By a Thread: A Grumpy Boss Romantic Comedy

I hated to admit it. But Ally had an annoyingly excellent eye. I’d spent another hour getting schooled on color and texture by an ex-pizza server who had entirely too many opinions for an admin.

And Christian James seemed all too happy to eat it up. Smiling at her. Complimenting her taste. And I didn’t like the way his gaze kept landing on the hem of her short knit skirt.

If I hadn’t been there, I wouldn’t have been surprised if the man had tried to talk her into drinks, dinner, and a quick fuck. Not that he’d have to coerce her. He was a charmer. Ally apparently enjoyed being charmed. And that set my teeth on edge.

I made a mental note to make sure not to include her in any further meetings with him. I didn’t need that kind of distraction.

“Why isn’t Label using the inclusion line in the story?” Ally wanted to know as soon as Nelson brought the SUV around. Her skirt rose indecently high as she climbed into the back, and I tried not to notice. But the desire to push her facedown and flip that skirt up was so strong I had to wait a beat and take a bracing breath of winter air before joining her in the backseat.

“That’s not our target demographic.” I kept my answer short and terse, hoping she’d leave me the fuck alone.

“I get that,” she said. “But what’s the harm in including it?”

Her questions annoyed me. “Fashion isn’t exactly known for being inclusive. It’s more about being special, exclusive.”

“But aren’t things changing?” she pressed, clearly warming to the topic. “Other luxury labels are doing it. The population is aging. Wouldn’t it follow that more people would be willing to buy clothing that allows them to keep their independence?”

“Have you ever read Label?”

“Don’t be snippy. I’m asking the creative director a serious question. If the point of your magazine is to highlight what’s special, you’re missing the boat by ignoring Christian’s inclusive line. It’s human interest. It’s highlighting the diverse buyer. And it gives you an opportunity to use a model or two who aren’t the cookie-cutter clothes hanger type. It’s real.”

“People don’t want real,” I argued. “They want the fantasy. They want the dress that’s going to change their life. They want clothing that makes them feel beautiful, sexy, special, one-of-a-kind.”

“And you can’t feel that in a wheelchair?”

“Are you deliberately trying to annoy me?”

“Maybe. I’m also trying to figure out if you really believe what you’re saying or you just like arguing with me.”

“You have too many annoying opinions.”

“Take it up with your mother,” she said cheerfully.

“Why don’t we play a game where we sit in silence for the entire ride back?”

She grinned and wrinkled her nose. “I’m just trying to make the point that Label has historically been at the forefront of change. You led the transition to digital without making a giant plummet out of the black. Why not consider inclusivity as your next history-making foray?”

“We sell a fantasy. Clothing that reminds readers about illness or disabilities isn’t fantasy. It’s real life, and they’ve got enough of that.”

She frowned thoughtfully.

I didn’t like defending Label’s brand. Not when I was still learning all the subtleties of it. Fantasy and image were essential to our brand. “Don’t you have something else to do, like find a new victim’s life to ruin?” I asked, changing the subject.

“You talk a good game, Charming, but I think you don’t hate me nearly as much as you pretend to,” Ally said airily.

“Wanna bet?” I sighed.

“Sorry. Broke.”

A shrill ringing erupted from the depths of her backpack.

“Christ, what is that?” I asked as the sound pierced my eardrum.

She didn’t answer. Instead, she frantically pawed through her bag.

“Hello?” she answered, breathlessly clutching her idiotic phone.

Her entire body seemed to go rigid while she listened.

“Is he okay?” she demanded. The hand gripping the phone to her ear went white-knuckled.

She looked pale as she shoved a hand through her hair.

“Okay. What hospital? Is it a precaution or…” she trailed off, nodding.

“I can be there in—” She leaned over Nelson and glanced at the GPS display. “An hour. Two tops. Hello? Can you hear me?”

She pulled the phone away from her ear and peered at the screen. “Dammit! Of course it goes dead.”

“What’s wrong? Where do you need to go?” I demanded.

She gripped the door handle like she was going to vault into traffic, and I clamped my hand over her knee to hold her in place. She was trembling, and it was killing me. “Ally.”

“Family emergency,” she said, a catch in her voice. “Nelson, could you pull over? I need to catch a train.”

“We’re five blocks away from the closest subway station,” I told her.

“I can walk. I need to walk.” In short, jerky motions, she was zipping her backpack and then trying to shoulder it.

“Take the car, Ally,” I said.

She stopped what she was doing and looked at me. Really looked at me. Her brown eyes were wide. She looked scared, and I decided I fucking hated that look on her.

I squeezed her knee, hard. “Breathe,” I commanded.

She took a slow breath and let it out. “I can’t take the car. I’m going to Jersey,” she said, her voice calmer.

“Nelson loves Jersey,” I told her.

“I live for it, sir,” Nelson chimed in.

That got a shaky smile out of her.

“He’ll take you to Jersey, and he can wait and drive you home,” I said.

She started shaking again and reached for the handle. “I can’t. The train will be faster. But thank you,” she said.

“Ally,” I said again. I couldn’t let her just jump out of the car and disappear.

“It’s fine. I’m fine.” There was nothing in her tone that remotely reassured me.

Nelson signaled as he changed lanes, inching toward the subway station.

“Here. Take this,” I said, yanking out my wallet. I threw a fifty at her. “Take a cab when you get to Jersey.”

She looked at the money in her lap and started to shake her head. Newly and temporarily poor but permanently, stupidly stubborn.

“I c—”

“If the next word out of your mouth is ‘can’t,’ I’m going to insist on personally seeing you to your destination,” I threatened.

She looked at the bill in her lap again then up at me. I dared her to defy me.

“I’ll pay you back,” she said. Her voice was tight, and those golden eyes looked a little watery to me. I didn’t want her to go.

“I’ll fire you if you do. Take the car. Please,” I added, not liking how the word felt in my mouth.

“Train’s faster.”

Nelson roared up to the curb. He hopped out from behind the wheel.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” I asked her.

“Everything’s fine. I’m fine,” she said. “Thank you, Dom.”

I didn’t expect the thank you. Or the chaste, friendly kiss she pressed to my cheek after.

Nelson opened my door, and Ally climbed right over me and hopped out.

I watched until she and that ridiculous backpack disappeared down the stairs.

“Back to the office, sir?” Nelson asked, sliding behind the wheel again.

I was still staring at the space that Ally and her backpack had occupied. “Actually, I have a stop to make.”