guessing pizza server wasn’t high on the list.

  Nerd Unveiled

  * * *

  Dear Nerd,

  This isn’t working. I’m imagining cute little Dominic looking up to his teacher with those baby blues asking for help.

  Tell me the top five things you hate STAT. (This is the secret to finding out just how bad a person is in case you need it for interviewing future wives or human sacrifices.)

  I wanted to be a dancer from the time I was three on. I realized early on that I didn’t want a ballet career (hello, carbs and alcohol and sleeping in), but I also loved design and art. So I decided to do all of it.

  Now hurry up and disgust me.

  Rapidly Thawing Iceberg

  P.S. Why was Mr. Meloy helping you with your homework and not your parents?

  * * *

  Dearest Climate Change,

  So you’re saying you knew what you wanted to do since you were a kid, and then you went out and did it? That’s… unusual. Are you always so tenacious? Did you ever consider other lines of work?

  If we can’t talk about why you need 700 jobs, we will also not be discussing my parents.

  Things I Hate:

  1. People who litter

  2. The rumor mill

  3. Getting shit on by birds

  4. Not being able to stop thinking about you

  5. My father

  I’m not asking you what you hate because you’re annoyingly hate-less.

  Hateful Boss

  * * *

  Boss,

  Well, hell. That list wasn’t hateful. Not even a little. And this experiment is not working. You’re supposed to hate things like puppies and children with cute lisps, and then I’m supposed to finally be able to stop fantasizing about you naked.

  I’m not tenacious. More like obnoxiously positive that things will go my way.

  Pollyanna

  * * *

  Allyanna,

  If I
’m not hateful, then why is every woman at work terrified of me?

  Hall Stalking Monster

  * * *

  Monster,

  You’re not actually serious, are you?

  Incredulous

  * * *

  Deadly.

  Dom

  * * *

  Dominic Russo,

  You big, dumb lug of tattooed grumpiness. Have you really spent your entire year there thinking they hate you? You’re playing with me right now, aren’t you?

  There’s no way you can be so arrogant when you have me snuggled up against a conference table and then wander the halls of Label like a sad puppy because you assume everyone dislikes you.

  Annoyed Ally

  * * *

  Annoyed Ally,

  What the fuck are you blabbering on about?

  Adding to my list. 6. People who never get to the point.

  Also, are you obsessed with dogs?

  Irritated Boss

  * * *

  Mr. Hot Bod Sexy Face,

  The women of Label don’t hate you. They’re lusting after you. You’re scary hot. Like “don’t look directly in the eye hot.”

  Baffled by You

  * * *

  Baffled,

  That’s not what is going on. They look at me and see a carbon copy of my father.

  Dominic

  * * *

  Dom,

  First of all, I want points for being respectful of your Do Not Discuss topic even though I really want to dig into why you’d assume that people see you and your father as one and the same. Lots of points!