by Score, Lucy
I wrapped the tie around my hair and gave it a tug.
“I don’t hate you, Ally.” His voice was quiet, gruff.
I wasn’t sure how it had happened, but suddenly we were standing too close. Nothing good would come of this odd attraction. Yet I couldn’t seem to help myself.
He was supposed to be cold. However, from where I stood, inches away, he seemed anything but.
“Good. Because frankly, I’m irresistible, and you might as well just give up the fight now.”
“I can’t afford to find you irresistible,” he said.
We weren’t touching. But it felt like the space between us was charged with something. It was acting like a defibrillator on my heart.
I didn’t like him, I reminded myself. But clearly that didn’t mean I didn’t want him.
Apparently I’d turned into a woman who would gladly rip her clothes off and jump a guy who didn’t like her just because he was scary hot.
That thought led to an unfortunate fantasy montage of just how Dominic Russo would look if he were fucking me. On top. Under. Bent over me. Against a wall. Tangled in sheets.
“What?” he demanded.
The question had the effect of a record scratch.
I could only imagine the show my face was putting on right now.
“Nothing,” I squeaked. “Gotta go.” Gotta go take a long walk in the frigid night air to cool the hell down and stop thinking dirty, dirty thoughts.
But he didn’t move when I did. And now we were almost touching. I could feel him. His hands were still tucked in the pockets of his coat. The heat that came off his body was extraordinary.
I could imagine just how it would feel if I slid my palms over his chest. I knew exactly how the texture of his crisp shirt would war with the body heat that seemed desperate to escape.
I could feel his breath on my hair. I would have bet money that he could hear the thrum of my heartbeat because I sure as hell could hear it. I could feel it everywhere in my body. An insistent pulsing of hot blood.
He leaned in and down, and for one split second, I thought that those firm lips were going to crush mine in the kind of kiss that no one survives. But he reached past me, then straightened. “Here,” he said, handing me the headphones I’d left on the desk.
My fingers closed over them, but his didn’t let go. We stood that way for another long beat. Looking at the headphones. At our fingers that were almost brushing.
He still wasn’t touching me. But it felt like he’d stripped me down and spread me out to be admired.
Devoured.
Ruined.
Was he feeling this, too? Or was I just the awkward woman who couldn’t get out of her cubicle without making a mess?
I chanced a look up at him.
Those blue eyes bore into mine. He looked frustrated. Angry. Hungry.
“Did you have lunch today?” I asked.
He blinked like he was coming out of a trance. “Did I what?”
“Have lunch,” I repeated. “You look hungry.”
“You should go, Ally,” he said, taking a deliberate step back.
And just like that, he took his heat with him.
I grabbed my coat off the back of the chair and swirled it around me like a protective cloak before leaving without a word.
* * *
I got off the subway one stop early just so I could suck in the cold air and calm my racing mind. I hadn’t just had a moment with Dominic. Definitely not. He didn’t have moments. And he’d made it abundantly clear that not only was I not his type, but he could barely stand to be civil to me.
I was tired. Distracted. I’d completely misread all the signs. He wasn’t helplessly attracted to me. He was just being polite. Or annoying.
He hadn’t touched me. Not even when he handed over my headphones, I reminded myself.
I was not about to enter a mooning downward spiral about the hot boy in school. I cranked up Beyoncé’s “Single Ladies” and refused to let my brain replay the non-moment.
The studio was on the first floor of a well-kept building with fanciful arched windows in the Cast Iron Historic District. The windows were fogged from the last class. Students overlapped in the hall. Those leaving were sweaty and loose and smiling. Those arriving were tight, cold. Ready to be guided out of their heads and into their bodies.
Gola and Ruth showed up in designer athletic apparel, and I ushered them to their spots on the glossy wood floor. We had a packed class, and I could already feel the energy rising as everyone began to shed their day.
This was what I loved most. The transformation from employee to person. From parent to dancer. From titles and responsibilities to a body that was ready to be used.
The small crowd squealed when I turned down the lights, cranked the music.
“Okay, ladies and gentlemen. Let’s move!”
20
Dominic
“Greta, I need some recommendations on dog walkers,” I said, leaning against her desk and just so happening to find a direct line of sight to Ally at her new work station. She’d been bumped upstairs temporarily to help keep Linus from losing his production managing mind for the week. And I was… distracted by her presence.
Today, she was wearing a pair of high-wasted designer pants in fire engine red and some kind of black lacy blouse that looked Victorian except for the fact that I could see her bra straps. It was a conservative outfit compared to what usually strutted the halls of Label. But it was still enough to have me imagining everything else underneath it.
She’d added bracelets in turquoise and silver to one wrist and classic hoop earrings.
It bothered me that I felt compelled to take an inventory of every item she wore.
I felt compelled to do a lot of things where Ally was concerned.
Avoid her.
Ignore her.
Make up reasons to talk to her.
Pick a fight with her.
Touch her.
I’d been close enough to touch her Monday when I’d found her at her desk after work. It was much harder than it should have been to not reach out and trace a finger over her lower lip, over the strip of skin just below the hem of her tank.
It made no sense. I felt out of control around her. A feeling I loathed.
Every time I talked to her, passed her in the hall, sat across the table from her in a meeting, I wanted more.
I wanted more to blame her. But part of me was starting to wonder if this was in my blood. If my father had been a normal man until one day he’d snapped.
“Dog walkers?” Greta repeated. This was the third time I’d wandered out to her desk rather than calling, emailing, or just yelling through the open door like I usually did. Before the woman I couldn’t stop thinking about had moved upstairs.
My admin not-so-subtly swiveled in her chair to see exactly what I was staring at. She spun back around and arched an eyebrow. I knew I wasn’t fooling her.
I wasn’t even fooling myself.
“Dog walkers. The sooner, the better,” I told her briskly.
“I’ll take care of it after lunch,” she assured me. “Is there anything else you want?” She tilted her blonde head not so subtly in Ally’s direction.
Greta had managed my calendar for years. She knew the type of women I usually dated. I’d grown up around models and photographers and designers. It had been only natural to spend more… intimate time with the like.
But I’d taken a sabbatical from women since taking this job.
No dating.
No sex.
I’d needed to prove to myself that I wasn’t anything like him. And yet here I was, lusting after a woman I didn’t even like. Maybe it wasn’t Ally that was getting under my skin. Maybe it was just a biological need to fuck.
That thought brightened my mood. I’d gone a year without sex. A year without feeling a woman under me. A year without touching soft, lovely skin.
It was too fucking long.
I wasn’t a monk. Ju
st a man intent on not committing his father’s sins.
“Just the recommendations,” I told her, pointedly ignoring the way Ally’s shoulders slid side to side as she danced to music in her headphones. I wondered what was playing in those ears right now. “Thanks.”
I returned to the refuge of my office. I hadn’t bothered redecorating when I’d taken over the position. It hadn’t been a priority. I’d come in on a Sunday and taken every framed photo, every memento, every shiny award, and thrown them all in the trash. The next morning, my new desk and chair—furniture that my father hadn’t touched—had been delivered.
It hadn’t been a fresh start so much as a hostile takeover.
I sat down behind my desk and pulled up the page layouts I was supposed to be approving. But Ally popped into my mind again.
Since my blindingly stupid moment with her Monday night—when I’d been so enamored with that peek of bare skin that I’d almost touched her—I’d thought of little else. I could imagine her. Moving to a hard-driving beat in those tights. Sweat glistening on her bare stomach.
And now I was hard again.
Fucking great.
I shifted in my seat, refusing to give in this time.
Yesterday, I’d run into her in the stairwell. I’d asked her politely to get the hell out of my way. She’d offered—less politely—to help me down the stairs, head first. All I could picture was bending her over the railing and dragging that flirty little skirt up to her waist. I’d made it back to my office, locked myself in the washroom, and masturbated violently while thinking about her.
In the middle of the day. In my own office.
I’d come so fucking hard my knees buckled.
When it was over, I couldn’t look at myself in the mirror.
I was afraid it wouldn’t be my reflection I’d see.
Today, I was keeping my fucking hands off my fucking cock and my fucking mind off fucking Ally. End of story.
I mustered every ounce of willpower I had and focused on the layouts on my desk.
Sheer stubbornness won out, and I didn’t surface for another thirty minutes until there was a knock on my open door.
Harry Vandenberg, investment banker, snappy dresser, father of two, and the man who held the title of my best friend lounged in my doorway. He was tall and rangy. I had inches and pounds on him, but he had the smile that women flocked to. He was charming. I was… less effusive.
“He is alive,” Harry quipped, strolling into my office. He whipped out his phone and snapped a picture.
“What’s that for?” I asked, standing to greet him.
We shook, then hugged.
“Proof of life for the rest of the guys,” Harry explained, firing off a text. My phone binged, and I knew it was a group text.
“It hasn’t been that long,” I argued, leaning against the desk.
He sank down in the chair in front of me. “I haven’t seen you in a month. The last time you came out with the rest of us, the air conditioning was still on.”
I’d left a job I loved at Dorrance Capital thirteen months ago, baffling my investment banking coworkers with the decision.
“I’ve been busy,” I told him.
“You’re always busy. Hell, I’m always busy. But that’s no excuse. We’re going to lunch.”
Lunch sounded good. Getting out of this office sounded good.
I reached for my phone, which was now buzzing at incessant intervals. I could only imagine the shit that was being dished out from my former coworkers.
“Not fair, Charming,” Ally stormed into my office. She held a clear plastic garment bag aloft.
I almost cracked a smile. Almost.
“What seems to be the problem, Maleficent?” I knew exactly what her problem was. That bag held four new vests that I’d ordered specifically with torturing her in mind.
Sue me. If her mere presence was torturing me, then I could at least make sure she was suffering too.
She turned to Harry. “I’m sorry. Is this an important meeting? Would you prefer if I come back to yell at this jerk later?” she asked him.
Harry grinned. “I’m an old friend of this jerk. Feel free to hurl insults at him in front of me.”
“Great! Thanks,” Ally said, tossing the bag on my desk. “I’ll tell you what my problem is. His name is Dominic Russo, and he’s a pain in my ass.”
“I’m Harry, by the way,” my idiot friend piped up. He was far too amused for my liking.
“No introductions,” I said. “Ms. Morales won’t be with us much longer. It’s only a matter of time before my mother comes to her senses and fires her since she seems incapable of behaving professionally.”
Ally flipped me off.
I crossed my arms and looked bored. “Are you through?”
She jabbed a finger at the bag then at me. “Make sure you know what you’re doing because this means war.”
“Don’t start something you can’t win,” I warned her quietly.
I get it. I’m an asshole. I don’t want her around. But I can’t leave her alone. Deal with it. It was worth the five figures those vests cost just to see her annoyed. Besides. I liked vests.
“I have no intention of losing, Charming.” She turned her back on me, and I wanted to punch myself in the face for instantly noticing how well those fucking fire engine pants accentuated the curves of her ass. “Harry, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Ally,” she said.
“Very nice to meet you, Ally,” Harry said, all charm. He stood and offered his hand.
I clenched my jaw. He could touch her, and it meant nothing.
I, on the other hand, didn’t trust myself to survive even basic contact. Ally was only safe, my soul was only safe, as long as I didn’t touch her.
“Go away, Maleficent.”
She turned her attention back to me, and I hated the relief I felt.
“Just remember, Dom. You started it.”
She walked out, and Harry and I watched her go.
“Who was that?” he demanded.
“No one. Let’s go.”
* * *
“Why are you not chasing that woman around with a diamond ring?” Harry demanded, the second the server walked away from our table.
“What woman?” I asked, pretending like I didn’t know exactly who he was talking about.
“The Maleficent to your Charming. I thought you were gonna crack a filling or two.”
“She’s not my type,” I said. “How’s the debt market report looking?”
“Uh-uh,” he said, shaking his head and ignoring my redirection. “Nope. No subject change. You and Ally. What’s the story?”
“There’s no story,” I insisted, unrolling my silverware from the napkin to give me something to do.
Harry was silent, and I looked up. He was sniffing the air. “You smell that?” he asked.
I knew where this was going. “I do not.”
“I do. It’s strong. Here. Let me waft it toward you,” he said, flicking his hands at me. “That’s the smell of bullshit.”
“It’s nothing. She’s just an admin at work. My mother hired her.”
“The fashion icon and editor-in-chief Dalessandra Russo does not hire admins,” he pointed out.
“She does when I get them fired from their jobs at pizza places in the Village.”
Harry hooted in amusement. “Oh, this is good.”
“Nothing is good. There’s no story. There’s no anything.”
“Brother, the last time I saw sparks flying like that was when my father-in-law tried to microwave leftovers in tinfoil. You’re either in deep denial, or you’re trying to lie to my face right now.”
“There’s nothing there. Nothing has happened or will happen. We just get under each other’s skin,” I insisted.
“When’s the last time a woman got under your skin?” he asked.
The server returned with our drinks, and I reached for mine with desperation.
The answer was never, and Harry knew it.
/>
“The main requirement for me to be interested in a woman is that she doesn’t annoy the shit out of me.”
“There’s a fine line between annoyance and ‘damn, I really want to get that naked,’” he pointed out. “When I met Delaney, I spent fifty percent of the time wanting to murder her and fifty percent of the time wanting to get in her pants.”
Delaney was Harry’s wife. She was an attorney known for aggressive cross-examinations. They met at a bar and had spent the entire evening arguing over wine and football. Ten years and two kids later, they still considered a good argument to be the best kind of foreplay.
“Not all of us are as fucked up as you two,” I said.
He ignored me. “I can’t wait to tell Delaney that Dominic Russo finally met someone who bugs the shit out of him.”
“You bug the shit out of me.”
“Yeah, but I’m already taken. Is she?”
“Who?”
“Don’t play me, Russo.”
“She’s single,” I admitted.
“What a coincidence. So are you.”
“Not happening. Besides the fact that she’s annoying, has no professionalism, and pisses me off every time I see her, I don’t date employees.”
“Maybe you should look into changing that policy. Because she’s definitely interested in you.”
Was she? Or was she interested in what Dominic Russo represented?
It wouldn’t be the first time a woman had been more interested in my name or family connections. After all, she’d already gotten a job out of just knowing me.
“Don’t make me send you the middle finger selfie again,” I told him.
21
Ally
Wednesdays weren’t the best bar shifts for making cash, but they were better than nothing. Plus I’d managed to finish up a design project for a client—a series of Facebook graphics for a product launch—between Label and my shift at Rooster’s.
The invoice was sent, and my tip jar was half-full. My first paycheck from Label was slated for next week, and Dad had been discharged back to the nursing home this morning.
