By a Thread: A Grumpy Boss Romantic Comedy

by Score, Lucy

  I bounced on my knees, full of adrenaline. “Where are we going?”

  “Stop asking questions. Stop jiggling,” he said to my breasts. “And start packing.”

  My breasts and I quit jiggling and started packing. “Pack warm” was the only hint he gave me. On the other side of the bed, Dominic exchanged fashion-forward suits for warmer, cozier items. The sexy eye banging we were giving each other made me hope our destination involved a short ride and a very big bed.

  Between it being somewhere around zero o’clock in the morning and the fact that I hadn’t had this man’s penis inside my body in five days, I was probably packing completely useless garbage. But I didn’t care. I was spending an entire weekend away with the man I l—iked. Liked.

  Packed, zipped, and still eye banging, we hauled our bags downstairs, and Dom went to work packing Brownie’s food and treats that—God forbid—we didn’t give him at precisely 7 p.m. every night.

  “Can you grab the book I left in the den?” he asked me.

  I should have been suspicious. His tone was a little too casual, and when was the last time he’d read in the den? It was usually on the couch while I pinned home improvement projects to my Dad’s House board.

  But I wasn’t thinking about any of that when I practically skipped into the small front room.

  “Oh my God.” I stopped in my tracks. Brownie dashed into the room in front of me, nose to the ground, checking out the new smells. The couch and chair were missing. And in their place was a stunning, brand-new upright piano.

  “Dom?”

  His hands came to my shoulders. His chin to the top of my head.

  “I know it’s not your dad’s,” he said while my mouth continued to open and close like a guppy. “The guy I brought out to the house took one look at that one and said it couldn’t be saved. But this model is supposed to be good.”

  Oh, boy. The piano was blurring in front of me. Everything was blurring in front of me. Nope. No. No. No. I was not a cryer. I was a silent sufferer.

  “Do you like it?” he asked softly.

  The man bought me a piano. A very shiny, expensive piano. Just because I had good memories of my dad’s.

  I nodded very slowly. “How did you get it in here?”

  I heard the smile in his voice. “You and Brownie can sleep through anything apparently. Including early morning piano deliveries.”

  My heart physically hurt with happiness.

  I turned away from the piano and into Dom’s arms.

  “I love… it. I love it.”

  He cupped my face and kissed me so gently it made me go a little weak in the knees.

  “I missed you this week,” he whispered.

  “Good,” I said.

  62

  Ally

  The cabin or chalet or whatever wealthy people called their mountain getaways was tucked halfway up a ski slope in snowy Connecticut.

  Smoke puffed cheerfully through a stone chimney. Dark green cedar shakes and caramel-toned wood accents gave the exterior a luxury gingerbread vibe.

  “Do you ski?” Dom asked, turning off the engine and reaching for my hand.

  Sheepishly, I shook my head. “Never been.” Even living in Colorado, I’d never actually gotten out on a ski slope. Mostly because I was more of a spiked hot chocolate and fuzzy socks by the fire kind of gal and less of a “Hey, let’s hurl ourselves down the side of a cliff on slippery toothpicks” one.

  “Good,” he said, brushing a kiss over my knuckles. “Then we can spend the whole weekend in front of the fire.”

  Swoon.

  Yup. I was falling in some serious like here.

  Brownie, not wanting to be left out, shoved his face between the seats and slurped at our joined hands.

  “We really need to call that dog trainer.” Dominic sighed.

  “When we get back,” I promised.

  We piled out of the SUV and trooped up onto the porch.

  “This is my mother’s place,” he explained, opening the front door. Brownie rocketed inside to sniff everything. “By the way, we both have Monday off too. I cleared it with your supervisor. And the nursing home is happy to provide updates. If your dad is having a good day, they’ll arrange a video chat.”

  I shook my head. Dominic the handler. “You know how I feel about being left out of decisions,” I began.

  “But?” He gave me a wolfish look as he pulled me into the living space. It had Dalessandra’s stamp all over it. A modern kitchen with quartz and steel that opened into a dining space with a table that could easily seat twelve. The focal point of the two-story living room was the towering stone fireplace. The furniture was deep and overstuffed. There were colorful throws and pillows everywhere.

  “But, in this case, I might be okay with it,” I said.

  “If you’re still on the fence, allow me to convince you.” He led me into the bedroom off of the living space. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked spectacular snowy mountain peaks and miles of forest. There was another fireplace in here and a grand four-poster bed buried under mounds of winter white linens and pillows.

  The bathroom door was open, and I caught a glimpse of marble floors, thick towels, and a huge freestanding tub in hammered copper.

  “Wow,” I whispered.

  Dom yawned mightily. “I’m going to shower off the plane ride. Make yourself comfortable and be ready to spend the weekend making up for the last week. I had the staff stock frozen peas and Gatorade.” He added the last with a wink.

  My heart did that annoying tip-tap thing again, and I waited until I heard the water turn on in the shower before hurling myself onto the snowy peak of bed linens. It took me five minutes in my best impression of a gopher to dig my way under the covers.

  Settled under forty pounds of luxury, I pulled out my phone.

  Me: How is this my life?

  I attached a picture of this room with a view.

  Faith: Girl, you soak that up. Also, my view isn’t so bad either.

  She’d attached a picture as well. One of shirtless Christian James smiling lazily at her.

  I did a little boogie on the mattress.

  Me: I knew it. I knew you two would set the bed on fire.

  Faith: And my office. And the backseat of his car. Oh, and his studio after you left the shoot Wednesday.

  Me: I’m really happy for you.

  Faith: Don’t make it weird. We’re just enjoying each other’s nudity.

  Me: Don’t rule out non-naked fun with the guy.

  Faith: We’ll see. Meantime, Mr. James is crooking his sexy AF finger at me. Gotta go rock his world.

  Me: Make good choices!

  Faith: I think you and I are both past that.

  It was true. I hadn’t had any intentions of starting an actual relationship with anyone, let alone my grumpy boss. Yet here I was. In an “I missed you so I flew across the country and whisked you away to a luxurious mountain retreat” situation.

  We probably needed to talk.

  Things felt like they’d gotten serious without our noticing. I yawned and rolled over, snuggling up against a pillow that was probably stuffed with organic geese feathers and gold dust.

  I was dozing when Dominic came back into the room, fresh from a hot shower.

  I let him pull me against his naked body and wrap his arms around me. This was where I belonged.

  “Just want to hold you for a minute,” he yawned.

  And that was the last thing I remembered.

  * * *

  “I can’t believe we slept the entire weekend,” I said, leaning back against the headrest and admiring Dominic’s now well-rested profile as he drove us home.

  “It wasn’t the entire weekend. There was sex and some food too,” he said wryly. “Next time, I’ll make sure we’re rested and hydrated for the trip.”

  Dominic had gotten a pretty hilarious muscle cramp in his hip on his last orgasm, but he’d heroically powered through it to screw me into the mattress… and oblivion.
r />   Next time. There was that flutter in my chest again.

  “Are you kidding? It was perfection. How many people get to have a napcation?”

  He took a conference call on the way home, and I listened while his team wheeled and dealed and made decisions that would affect how women around the world would look at raffia jewelry and raincoats.

  “You’re starting to enjoy it,” I pointed out when he disconnected the call.

  He shot me a side-eye look. “What?”

  “You just listened to your team’s opinions, made a series of decisions, and didn’t have a crisis of confidence.”

  He made a noncommittal noise, and I noticed his thumb was tapping on the steering wheel.

  “Aren’t we going back to your place?” I asked with a frown, as he drove past the exit.

  “I wanted to swing by your dad’s house and check out the progress,” he said.

  I snorted. “I wouldn’t call it progress so much as chaos. Seriously, who knew home renovations could be such a pain in the ass?”

  “Literally anyone who has ever attempted to do it themselves,” he said dryly.

  “Har har. Well, don’t get your hopes up. It kind of looks a little worse than it did when you left. But it’s part of the process,” I said confidently. “I was a little overconfident, thinking I could have it all done by the end of next month. But hopefully I can put in some more nights and weekends and get it ready to list in June.”

  Tap. Tap. Tap.

  He didn’t seem inclined to talk, so I used the quiet to mentally start a list of projects that still needed to be finished… or started. Ugh.

  He pulled onto my dad’s street, and I stretched. Maybe since it was Monday afternoon, I could talk Dominic into spending a few hours here and helping me figure out where I went wrong with the tile on the tub wall.

  I had just settled on the best bribe—blow jobs, always blow jobs—when he pulled into the driveway.

  I frowned. “Do the porch posts look different to you?” I asked, squinting through the windshield. They looked cleaner. Whiter. The windows seemed shinier too. Had I been vandalized by a mad cleaner?

  Dominic was suspiciously quiet and avoided the question by letting Brownie out of the backseat.

  I stepped up onto the porch and realized the top step hadn’t squeaked like it had spent the last ten years doing. It was definitely cleaner. The paint on the door wasn’t peeling anymore either.

  “What did you do?” I demanded, narrowing my eyes on his stoic face.

  I pulled my keys out of my bag, but the key didn’t fit the lock.

  “Try this one.” He held up a shiny new key.

  “Dominic Russo.” I had a lot of feelings sliding around in my guts. All I knew for sure was that he was in huge trouble. And so was I.

  I took the key from him and inserted it into the lock. The knob was new too. Oil rubbed bronze. It matched the new porch lights flanking the door.

  “Oh, God. What did you do?” I moaned.

  It smelled of new paint and fresh carpet. The bare plywood and those carpet tacks were gone. In its place was a pretty cherry hardwood that looked as if it could have been original. The ceiling was patched to perfection. I couldn’t even tell where the hole had been. The wall was repaired. Pristine drywall painted a warm gold.

  The ruined piano was gone. In its place were two overstuffed chairs tucked into the alcove.

  I brought my fingers to my mouth and did a slow circle.

  It was like home again, only better. Cleaner. Brighter. Updated. Like the memories and pain of the past year had been erased from the bones of the house.

  “There are new countertops and a new sink in the kitchen,” Dominic said, his thumb tapping out a beat against his thigh. “They put in a new water heater too.”

  Speechless, I looked up the stairs. They’d been recovered in a soft beige carpet.

  “Go on.” He nodded toward the second floor.

  I took the stairs slowly, reveling in the smooth banister under my hand. The spindles that no longer wobbled. Nothing squeaked, and the landing no longer felt spongy under my feet. More fresh carpet here.

  The bathroom looked like it was straight out of a magazine with a reclaimed wood vanity, large circular mirror, and a glass tile tub surround. The walls were a pretty gray that played off the new tile floor.

  I couldn’t breathe. My chest hurt.

  The bedrooms were empty, and for a second, I felt dizzy with the realization that soon, very soon, my childhood home would be gone. Its walls would absorb someone else’s memories. Host someone else’s Christmas mornings.

  My father and I no longer lived here. And only one of us would get to keep the memories.

  “I had everything up here moved into storage so you could go through it and decide what you want to keep,” Dominic said behind me. “They also made some cosmetic updates to the master bathroom.”

  “How?” I whispered.

  “I called in a crew. It took them four days.”

  It would have taken me four hundred. And he knew it.

  I turned to him, and his face softened. “Don’t do that, baby,” he said, thumbing away the tears that rolled hot down my cheeks. “Please don’t cry. If I’d asked, you would have said no.”

  He was damn right I would have said no. I’d have clung to my plan. My timeline. My budget. And in doing so, I would have continued to endanger my father’s future.

  “I know you’re behind on your dad’s bills again. This moves up your timeline and gets you out of the red now rather than a few months down the road.”

  “I don’t even know what to say.”

  “If you’re mad, say it. I can take it,” he said, dragging me into his chest and holding me hard against him. “I have several well-thought-out arguments planned.”

  I pulled back and cupped his face in my hands. “I’ll pay you back. Every dime,” I croaked.

  He rolled his eyes, letting me know exactly what he thought of that idea.

  “Shut up,” he said, his voice thick with emotion.

  “You really did this for me?” I asked, my voice so tight the words came out as a squeak.

  He nodded.

  “I don’t know if I can ever—”

  “Forgive me?” he guessed.

  I shook my head. “Thank you. I don’t know if there’s a way to say a big enough, loud enough thank you. This is everything. And I’m totally mad at you. And a whole lot of other things. I never expected anything like this, Dom.”

  “I don’t want a thank you. I wanted you to have your life back.”

  “You gave me a lot more than that,” I breathed. My throat was so damn tight like I’d swallowed a swarm of hornets. “I love… that you did this. Even though I’m also really mad. No one has ever done anything like this for me. This is huge. Thank—”

  But he was covering my mouth with his and kissing the words away.

  63

  Dominic

  “Don’t forget your meeting with the real estate agent Friday,” I reminded Ally, closing my menu and setting it aside.

  We’d snuck out of the office for lunch today.

  She bounced in her chair to a beat only she could hear. “I’m so excited and nervous I don’t know if I’ll survive that long. What if it appraises for more than I thought? What if it’s less? What if the market crashed, and it’s worthless? What if the buyers are horrible people and want to use the basement as a killing ground for their serial murder business?”

  I gave her an exasperated look. “There’s a lot that goes on in that brain of yours,” I observed.

  She gave me a very deliberate once-over and sank her teeth into her lower lip. “You have no idea.”

  I grinned when her foot slid up my ankle under the table. “Did you pick out any sheet music yet?” I asked. She’d been on the hunt for a few of her father’s favorite pieces to play.

  “As a matter of fact, I did. I downloaded a couple of songs, and they all look a whole lot more complicated t
han I thought they’d be.”

  “Most things are,” I mused.

  We ordered our meals, and when the server left, Ally leaned forward. “So I never got the chance to tell you about Christian’s shoot for Label’s YouTube channel while you were gone.” I went from admiring the way her eyes sparkled to being vaguely annoyed.

  “I really don’t like you spending time with that guy,” I told her.

  “Dominic Russo, you went to LA and hung out with some of the world’s most beautiful models at afterparties. Do you hear me complaining?”

  “Yes. Yes, I do. Right now.”

  “Christian and I are friends. And you better get used to him being around because—”

  “Dominic!”

  The voice, the familiar tone of it, had my blood going to ice.

  He looked the same. Distinguished in Armani, his full head of silver hair ruthlessly kempt in the same style he’d had my entire life. Paul Russo was nothing if not consistent. Whether it was with his appearance or his disgusting appetites for things that didn’t belong to him.

  He had the audacity to pull up a chair and offer his hand to Ally. His black onyx pinkie ring winked ominously.

  “You must be Ally. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

  I felt her watching me, and when she made a move to accept his hand, I took it instead. This man wasn’t touching her. I wouldn’t let him put those fingerprints on her.

  “What do you want, Dad?” I demanded coolly, my gaze never leaving Ally’s face.

  Her eyes widened, but she said nothing.

  “Always in a rush,” he laughed in a facsimile of fatherly affection that wasn’t fooling anyone. “All right, my boy. I’ll cut to the chase.”

  “You do that.”

  Ally squeezed my hand.

  “I need a little something to tide me over until the divorce settlement,” he said. “You know your mother. She’s dragging this out just to annoy me. I need a few hundred thousand.”