By a Thread: A Grumpy Boss Romantic Comedy

“Give it to me straight. Am I fired?” I asked Linus, collapsing against the leather seat.

He was slumped next to me as a car that hadn’t escorted five dogs all over the city headed toward the office. “I don’t have the energy to fire you,” he sighed.

“I think it went well,” I said. “I checked with the online content team and they got video of Dominic getting French kissed by the lab.”

That got the teensiest smile out of him.

“It wasn’t the worst disaster in the history of my career,” he said magnanimously.

“You managed to combine fashion, art, and good karma in one shoot. Face it, Linus. You’re a genius.”

The rescue director had personally arrived to escort the dogs back to the shelter, and I’d noticed the Croatian model cornering her and demanding a business card. I had a feeling Pirate and Mr. Frisky were about to find the most amazing home.

“Genius? Ha. I’m just lucky.” He produced the flask from his jacket and took a long pull before handing it to me.

“Thanks. I can’t. I have a dance class to teach.”

He wiggled the flask. “It’s not alcohol. It’s a super greens formula. It’s the reason I look like I’m forty-five when I’m actually 107.”

Curious, I sipped and winced.

“Beauty is pain,” he quipped.

“And bitterness apparently,” I said, handing the flask back.

“Speaking of bitter. You and Dominic seem to have a rapport.”

“Do we?” I asked innocently, pretending not to notice his fishing expedition.

“Oh, come on, Admin Ally. The man smiled. His mouth lifted at the corners, and the clouds parted and angels sang as a sunbeam held him in a spotlight.”

I laughed. “Are you sure there’s no alcohol in that?”

“I’m saying the man has been a miserable bastard since joining Label. But when he looks at you…”

I wasn’t biting. “He looks like he wants to commit murder. We don’t get along. We don’t like each other. However, I do like annoying him.”

“Well, keep annoying him. It’s nice to see him have a little fun for once.”

“He is very serious,” I said, annoyed with myself for wanting to fish for information.

“He was brought in to clean up a serious mess,” he said. “He takes family and business very seriously.”

“He also takes the arrangement of pepperonis very seriously.”

Linus sat up straighter. “That isn’t a rumor?”

I shook my head. “Nope. He was an ass. I spelled out FU on his pizza. He had me fired. And Dalessandra offered me a job.”

“You aren’t nearly as boring as you look, Admin Ally.”

“It’s the coat,” I joked, brushing a clump of dog hair off the lovely wool.

“You’re the only one brave enough to yell at him, you know.”

“I’m not brave,” I told him. “He just can’t fire me, and this is all temporary. Once everything is fixed, I don’t plan on staying.”

His eyes widened behind those owlish glasses. “This is a dream come true for a lot of girls out there.”

“It’s not my dream.”

“Is that why handsome ogres like Dominic don’t scare you?”

“Or sharp-toothed Medusas like Malina.”

Linus shuddered. “She’s one of the worst human beings I’ve ever met. And I work in fashion.”

We rode in silence for a few minutes.

“Thanks for my phone and laptop, by the way,” I said.

He squinted at me behind his glasses.

“Didn’t you arrange it with IT? I mean, since I was assigned to you this week, I assumed these came from you.”

“I didn’t know that was a thing I could do,” he mused. “I wonder if I could requisition a new Dior scarf?”

“If they’re not from you, and Zara had nothing to do with it, where did they come from?”

“Maybe Dalessandra is playing Santa Claus,” he guessed.

“Does she do that? With things other than jobs, I mean.”

“Dalessandra does a lot of things that the rest of us don’t know about.”

It was almost six, and the forty-third floor was starting to clear out. A few panicked support staff sweated over emergency magazine tasks in cubicles and conference rooms. Some of the higher-ups were clustering near the elevator in gowns and black ties. Just another Monday night.

I changed into my standard dance uniform, high-waisted tights and a cropped tank, and plopped down at my desk to check my emails while listening to tonight’s playlist before I left for class.

The pay from the studio wasn’t great. But I loved dance enough that I allowed myself two classes a week instead of taking better paying shifts. I loved moving and sweating and feeling the music in my bones. It felt like a celebration of being alive.

The kinds of classes I taught were less about technique and more about moving in ways that made you feel strong and sexy.

Taylor Swift crooned in my ears as I shoulder shimmied and fired off an email.

My old, crappy phone vibrated in staccato on the desk. It was a text from my neighbor.

Mr. Mohammad: I visited your father. We ate Jell-O and watched Judge Judy.

He’d included a GIF of two women Jell-O wrestling. I had some regrets about installing the GIF keyboard on his phone.

I thanked him and gave him my new work phone number with explicit instructions that it was for emergencies only.

He responded with a GIF of cartoon thumbs.

“Working late?” Even muffled by Taylor Swift, I recognized the voice.

Dominic stood just outside my cubicle. Hands in his pockets. His coat was covered in muddy paw prints of varying sizes. I liked the imperfection. It made him look less formidable. More human.

I pulled off my headphones. “Just catching up with work before I leave for more work.”

He eyed my outfit, and I felt the heat of his gaze like it was an actual physical touch.

I really needed to go on a date. Or at least get a hug.

“Let me guess,” he said, blue eyes lingering for a moment on the strip of exposed skin between the bottom of my shirt and the waistband of my pants. “Kickboxing?”

“Close,” I said. My work phone chimed out its reminder for me to get my butt in gear, and I rose. “Dance class,” I told him, pulling on my sweatshirt and tucking both phones into my backpack.

“Did your family emergency resolve itself?” he asked.

Surprised that he’d even given it another thought, I shot him a look. “Uh. Not yet, but it’s on the mend,” I told him. “Everything is under control.”

“Good.”

He waited, and I wondered if he was hoping I’d open up and tell him everything. More likely, he was hoping that I would shut up and leave.

“New phone?” he asked.

I looked up. His face was unreadable.

“Did you have something to do with the IT fairies raining gifts on me today?”

“Do I look like the type of person who would do that?” he challenged.

“No. But the paw prints do soften you up a bit.”

He glanced down at ruined cashmere. “Remind me to have Linus fire you.”

I clamped a hair tie between my lips and worked my hair into a short tail. “Nice try. But I think he likes me,” I said around the hair tie. “You should give it a shot. Maybe give your blinding hatred a rest.”

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!”