By a Thread: A Grumpy Boss Romantic Comedy

The name of the game was avoidance.

After a long, sleepless night punctuated by not one but two icy showers, endless mental pep talks, and searching the internet for “distraction techniques,” “how to stop picturing my boss naked”—don’t Google that one, by the way—and “how to become a monk,” I’d come to the conclusion that my only rational course of action was to pretend that Dominic Russo didn’t exist.

I’d been furious with the man. And then one glimpse of the purple-headed sea monster in his pants, and I’d gone all pizza delivery porno on him.

The pain on his face when I’d walked in on him had burned into me. As had the vision of him fisting that magnificent fucking erection through his open trousers.

Me. He’d been thinking about me. And when I made it clear that I was available, that he could have the real thing, he’d shut me down. The man was masturbating to a fantasy about me, and he still didn’t want the real thing.

The only thing that made any kind of sense was that he was hiding behind the rules, using them as an excuse. Because I was Elizabeth Bennett and so far beneath him it made him sick to entertain the thought of actually being with me.

That pissed me off all over again.

The next morning, I slunk into the admin pool, surveying the room like a gentle woodland creature scenting the air for… whatever eats gentle woodland creatures.

“Nice of you to join us,” Malina said snidely.

I was beginning to think she did everything snidely. Today, she was dressed in a winter white sheath dress with her hair scraped back in a perfect platinum bun. Her mouth looked as if it had either had a run-in with some bees this weekend or she’d paid a visit to a syringe of fillers.

“You look nice,” I observed.

She rolled thickly lashed eyes with contempt. “Ugh. Shut up.”

I shrugged, then flopped down in my chair to boot up my computer. While it chugged to life, my nice new work phone signaled a text.

Charming: We need to talk.

My brain screamed, “Oh, hell no,” as my traitorous lady parts started an inappropriate celebration.

I was not putting myself in a situation where I could see, hear, smell, or be within fifteen feet of the man. I didn’t know what was going on biologically with me, but I was an adult, gosh darn it.

I was not a hormone-driven teenager with no respect for consequences.

The one thing that I’d managed to drill into my head overnight was that this paycheck was the only thing keeping my father where he needed to be. And I wasn’t going to do anything to jeopardize that. At least, that’s what I’d told my vagina last night.

Panic danced its way down my spine. If he walked in here and demanded to see me, I didn’t trust myself to not do something stupid. It was fifty-fifty on whether I’d punch him in the face or just go straight for his zipper with eager hands.

Fortunately, salvation arrived in the form of my supervisor. Zara was hustling down the aisle between the rows of cubicles, sticky notes in one hand, Sharpie in the other. “I need a volunteer to go out and—”

“I’ll do it!” I shot out of my seat like I was spring-loaded.

Zara looked at me like the weirdo I was. “You don’t even know what the assignment is.”

“Doesn’t matter,” I said desperately. “If it’s out of the building, I’ll take it. I’ll take all of the out of the building tasks.”

“It’s ten degrees and sleeting outside,” Gola said, appearing behind Zara. She looked concerned. I didn’t blame her.

“I like the cold. Love it,” I insisted. Words I’d never strung together in my entire life.

“Well, that makes my job easy,” Zara said. “I didn’t even have to bribe anyone with lunch.” She handed me six sticky notes and then snatched her hand back when I ripped them out of her grasp.

“What’s the hurry? Is there a sale at the soup kitchen?” Malina sniffed, giving my outfit a judgemental once-over.

I wasn’t head-to-toe in designer labels, but I looked good. You know, in case I accidentally ran into a certain someone who ceased to exist.

I was wearing a swingy plaid skirt over ribbed tights. Solid thrift store finds. Linus had liberated my last season thigh-high boots from “the closet” for me. My turtleneck was a leftover from my Colorado life when I’d actually had more than thirty-two dollars in the bank after bills.

Come on, Payday Gods, and smile your blessings upon my bank account.

“Mal, soup kitchens are free,” Gola sighed.

“What’s the matter, Malina? Couldn’t find any small children to kick on your way to work this morning?” Zara asked, rearranging the rest of her notes.

Malina made a hissing noise and primly returned to her chair.

I picked up the bag I’d dumped on the floor and started for the elevators. I didn’t really think Dominic would come looking for me. He was more of a summoner. But I also wasn’t willing to take that chance.

“What’s going on with you?” Gola asked, her long legs eating up the distance between us as I yanked the glass door to the elevators open. “Everything okay?”

“Everything’s great,” I said. I felt the tell-tale red flush creep up my neck. I was a shit liar. “I’m great.”

She looked unconvinced. “By ‘great’ you clearly mean ‘about to lose your damn mind.’”

I frantically stabbed the down button on the elevator. Three times. “Ha! You look so pretty today,” I said.

The stairwell door opened on the far end of the hallway, and the man who didn’t exist stepped out. His eyes went straight to me.

I turned my back and stabbed the button again.

“Ally, I say this with love,” Gola said. “You need a massage and a facial.”

I could feel his gaze on me. It felt like wildfire licking its way over my skin. I had to get out. Now.

The merciful god of high-rise elevators shined his divine love upon me, and the doors opened on a dignified ding. I stepped inside, hurling my body into the already crowded car. I couldn’t afford to wait for another one.

“I’ll call you later,” I promised Gola frantically as I jabbed the close button.

Stubbornly, the doors refused to close.

Dominic was closing in, stalking toward me with murder in his eyes and—was that a fucking vest? That son of a bitch!

I let go of the button, ready to take a stance against him, against the vest. Just then, the damn doors began to slide toward each other.

His blue eyes were icy and troubled. He looked the same as he had last night, except he wasn’t, you know, violently masturbating and rasping out my name.

Was it weird that the sexiest moment of my life hadn’t actually involved having sex?

I went weak in the knees with a desire so carnal I worried I might die on the spot.

“Can I help you with something, Mr. Russo?” Gola squeaked as he charged forward.

I glared at him, channeling all of my angst and maybe a little bit of the heat emanating from my below-the-waist region through the sliver of space between the doors until they closed, severing our connection.

Everyone else in the elevator was staring at me, but I ignored them. A bead of sweat worked its way down my back as I let out a long breath. It felt like a victory. Like I’d just escaped a hungry lion. This dumbass gazelle would live to gazelle another day. The triumphant feeling stuck with me until I crossed the lobby and ducked out into the miserable cold, gray world.

My assignments were a mixed bag of pickups, drop-offs, and location snooping for various departments.

Halfway through my list, I broke down and ducked into a coffee shop. It was warm and cozy inside. It was also full of people who reminded me of the old me. Designers and writers, huddled over laptops, setting their own schedules, kicking back with foamy lattes they could afford.

I ordered a tall black coffee and looked longingly at the pastries in the case. Then remembered the thirty-two dollars in the bank. Payday was tomorrow. I just had to hang in until then. I’d cut it too close. I was almost out of groceries. The gas bill was due. And I was as far behind as I could get on Dad’s bills. I was holding my breath until that direct deposit landed at 12:01 a.m. Then, after writing those checks, I was going to buy myself a shot of whiskey. A bottom shelf shot.

The music in my earbuds cut off as my text alert sounded.

I knew before even looking at the screen who it was.

Charming: You can’t run forever. We will have this conversation sooner or later.

I grabbed my coffee off the counter and slid into a chair in the corner facing the steamy glass window.

Me: Nope.

Charming: Where are you?

Me: You can’t fire me.

Charming: I’m not trying to fire you. I’m trying to apologize and promise it will never happen again. If anything, you could have me fired. You should have me fired.

Me: What is wrong with you?

Charming: I don’t know.

Charming: It’s safe to talk to HR. I wouldn’t stop you from doing that.

I gave up trying to text through still-frozen fingers and dialed.

“Ally.” The way he said my name had my lady parts clenching. “Where are you? Can we talk? It doesn’t have to be alone. I can have an HR rep—”

“What the hell is wrong with you?” I demanded. The woman next to me carefully studying the Bible glared at me.

“You’re going to have to be more specific,” he said in my ear.

“Your office door was locked, Dom,” I pointed out at a more modulated volume.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Your office door was locked, and it was well after hours. You didn’t lure me there, you idiot. I was dropping off files, and I used the key Greta keeps in her desk.”

“My behavior was unconscionable,” he said, his voice low and rough around the edges.

“Oh, please,” I scoffed. “You should see what I get up to with a vibrator on Saturday nights.”

“Ally.” He bit out my name like he was in physical pain.

The guy in the lemon yellow ski jacket texting on his phone like it was a full-time job shot me an interested look.

“Not gonna happen, buddy,” I told him.

He went back to texting, and now I worried he was doing one of those live-tweet things. Hey Twitter, I’m sitting at a coffee shop minding my own business when the chick next to me starts talking about vibrators…

“What?” Dom asked.

“Not you. Well, also you. I’m not trying to harass you, Dom. My point is that everyone acts unconscionably on their own time. I just happened to barge into your time. You didn’t harass me. You didn’t assault me. You rejected me.”

“I think you’re missing the bigger picture,” he said dryly.

“Yeah, well, I think you missed the boat. You had a chance to get this out of your system, and you said no.”

“I’m your boss. And you’re being really stubborn about quitting.”

“At this point, I don’t really give a flying fuckcicle, Dominic.”

Bible study lady cleared her throat in a judgey kind of way and nodded her head toward the teenagers across from her.

“Sorry,” I mouthed to them. “Look, you had your chance. You made it crystal clear that you have no desire to… get coffee with me,” I said to Dominic.

“Coffee?”

“It’s a euphemism. There’s Bible studying happening here,” I hissed into the phone. “Deal with it.”

“Fine. I believe I made it clear that I’ve had nothing but desire to get into your fucking pants, Ally,” he growled.

“Yeah, yeah. But you’re not going to act on it, blah blah blah. And I’m not going to throw myself at you. You didn’t harass me. I didn’t harass you. As of this second, we have nothing to talk about ever again.”

“So, you’re just going to avoid me for the rest of your life?”

“That’s exactly what I’m going to do. Because I deserve better. I deserve a guy who isn’t appalled at being physically attracted to me.”

“That’s not fair—”

“Shut up, Charming. Here’s what we’re going to do moving forward. Absolutely nothing. We will be polite at work. We won’t text or email or chat or spar or fight. We won’t ever be alone. We will never get coffee.”

“Are you afraid of me, Ally?”

“I’m afraid that if I’m in a room alone with you, I won’t be able to control myself.”

I heard the intake of breath on his end and wondered if he was crushing the phone in his hand.

Bible study lady was now discussing a psalm at full volume, trying to drown me out.

“Control yourself?” Dominic’s tone was deceptively neutral. But I knew, I knew he was anything but.

“Yeah, Dom. I’m afraid I might walk right up to you and break your damn nose.”

His laugh was dry, humorless. “You’re a hell of a woman, Ally.”

“You’re damn right I am. And you’re the dumbass who missed out.”

“I am,” he agreed.

But I didn’t want his pity agreement. I wanted to pretend he never existed. “Great. Now that we have that settled. Get off my phone.”