By a Thread: A Grumpy Boss Romantic Comedy

Here’s a lesson, folks: Stripper shoes are impossible to run in.

I slipped out of the VIP room before Dominic could gather his wits—or a wad of tissues—and ran for the dressing room. Faith had thoughtfully left a shot of something that wasn’t tequila for me that I knocked back while trying to drag on my pants. I gave up when I tripped and fell over a pink suede ottoman. So I opted for my coat. It was long enough to cover me to my knees.

Ally. Baby. Dominic’s words as he came, as I made him come, hammered inside my head.

I’d heard a commotion outside the dressing room door and knew the shit was hitting the fan.

So I ran out the back and into the February night.

And now I was shuffle-jogging my way toward the closest bus stop wondering if I’d lose my toes to frostbite or these damn shoes.

The list of how many stupid things I’d accomplished in the last hour ran like a silent home movie in my head.

1. I’d danced semi-topless for an audience.

2. I’d said yes to a private dance.

3. I’d ridden my boss to orgasm in the VIP room of a strip club. A classy one, but still.

4. I’d panicked and run out of the club, leaving my stage money and whatever winnings behind.

5. I hadn’t stayed for my second free drink.

6. I’d placed my freaking pride ahead of my father’s well-being. I should have just swallowed my stupid pride and asked Faith for a loan.

7. I hadn’t gone with the cheerleader outfit with the cute little platform sneakers.

“Shit. Shit. Shit,” I whispered, my teeth chattering. The February air was so cold it burned my bare legs. I was going to top this night off with hypothermia and frostbite. Tomorrow, I could go to the nursing home and help my father pack.

Because I couldn’t stomach taking Dom’s money.

A tear formed in the corner of my eye and froze, binding the fake lashes to my lower real ones.

“Dammit.” Shivering, I swiped at it with my sleeve and only made it worse.

“Ally!” I knew that voice and I knew that tone.

Dominic Russo was mad, and he was closing in.

“Oh, no, no, no,” I chanted as I picked up the pace. I wasn’t running so much as prancing briskly.

It took him all of four seconds to catch and capture me.

He grabbed my arm and whipped me around. I had no balance and fell into him. Thank you, stripper shoes.

He held me there against him. It was my first good look at his face, and I immediately regretted peeking. He. Was. Furious.

“Take your goddamn money, Ally,” he said through clenched teeth.

“It’s your goddamn money! I don’t want a dime from you!”

“So you’re willing to dance for a stranger and take his money, but mine is tainted? That’s a murky moral ground, Ally.”

“Fuck you, Dominic.”

I tried to step around him on the sidewalk, but he wouldn’t let me. His hands held tight on my arms, making it clear I wasn’t slipping away from this conversation.

He was so angry and something else too. I saw it in those unfairly beautiful blue eyes. Hurt. I’d hurt Dominic Russo.

I’d wanted to hurt him. I’d wanted him to feel as ashamed as I felt. But there was no victory here. Just another defeat.

“Educate me,” he said coldly. “Tell me why you’d take money from a stranger but not me.”

“Because I don’t have feelings for a stranger, you stupid, stubborn asshole!”

Great. Now both eyes were freezing with tears that this dumbass didn’t deserve. That was the worst part. I had stupid feelings for a stupid man who was too stupid to be anything but disgusted by his attraction to me.

Dominic looked stunned.

His grip loosened on me, and I took advantage by stomping my stiletto into his foot and wrenching free. I took off at a slightly faster prance.

Nothing said pathetic like a clothing-optional dancer running down a dark street after amateur night. My life had reached a new low.

I didn’t even hear him coming. The thunder of my heartbeat drowned out everything else as I tottered for my life. Away from the man who made me feel things when I had no business or time to feel anything.

Hands caught me, stopping me in my tracks, and then pushed me up against the brick of a building. A church. Oh, how appropriate. He pinned me there with his hips, crowding me. I was trapped between a building and my furious boss.

Jesus—sorry, church—cheese and crackers, the man was still hard. Maybe it was just his natural state. His pants were still wet from the orgasm I’d given him.

“If you think I’m going to let you wait for a bus or a train wearing nothing but a coat and a thong at this time of night, then you’re the stupid, stubborn asshole,” he growled.

I said nothing. Dom was vibrating with rage. And, for once, I felt like we were both on the same page.

“Why do you even care? I don’t get you. I don’t get this. Why can’t you just leave me alone?”

He clamped a hand over my mouth. “I would love nothing more than to leave you alone. But I don’t know how. So this is what is going to happen. You’re going to get in my car, and I’m going to drive you home. And then we’re going to have a long talk.” Every word sounded like a threat.

My insolent eye-roll was apparently not the response he was looking for. He gave me a little shake and then undermined it by rubbing his hands up and down my arms. Once again, mixed messages from Prince Charming.

“Do you understand?” he asked with a frigid calm. “I’ll stand out here as long as it takes the come to freeze my balls to my dick if that’s what it takes.”

Heh. He had to be pretty uncomfortable running around with that in his pants.

I nodded slowly but let my watery, half-frozen eyes telegraph “I hate you” loud and clear.

He hauled me the block and a half to his car, a sinister-looking Range Rover, and shoved me into the passenger seat. I wondered if I was leaving a trail of body glitter behind me like I was a Questionable Life Choices Tinkerbell. When I shivered on the leather, he pinned me with a glare and stripped out of his coat. “Here,” he said, spreading it over me, tucking it in under my legs. “And if you even think about running again, I will make you regret it.”

Running was out of the question, so I waited while he rounded the vehicle and climbed behind the wheel.

“Am I fired? Or are you taking me somewhere to murder me?” I asked.

“I haven’t decided,” he said, stabbing the button for my seat warmer. The leather beneath me heated instantly, and I shifted the coats to protect my practically exposed hoo-ha.

Those were the only words spoken during the drive. Until I realized we weren’t heading toward New Jersey.

“Where are you taking me?”

The monosyllabic answer was delivered on a growl. “Home.”