By a Thread: A Grumpy Boss Romantic Comedy

by Score, Lucy

  She started laughing and then couldn’t seem to stop.

  “What?” I asked.

  She shook her head. “I can’t handle how cute you are right now.”

  “Cute? Me?” I frowned. “That’s not right. I am very sexy and handsome all of the time.”

  She guided me up the steps to the front door. “You sure are. And right now, you’re super cute. I think it’s because you’re still wearing my coat.”

  “Can I keep it?” I asked.

  “No. It’s winter. I need it.”

  “We could just swa-swa-swapsies. No one would have to know. You could wear my coat, and I could wear your coat, and it’ll be a secret. We could pinky promise again.”

  “I think someone might notice you wearing a wool women’s trench backwards.”

  “You think?” I was disappointed.

  “Dom, did someone put something in your drink tonight? Did Malina show up in disguise with a pocket full of roofies? Keys, please.”

  I dug through both of Ally’s coat pockets and then my own pants before producing the keyring. “Found them,” I sang. But no one gave me a dollar this time.

  “Good job, Charming,” she said, taking the keys from me. I leaned heavily against her while she opened the door.

  “Hang on there, big guy. I think these heels have a weight limit,” Ally said, propping me against the doorframe. She slipped off her stilettos and managed to wrestle me and the food into the vestibule before shutting and locking the door.

  There was a ruckus on the other side of the main door to my house.

  “Brownie!” I had temporarily forgotten I had a dog. This was an excellent reminder. I yanked the door open, and a brown blur of fur hurled himself at me. “Hi, buddy! Hi! Did you miss me?”

  I miscalculated the wind speed of an excited chocolate lab and ended up on my ass as Brownie devoured my face.

  “Ouch! What did we say about stepping on my balls?”

  Ally made a choking noise, and I looked up. “Are you okay?” I asked, closing one eye to bring her into focus.

  She cleared her throat and looked everywhere but me and Brownie. “Stay strong, Ally,” she was chanting.

  Brownie, sensing a human being who wasn’t currently giving him all of her love, danced over to her and plopped his ass on the floor.

  “Who’s the most handsome boy?” Ally crooned, ruffling his ears.

  “I am,” I insisted. “But Brownie’s okay too.”

  My dog shot me a “hehe” look and went back to seducing my girl with his big, dumb brown eyes.

  “Get your own girl, dog.”

  “Don’t you listen to your daddy,” she said, smushing Brownie’s ecstatic face between her hands.

  I had the sudden, intense urge to tell all the women in my life how much I appreciated them putting up with me.

  “What are you doing, Dom?” Ally asked when I wrestled my phone out of my pants pocket.

  “First, I’m going to email Shayla—the one who hates me—to tell her she does a really great job. Then I’m going to record a song for my mom and send it to her.” My phone’s screen seemed unusually small and out of focus.

  “Okay. Let’s put that on hold before you damage a retina,” Ally said, taking my phone from me. “Here’s a free Ted Talk. Drunk texting never does what you want it to.”

  “But I need to say good job!”

  “You need to get to bed,” she countered.

  Bed sounded really good. Especially with Ally. But I was still the aforementioned super drunk and wasn’t too confident in my performance abilities.

  “I might need a few minutes and some tea and maybe a shower before I can… you know…”

  Both Allys were staring at me like I’d started speaking Swahili.

  “We’re not having sex, Dominic. I’m putting you to bed so you can sleep this off.”

  “Will you sleep it off with me?” I tried to wink and show her my underused flirtatious side.

  “Are your eyes bothering you?” she asked.

  I tried the wink again. “No.”

  “You’re blinking weird.”

  “I’m not blinking. I’m winking.”

  Brownie drew our attention with a whimpery noise. “Hafta to go out, boy?” I climbed to my feet and grandly opened the door for dog and woman.

  “I can take him for a walk,” Ally volunteered.

  “Why are you so nice to me?” I wondered out loud. “I’m an asshole, and you’re all like ‘I’ll walk your dog.’”

  “Brownie isn’t responsible for his father’s personality,” she pointed out.

  I felt like there was a deeper truth ringing around in those words, but I was distracted by her red dress and that light lemony scent that followed her everywhere.

  I led the way into the kitchen and brushed off Ally’s concerns about me falling and hitting my head in the backyard. “Pfft. I have perfect balance,” I scoffed.

  I tripped over a table leg and barely managed to stop myself from taking a header off the deck.

  My backyard was a neatly landscaped scrap of—now dead—grass enclosed by a fence tall enough that my enthusiastic dog couldn’t vault over. He’d certainly tried since the Vargases next door got their beagle, Cornelius. Brownie trotted out to the middle of the grass to do his good dog business, and since I was here and a man, I joined him in a communal pissing.

  Back inside, I found Ally plating up burgers in the kitchen.

  “You’ve got a nice place here, Dom,” she said, sliding a tall glass of water in my direction.

  Of course I did.

  “You’re so beautiful,” I sighed, sinking down on a stool. “Not just because you’re in that dumb guy’s dress. But like all the time. You just light up every room you walk into. It’s like the sun coming up. Every time I see you, I feel better. I love it when you walk into a room.”

  “Dom.”

  “I’m super drunk, Ally. You can’t hold any of this against me.”

  “I know,” she said and stroked a hand through my hair. “We’ll never speak of this again.”

  She took the stool next to me, and we ate greasy burgers in companionable silence in my kitchen. It might have been the scotch talking, but it felt right. I wanted more of this. More of Ally Morales in my home.

  Finished, she put our plates in the sink, topped off Brownie’s water, and returned to me.

  “Let’s get you upstairs,” she said.

  “’Kay.”

  She helped me up two flights of stairs and put up with me stopping to rest with my face in her hair every few steps. I was in excellent condition. But being embarrassingly intoxicated provided the perfect excuse for me to sniff her hair.

  She didn’t need directions to my room. And I hoped that meant she’d spent as much time thinking about that night that she’d been here as I had.

  “Stay?” I breathed when I flopped down on the bed. My eyelids were so heavy.

  She flicked on the bedside lamp, and I felt her move around the mattress.

  She untied one of my shoes. “Dom, I can’t do that. And you don’t want me to do that.”

  But I really, really did. “This bed is so big. And Jersey is so far.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m taking your car,” she said.

  “You can have anything you want,” I offered. I was a magnanimous drunk guy. Especially when it came to the woman I couldn’t stop thinking about.

  “Just not you,” she said. I was too drunk to tell if she was teasing or serious.

  “Just not me,” I agreed. “I can’t be like him. I mean, not more than I already am.”

  “Who?” she asked.

  “My dad. He sucks. Hate ’im.”

  “I know,” she said, and I felt the shoe slide off my foot.

  “I’m my father’s son,” I slurred.

  My other shoe disappeared.

  “You’re also your mother’s son. And last time I checked, you happen to be your own man. You make your own decisions.”

  “Y
eah, well, I decide I don’t want to be anything like him. I can’t sleep with you, Ally. No matter how much I want to. No matter how much I like you. No matter how many times I pictured you spread out right here under me. I want you so much, but I can’t have you.”

  “Why not, Dom?” Her voice was so soft, and she was playing with my hair again. I decided that was my new favorite physical sensation. Ally’s fingers in my hair.

  “’Cause he would have taken you. Take take take. Whatever he wanted. I don’t want to be him.”

  “Oh, honey. You’re not.” I liked her voice. Liked how she called me honey.

  “You say that. But I’m ’zactly like him. I jerk off in the bathroom thinking about you. Well, not anymore.”

  She was quiet for a beat, and then her fingers were on my necktie. “Why not?”

  “Doesn’t seem right. You’re right outside the door. It’s disrep—disruh—dis-re-spect-ful,” I enunciated clearly. I was so fucking tired.

  “You’re not responsible for your father’s actions. What he did isn’t your fault.”

  I covered my face with my hands. “Yes, it is. It’s my fault he was there to do the things he did.”

  “Why?”

  “Never mind. Forget I said anything,” I told her. I didn’t want to talk about it anymore. It made me sad and sick, and I just wanted to feel good. Even if I didn’t deserve it. “’Sides. I don’t deserve you anyway.”

  My tie loosened, then vanished, and those glorious fingers were working the buttons on my shirt free. I really liked that.

  “Dom?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Open your eyes for a second.”

  I did as my Angel Ally asked.

  “You’re nothing like your father. You never have been, and you never will be. You’re a good man. You take care of people who need it. You protect them and build them up. You’re going to make some woman very lucky someday.”

  “Wish it was you.”

  She cupped my face in her cool hand, and I rubbed my jaw shamelessly against it. That easy, physical affection Ally gave was something I had no idea I needed. And I was going to have to go back to living without it.

  “Get some sleep, honey,” she said softly.

  My eyes wouldn’t open anymore. I felt the weight of the blanket she pulled over me, the bounce of Brownie jumping onto the bed.

  “Thanks for taking care of me, Ally.”

  “Back at you, Dom.”

  45

  Ally

  My feet and my brain were numb.

  Prancing around on pinchy stilettos had probably permanently damaged the nerves in my toes. And as for my brain, my boss had rendered it useless.

  I eased his Range Rover into the driveway and sat in the dark. Images from the night flashed on a loop through my mind.

  The dress.

  The runway.

  Dominic “Alcohol as Truth Serum” Russo.

  I had a lot of confusing, conflicting thoughts. But it all came back to one thing. He didn’t want to be like his father. It was as simple and complex as that.

  Nights like these changed lives and were retold as stories for years to come. But I didn’t know what my story would be. Would it be the time the up-and-coming designer made me temporarily semi-famous? Or would it be the night I finally realized my heart belonged to a man I was never going to be with?

  I got it now. I got him now.

  He wanted me but not enough to do something that—in his mind—would put him in his father’s league. I had experience in that department and could respect Dominic’s decision.

  I wanted that revelation to free me from whatever attraction I had to the man. I wanted to feel relieved. Instead, I just felt sad. Bone-deep, soul-deep sad.

  My old phone cheerfully clunked out a facsimile of a ring.

  Faith. My late-night checker-inner.

  “Hey,” I said.

  “Oh. My. God. I’m so glad you’re up!” she squealed. “Girl. You are all over social media as Christian James’s mystery heartbreaker! Tell me you’re out partying with fancy people. Are you in a limo on your way to some celebrity’s penthouse afterparty?”

  Faith’s life was significantly more glamorous than my own. It was a special treat to have a story finally worthy of sharing.

  I laughed. “I’m sitting in my driveway in my boss’s Range Rover that I may or may not have stolen.”

  “I knew you had an inner badass! Is this the same boss who chased you out of the club after you refused to take his sexy money?”

  “That’s the one. It’s been a weird night.”

  “I absolutely need every detail,” she insisted. I heard her crack open a can of what was probably Mountain Dew, her post-one a.m. beverage of choice because she was immune to calories, sugar, and caffeine.

  Since the SUV was warmer than my house, I stayed put and told her about the dress and the preview and party.

  Faith swooned appropriately. “Are you totally into this Christian guy?”

  “He’s super smart and sweet and sexy,” I hedged.

  “But?”

  I smiled. She was an expert people reader. “But the chemistry isn’t right.”

  “Bummer. He’s gorgeous, and he’d shower you in designer goodies for all the days of your life until you had a dramatic divorce. Maybe you should introduce me to him,” Faith teased.

  Huh. That could be interesting, I thought. Two creative free spirits with nothing but hotness in common?

  “So, since you’re not into Hot Fashion Guy, does this mean you and Grumpy Grump Face Lap Dance Guy are on?”

  I wasn’t one to kiss and tell. Or drive and tell. Or help strip a man down to just his pants, listen to his confession, leave him drunk in his bed, and tell. I was a good person, gosh darn it. And it was Dominic’s story to tell. Not mine.

  “Definitely and irrevocably not on.” I sighed, picturing that bare chest with just the right amount of hair, those arms with just the right amount of ink.

  “Disappointed!” she groaned.

  You and me both, sister.

  “Only you can be surrounded by hot guys who clearly want to tear your clothes off yet still end up fully clothed and home alone on a Friday night.”

  “I think it’s the universe telling me I have too much shit going on to worry about men right now,” I told her. It was also probably a kick in the teeth from said universe, reminding me that a man whose most important relationship in life was the hatred he had for his father would not make a good frenemy-with-benefits.

  The universe was right. Focusing on my dad, the house, and my job was all I had room for. Until I could fix up and sell this house, until my dad’s bills were settled, I had no right to spread my focus around.

  “You know, babe. Sometimes it’s up to us to tell the universe what we want. Not the other way around.”

  “My friend, the strip-club-owning sage.”

  “Spend enough time around naked people and you learn to see beneath the surface real quick,” she said. “How is your dad?”

  I perked up. “We had a good day this week. We had dinner together, and he remembered me. We talked about the neighbors—current, not deceased or moved away twenty years ago,” I told her.

  “Babe, that’s awesome.”

  “The good days are getting fewer and farther between.” I sighed, then pushed back at the melancholy that was trying to smother me. “But I’m going to hang on tight to every single one.”

  “It blows,” she said succinctly.

  “It really does.”

  “Hey, so besides interrogating you about your newfound social media fame, I was calling to tell you I’ve got a free day tomorrow and some muscle that could use a workout. Want some help around the house? I figure we could get that tub out to the curb and tackle patching the floor. I’ve been watching DIY videos.”

  This was a relationship I could count on. Faith had always been there for me, and I was grateful beyond words for her. Maybe I didn’t have Dominic Russo down on on
e knee in front of me, but I had Faith. “I love you.”

  “Love you back. Even if you’re carelessly discarding gorgeous, virile men left and right.”

  “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “I’ll bring coffee,” she chirped.

  We disconnected, and I saw that I had a new text on my work phone.

  Dominic: You’re beautiful. And not just tonight.

  My stupid, stupid heart gave a pathetic limp.

  * * *

  It turned out that Faith’s muscle was not actually attached to her own body. She brought a short, six-packed dancer named Rocco and a long-legged bartender who went by Rick during the week and Peaches Von Titz on the weekends.

  “If I get hemorrhoids from this, I’m gonna be pissed,” Faith gritted out.

  “Why are bathtubs so heavy?” I wheezed.

  Rocco and Peaches had muscled the cast iron tub out of the living room onto the porch and were dragging the new tub enclosure upstairs where it would live in the hallway until I patched the floor and could afford a reputable plumber.

  Meanwhile, Faith and I were trying not to rupture our spleens carrying the tub down the front steps.

  Faith was decked out in her winter weekend warrior best. A pair of carpenter jeans worn low enough to show off the skull and crossbones belly button ring beneath the cropped hem of her long-sleeve thermal. She’d tailored the shirt herself, adding a hot pink lace-up corset closure. Her sleek, pink-tipped ponytail bobbed on top of her head.

  With a cacophony of sound effects and several breaks, we were finally able to deposit the tub at the curb where Mr. Mohammad’s antiquing friend with a pickup truck and strong nephews would retrieve it later today. Trying to catch my breath, I slid into the tub and hung my legs over the edge.

  “Whatcha gonna do with the Range Rover?” Faith asked, climbing in next to me.

  I eyed the SUV. “Return it without telling him.”

  She got the glint that always appeared in her pretty, devious eyes when she had a truly sneaky idea.

  “You know, I bet we could fit a lot more drywall supplies in the back of that bad boy than my car.” She hooked her thumb toward her flashy two-seater Mercedes parked at the curb.