By a Thread: A Grumpy Boss Romantic Comedy

Okay. So it had been pretty damn cool to strut down the runway in a beautiful dress on the arm of a very attractive man in front of the guy who’d rejected me repeatedly.

When I returned to the party, I felt almost cheerful.

And suddenly exhausted. I wanted to go home, curl up in bed, and relive Dom’s shock over and over again in my head. I’d give it another twenty minutes, say my goodbyes, and be in bed within an hour.

“Oh. My. God. That was amazing. You were amazing,” Gola squealed.

“I’m considering murdering you and assuming your identity,” Missie trilled. I got the feeling she was only half-kidding.

“Not creepy at all,” I told her.

“That was incredible,” Ruth said, throwing her arms around me and hugging me tight.

“Thanks. Now I could use a drink.”

We moved en masse toward the bar. When I ordered a water, the bartender shot me a sly smile and leaned in. “Someone in a vest almost as sexy as mine was frantically scanning the crowd looking for you earlier.”

I grinned. Victory was mine. It was a good night.

A very young woman I didn’t know popped up next to me and squealed. “Girl, you are already trending.” She held up her phone to my face. A fashion blogger had tweeted a photo of the end of the show, me and Christian laughing at the end of the runway.

Christian James ends show with mystery woman in #heartbreakerdress on arm.

I felt almost euphoric.

And then I wondered where Dominic was.

And then I wanted to slap myself for wondering.

I was going to need to start wearing a rubber band on my wrist and snap it every time I thought of him. At this rate, I’d amputate my hand inside of twenty minutes.

The runway was disassembled into artsy cubes and rearranged for uncomfortable perching. Everyone was hitting the open bar like it was last call, and those little appetizers were doing nothing to soak up the liquor. It was entertaining, but I had a feeling this is how bad things happened at office Christmas parties.

Inhibitions lowered, tongues loosened, and shit went down.

I wanted to be out of here before that part happened. I’d rubbed my awesomeness in Dominic’s face, and now it was time to go the hell home and eat some leftovers in bed.

Fifteen more minutes and I could slip out of here and fall asleep looking impossibly glamorous on the subway.

I limped toward one of the cubes with my water, wondering how the hell I was going to make it to the nearest subway station in these shoes. I didn’t quite make it.

A set of keys dangled in front of my face so close they bounced off my nose.

A hard listing Dominic was attached to them. He had both of our coats draped over one shoulder.

“Are you playing Oprah? Did I win a car?” I asked warily.

“You won the honor of driving me home.” He was tilting his head, making his grin lopsided. “You’re so pretty, Malef, uh… malcifa… Ally. Is your real name Ally, or are you Allison?”

Oh, boy. I’d heard rumors of Drunk Dominic. But they hadn’t prepared me for the reality of him. He was adorable… and in no way capable of functioning as creative director right now. I needed to get him home.

“Let’s go, boss,” I said, snatching the keys from his hand.

“Yay!” he said goofily. His smile was so sweet it made my teeth hurt.

Oh, no. Nope. Nope. Nope. Not happening. I was not going to fall for sweet, drunk Dom. No! I would remain steadfast in my resolve and other fancy words.

“Come on, big guy,” I said, guiding him away from the party and toward the side entrance.

It was hell-froze-over cold outside, and Drunk Dominic insisted on wearing my coat draped over his shoulders because “It smells nice.” So once again, I shoved my arms through his wool trench and towed the man toward the parking garage. At least this time I was wearing more than pasties and a thong under it.

“Why didn’t you use a driver?” I asked.

“Firstly, Nelson is at a science fair tonight for his granddaughter. And third, if I did, you wouldn’t be going home with me,” he said, throwing a heavy arm over my shoulder and nuzzling into my ear.

“I’m driving you home, not going home with you,” I corrected.

The keys belonged to the Range Rover, and thanks to the “beep boop” of the remote—which Dominic helpfully recreated a dozen times—I found the SUV on the second level.

I opened the passenger door for him since he seemed incapable. But he didn’t get in. Instead, he wrapped his arms around me.

“What are you doing?” My words were muffled against his chest.

He stroked a big hand through my hair a little harder than he probably intended. His fingers snagged clumsily on bobby pins. “Hugging you.”

“I can see that. Why?”

“I’ve always wanted to,” he confessed.

My heart melted like full fat, salted butter. Drunk Dom was Tell All the Truth Dom. Oh, this drive was going to be fun.

I weighed my options but finally gave in and wrapped my arms around his waist. He rested his face on the top of my head. “This is really nice,” he slurred happily.

Dammit. It was.

He was transferring more and more of his weight onto me until I was the only thing holding up his two hundred and twenty-some muscled pounds. “Okay, buddy. Let’s get you in the car.”

“I’m not Buddy. Buddy is Buddy,” he insisted. “Dr. Chopra loves Buddy.”

“She does, does she?” I said, guiding him toward the passenger seat.

“Yep.” He nodded forcefully. “She says his wife is doing great.”

“That’s nice. Don’t hit your head.”

He smacked his head getting in. “Ow.”

“Are you okay?” I asked, cupping his face in my hands, looking for blood.

His eyes were almost indigo in this light.

“Can I hug you in the car?” he whispered.

“Probably better not. I’ll be driving.”

He looked so sad my heart cracked right down the middle.

“Oh,” he said. Then he brightened. “Can I have a milkshake?”

I sighed. My dairy hiatus hadn’t solved my problems. And a milkshake sounded really good right now. “Sure. Why not?”

I buckled him in, accidentally discovering that the man was ticklish, and then got behind the wheel. I mashed the push-button start and fired up the seat warmers. Then froze.

“Dominic Russo.”

His head lolled to the side so he could stare lovingly at me. “That’s me.”

“How do you know Buddy’s wife’s physical therapist?” I asked.

He leaned forward. “How do you know I know her?” he asked.

“You just told me.”

“I did?”

“You’re drunk, not stupid. Spill it, Charming.”

“I’m not supposed to tell.”

“Says who?”

“Me. It’s a secret.”

“Did you hire Dr. Chopra for Buddy?”

“Absolutely not,” he said very seriously. Then he started laughing. “I hired her for his wife because you were all ‘Oh, Buddy is the greatest human being in the history of the world!’” Dominic emphasized his relatively accurate impression of me with a sweeping gesture that nearly put his fist through the window. “Ow.”

“Dom, maybe try not to flail around so much.”

“’Kay.”

“Why did you do that for Buddy? Do you even know him?”

“I did it for you,” he insisted.

My wall was tumbling down one brick at a time, and I didn’t want to let it go. I backed out of the space and found my way out of the parking garage.

“Don’t tell Buddy about my secret,” he said when we pulled onto the street.

“Why don’t you want him to know? You’re doing something amazing for his wife.”

“Shh!” He slapped a finger over my lips and slid it partially up my nose. “He can’t know. This way he earned it. He’s the hero.”

“Oh, Dom.” Damn it. My shattered broken heart was trying to knit itself back together just so it could fall for him all over again.

“Pinky promise me,” he said, jabbing his pinky in the vicinity of my eye.

“Ah!” I jerked to avoid losing my cornea. The Range Rover followed suit and swerved into the other lane.

I answered the cab’s angry horn with a middle finger. “Yeah, okay. I’m losing an eye here, and you had to use your brakes. Big freaking deal.”

“Ally,” Dominic whispered.

“Dom, I’m a little busy trying not to kill us.”

“You didn’t pinky promise me yet.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake.” I hooked my pinky around his and tried not to fall in love with the idiot when he pressed his lips to our joined fingers.