By a Thread: A Grumpy Boss Romantic Comedy

by Score, Lucy

I jumped and turned.

  Dominic was staring at me like he couldn’t decide whether to chop me into pieces or pull my hair and French kiss me.

  “No, I’m not okay!”

  “What’s wrong? Did that twerp say something? Do something?”

  “Austen?” I laughed. “No. He’s fine. He’s still in love with his ex-wife.”

  “Then what’s wrong?” he demanded, looking like he wanted to fix whatever it was.

  “This is stupid, Dom.”

  “So it’s Dom again?” He took a step closer, and that electricity fired up inside again.

  “Shut up. I panicked.”

  “Why?” He had a ghost of a smile playing at the corners of his lips.

  “For starters, I think I might be in love with your date. She’s stunning.”

  “She is,” he stupidly agreed. “She’s a human rights lawyer.”

  So much for hurling fast food bags at bikers.

  “You should get back to your date,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest.

  “Not until you tell me what’s wrong.”

  When I didn’t answer, he took my arm and drew me into the alcove. The emergency sign burned red like a beacon. I felt like this situation qualified.

  I was boxed in between the door and Dom’s broad chest. He rested his hands on either side of my head, caging me in between tattooed forearms.

  “Talk.”

  “I’m not mentally prepared for another round of honesty with you,” I confessed.

  “Tough shit. Spill it, Maleficent, or I’m not letting you out of here.”

  He’d keep me there, boxed in without actually touching me, all weekend just to prove a point.

  “Fine,” I said. “I might be more attracted to you than I thought I was.”

  “And?” he said arrogantly.

  “And I don’t love seeing you on a date with a really, really, really beautiful, smart woman.”

  Those blue eyes weren’t cold now. There was a victorious fire burning in them. And I was acutely aware that I was in immediate danger.

  “I think I need to get laid. It’s been too long,” I confessed in a rush. “There’s some kind of weird build-up of sexual energy, and if I don’t let it out, I’m going to Mount St. Helens on you or some other innocent bystander.”

  He leaned in, waaaaaay too close for it to be anything but a come on. I stood stock-still as he traced his nose over my cheek and jaw. “Good,” he whispered.

  “Good?” I gasped. I really wanted to hate him. But apparently my current priority was lusting after him.

  “I want you to suffer the way I suffer,” he said, his breath hot against my ear.

  My heart was trying to blast its way out of my chest. I didn’t know where the organ had gotten actual sticks of dynamite, but that’s what was happening. My insides had turned to lava… or magma, whichever simile was most appropriate. And I could feel myself getting wetter and wetter between my legs. “That’s not healthy, Charming. Friends don’t want friends to explode.”

  “We’re not friends,” he said.

  “What are we?” I asked. I was actually physically shaking from being so close and yet not close enough to the man.

  “Feels more like enemies,” he said. “One of us has to win, and one of us has to lose.”

  He didn’t want to want me. But if he had to, he wanted me to suffer with him. Ass.

  That felt accurate, but I was pheromone-drunk enough to wonder if we could both get what we wanted if we got naked once together. Enemies with benefits.

  My skin was on fire. My little red thong was sopping wet. And my inner walls were having some kind of seizure. If he didn’t back up or put some part of his body inside mine right now, I didn’t think any court in the country would hold me responsible for my actions.

  I reached up, and we both watched as I placed my palms on his chest. He was so warm, so solid. So obnoxiously sexy.

  “You need to quit, Ally.”

  I dragged my eyes away from his chest. “Excuse me?”

  “Quit your job,” he said slowly. “If you don’t work there, we can do something about this.”

  “You want me to quit my job so we can fuck each other out of our systems?”

  So this was what an aneurysm felt like.

  I’d always wondered.

  His nostrils flared, and I swear his erection grew another half inch in diameter and flexed in his pants. “That’s exactly what I want.”

  I was angry now. Incredibly turned on but very, very, very angry.

  “We’re both on dates, and you’re telling me that if I quit my job—a job that is essential to my family’s survival—that you’ll be happy to fuck me,” I summarized.

  “I’ll find you another job,” he said, ignoring the being on dates part.

  The smug, problem-solving balls on this guy. I wanted to kick him in them with the pointiest stilettos I could find.

  “I can’t afford to start over again.” I kept my voice low, but it shook with emotion. I had nothing left in my account. I was hanging on by a thread until payday Friday. The beer on the bar? That was being paid for by lowering the thermostat to fifty degrees for the next two days. And Dominic Russo thought he had the right to demand that I give up my employment for him. “Besides, what makes you think you’re worth it?” I seethed.

  His blue eyes flashed, and he leaned in even closer.

  I wanted to punch myself in the face for how much my stupid body still wanted him to touch me.

  “We both know how it would be between us.”

  No. No. No. Nope. Never. Not gonna happen. No.

  “Here’s a thought. How about you go back to your date before you say something even more incredibly offensive and stupid? Though I’m not sure you could if you tried.” Fueled by feminine rage, I gave him a solid shove.

  He took a step back, his gaze heated, hands fisted at his sides.

  Oh. My. Lanta. That hard-on looked like it was determined to tunnel its way out of those very expensive trousers.

  Dominic kept his gaze on me and reached down to adjust himself.

  Holy baby goats in pajamas. I swear I almost blacked out. It was the most blatantly sexual thing he’d done in front of me.

  And I wanted more.

  I wanted to see him naked, spread out before me like a buffet.

  I also never wanted to see him again.

  He turned and started back toward the bar. Now I was staring at his very nice ass, wondering why I wanted to bite it and kick it. Then that unfairly fine ass was pausing.

  “Oh, Ally?”

  I made some kind of noise between a “huh” and a “murf.”

  “Delaney’s not a date. She’s Harry’s wife.”

  “You smug son of a bitch. You brought her here to screw with me.”

  His smile was pure evil. “I’m not a good guy, Ally. Remember that.”

  “I’ve never forgotten it, you pompous jackass.”

  He started toward me again, and I held up both hands. “This isn’t fair, Dom. I don’t like you playing with me like this.”

  His face hardened. “You think I like this? You think I like being the asshole who can’t have you so I don’t want anyone else to either? Do you know how I felt all day just knowing that you were dressing for someone else? That you were going out with someone? That another man was going to touch you tonight?”

  I wanted to scream in frustration.

  “This is so stupid. It’s not that you can’t have me. You don’t want me. We could go home right now, get this out of our system, and be normal by tomorrow morning. But you don’t want to.”

  “As long as we both work for Label, you are untouchable, Ally.” He said it with an icy calm. “Quit.”

  I wanted to rearrange his stupid, sexy face. “No,” I hissed. I needed a paycheck more than I needed a callus, condescending cock inside me.

  “Then that means I’m not going to touch you. It also means that every time you have a date, I’ll show up to ruin it b
ecause I am that asshole.” It was his turn to show a flash of anger now. And for some reason—most likely cheese hormones—I didn’t think it was directed at me.

  No, Dominic Russo hated himself right now. For wanting me.

  “That is a crock of shit, and you know it.” I was losing my sanity. That was the only explanation for this night.

  “I am aware. And I’m sorry. I am,” he said, closing his eyes when I started to argue. “It’s not fair. It’s not remotely healthy. Believe me. I get that. It’s not your fault. But I’m not a good guy, Ally. And life isn’t fair. The sooner you understand that, the better.”

  “Oh, I get it loud and clear. And just what exactly will you be doing while I’m not dating? Fucking your way through every woman in Manhattan who doesn’t work for you?”

  He was back in my space again, and I could feel the pulse of his anger. It matched my own.

  “I’ll be doing what I’ve been doing since I met you,” he rasped.

  “What’s that?”

  “Fucking my goddamn hand and wishing it was you.”

  And there went my knees, buckling under me.

  27

  Ally

  It had not been my finest night.

  After Dominic caught me when I all but swooned on him, I went back to the bar. Back to Austen. Back to the stool that my boss guarded like a gargoyle. And pretended like everything was just fine.

  My neck hives had hives.

  Dominic didn’t touch me again. But his hand remained a firm presence on the back of my chair. A reminder of his claim.

  I wished I had it in me to flirt with my “date” to knot Dominic up the way he did me, but I could only stare blankly at Austen while he talked about his wedding.

  There I sat, debating my options.

  Quit and get fucked.

  Or stay and get fucked over.

  I, of course, was taking the high road. My situation demanded that I keep this job. My circumstances would force me to keep my dignity when my body didn’t seem capable of it.

  Beside me, Dominic gave a rumble of a laugh in response to something Delaney said.

  I was so tired. And sad. And angry. I’d wasted a night off. I could have had a visit with my father. I could have taken a catering shift or spent the entire evening figuring out how to patch the living room ceiling. Or, you know, making actual progress on a monumental task that was going to give me some breathing room.

  Hell, I could have called my best friend, Faith, and caught up with her.

  All of these things were better than being sandwiched between a man who wasn’t over his ex and one who was punishing me for not being stupid enough to quit my job to spend one night naked with him.

  Because I was the one who had to compromise? Bullshit.

  I fantasized about jabbing my elbow into his too close torso, tossing my drink in his face, and then kneeing him in the balls.

  Right now, I hated him. I loathed him.

  The only thing I hated more was the fact that I still wanted Dominic Russo.

  It was pathetic. My father hadn’t raised pathetic. He’d instilled in me a deep and abiding faith in my inherent value. I was more than just some toy for a bored, horny executive to play with. I was better than a quick fuck.

  But even as I told myself that, my underwear was getting damper and damper by the second. As if sex hormones had destroyed my brain so that nothing else mattered but being touched by the man next to me.

  Every touch, no matter how innocent, how platonic, took on layers of meaning. Each one kicked off chain reactions in my body’s chemistry. The brush of his pant leg against my calf right now was demanding more of my attention than Austen’s story about… Oh, good God. His honeymoon.

  Behind me, Dominic talked to Delaney easily, casually. They discussed everything from spring lines to kids to a humanitarian crisis her firm was following. But I felt the intensity he directed at me.

  I’d had enough. I felt battered, exhausted, and sexually frustrated. The fact that I still wanted him to touch me made me doubt my decision-making abilities. Not since junior high had I been so hormonally compelled to make such a terrible decision.

  That is what Dominic Russo was. A terrible fucking decision.

  “Hey, do you want to split an order of cheese sticks?” Austen asked suddenly.

  “You know what? I gave up cheese recently.” Very recently. “And it was really nice meeting you. But I’ve got to get going,” I told him.

  He turned an adorable shade of pink. “I guess I really made a mess of this, didn’t I?”

  I slid off the stool, shoving Dominic out of the way with my ass. Take that, jerk.

  “You just need time,” I told Austen. And maybe some therapy. But didn’t we all? “Don’t feel bad about taking it.”

  “It was really nice to meet you, Ally,” he said, rising. “Thanks for listening.”

  I laid my hand on his arm and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “I think you’ll be just fine, Austen.”

  From behind, I felt a force field of disapproval slam into me.

  I slid into my coat and turned to face him.

  “Have a nice night, boss.” To any innocent third party, the words sounded normal. But I pumped every ounce of venom I could muster into the look I shot him. We stared at each other for a long, hard moment.

  “Aren’t you staying for dinner?” he asked.

  I blinked. That was a stupid, weird question.

  “I’m not hungry,” I said and pushed past him. “Delaney, it was nice meeting you,” I called on my way to the door.

  The bitter wind felt good compared to the fires of hell I’d left behind me.

  It was still early, and I didn’t want to head home to my cold, empty house to eat leftovers under the covers. I could go back to the office. If I finished up Shayla’s changes to the graphics and sent them to her, I wouldn’t have to come in early tomorrow. That meant more time with Dad.

  There was just one thing I needed to do first. Decision made, I hunched my shoulders and headed into the wind.

  * * *

  The studio was closed for the night. Not many people in Midtown were interested in taking dance classes after eight on a weeknight. But I had a key and permission to use the space whenever I felt like it.

  And tonight, I felt like it.

  I changed into my dance clothes in the locker room, tied my hair back, and cranked my Fuck Off playlist on the speakers. I shut off all the lights except for the strands around the mirrors.

  And I let go of it all.

  Gretchen Wilson’s “Her Strut” was all I needed to warm up. I paced toward the mirror, loosening up my shoulders with a shimmy. My hips had already found the beat and were working on making it their bitch.

  I moved and spun and writhed around the studio’s floor, pausing only to turn on the LED disco light.

  A relentless beat from Nine Inch Nails washed over me, followed by Blondie. I was sweating now. My muscles were warm. My kicks higher. Backbends smoother. But that icy rage had yet to thaw in my chest.

  Kid Rock’s “So Hott” came blasting through the speakers, and I forgot about everything else but how it felt to move to music.

  It had started with ballet class in elementary school. Even as a kid, it had been too rigid, too confining for me. I added tap. And then I’d fallen hard for Patrick Swayze in Dirty Dancing. I’d practiced MTV video routines in the living room while my father graded papers at the kitchen table. In high school, I’d made the trip into the city twice a week for a hip-hop dance class. There’d been dance classes in college. I’d even given ballroom a spin.

  I’d learned the basics, the counts, the steps. And then I mashed them together in one celebration of movement.

  Somewhere along the way, I’d started teaching. Dance made me feel like I was honoring my body, my life. It colored how I moved through this world.

  I felt a tingle at the base of my spine. It worked its way up between my shoulder blades. If someone was watching me from out
side, I couldn’t see them through the windows. And it didn’t fucking matter anyway.

  I danced for myself.

  The beat changed, and I melted down to the floor in a slow, muscle stretching split. I crawled forward toward the mirrors, rocking and writhing on my hands and knees before climbing to my feet and kicking my leg into the air with violence.

  Sweat ran in jagged rivers down my chest and back. My hair was escaping its confines in damp, sloppy curls.

  Anderson East’s gravelly voiced “All on My Mind” had me slowing down. I slipped into a familiar choreography I’d been working on and let myself pretend that nothing else existed on the other side of that glass.

  28

  Dominic

  I hadn’t thought it was possible to hate myself more.

  And then I’d gone and out-assholed myself.

  Ally had every right to want to murder me. Hell, I wasn’t feeling too great about living with myself after tonight.

  Delaney had tried to light into me after Ally and Austen had left—separately. I wasn’t fooling her with the whole “she’s just an employee” thing. So, I’d gently shoved her in my car, directed Nelson to drive her home, and then decided to walk as many blocks as it took until my anger cooled or I got hypothermia.

  I’d fucked up. I’d crossed so many boundaries in that hallway that I didn’t think I’d ever be able to look at myself in the mirror again.

  And then I’d gone and made it worse.

  I hadn’t known she’d be there. But I’d still gone.

  When I got to the dance studio she’d listed on her employment application, well, I almost made a further fool of myself. She was dancing in an empty studio, moving her body in ways that made me wish there was no glass between us, no barriers. I could hear the faint beat of her music as it pulsed inside.

  Was this how my father had felt? Had he once been a normal man until something broke inside him and he couldn’t stop himself?

  Was I destined to follow in the footsteps of Paul Russo, predatory motherfucker and general dirtbag?

  I couldn’t stop watching her. She danced like it was a compulsion. Like she had to in order to keep breathing.