By a Thread: A Grumpy Boss Romantic Comedy

My feet and my brain were numb.

Prancing around on pinchy stilettos had probably permanently damaged the nerves in my toes. And as for my brain, my boss had rendered it useless.

I eased his Range Rover into the driveway and sat in the dark. Images from the night flashed on a loop through my mind.

The dress.

The runway.

Dominic “Alcohol as Truth Serum” Russo.

I had a lot of confusing, conflicting thoughts. But it all came back to one thing. He didn’t want to be like his father. It was as simple and complex as that.

Nights like these changed lives and were retold as stories for years to come. But I didn’t know what my story would be. Would it be the time the up-and-coming designer made me temporarily semi-famous? Or would it be the night I finally realized my heart belonged to a man I was never going to be with?

I got it now. I got him now.

He wanted me but not enough to do something that—in his mind—would put him in his father’s league. I had experience in that department and could respect Dominic’s decision.

I wanted that revelation to free me from whatever attraction I had to the man. I wanted to feel relieved. Instead, I just felt sad. Bone-deep, soul-deep sad.

My old phone cheerfully clunked out a facsimile of a ring.

Faith. My late-night checker-inner.

“Hey,” I said.

“Oh. My. God. I’m so glad you’re up!” she squealed. “Girl. You are all over social media as Christian James’s mystery heartbreaker! Tell me you’re out partying with fancy people. Are you in a limo on your way to some celebrity’s penthouse afterparty?”

Faith’s life was significantly more glamorous than my own. It was a special treat to have a story finally worthy of sharing.

I laughed. “I’m sitting in my driveway in my boss’s Range Rover that I may or may not have stolen.”

“I knew you had an inner badass! Is this the same boss who chased you out of the club after you refused to take his sexy money?”

“That’s the one. It’s been a weird night.”

“I absolutely need every detail,” she insisted. I heard her crack open a can of what was probably Mountain Dew, her post-one a.m. beverage of choice because she was immune to calories, sugar, and caffeine.

Since the SUV was warmer than my house, I stayed put and told her about the dress and the preview and party.

Faith swooned appropriately. “Are you totally into this Christian guy?”

“He’s super smart and sweet and sexy,” I hedged.

“But?”

I smiled. She was an expert people reader. “But the chemistry isn’t right.”

“Bummer. He’s gorgeous, and he’d shower you in designer goodies for all the days of your life until you had a dramatic divorce. Maybe you should introduce me to him,” Faith teased.

Huh. That could be interesting, I thought. Two creative free spirits with nothing but hotness in common?

“So, since you’re not into Hot Fashion Guy, does this mean you and Grumpy Grump Face Lap Dance Guy are on?”

I wasn’t one to kiss and tell. Or drive and tell. Or help strip a man down to just his pants, listen to his confession, leave him drunk in his bed, and tell. I was a good person, gosh darn it. And it was Dominic’s story to tell. Not mine.

“Definitely and irrevocably not on.” I sighed, picturing that bare chest with just the right amount of hair, those arms with just the right amount of ink.

“Disappointed!” she groaned.

You and me both, sister.

“Only you can be surrounded by hot guys who clearly want to tear your clothes off yet still end up fully clothed and home alone on a Friday night.”

“I think it’s the universe telling me I have too much shit going on to worry about men right now,” I told her. It was also probably a kick in the teeth from said universe, reminding me that a man whose most important relationship in life was the hatred he had for his father would not make a good frenemy-with-benefits.

The universe was right. Focusing on my dad, the house, and my job was all I had room for. Until I could fix up and sell this house, until my dad’s bills were settled, I had no right to spread my focus around.

“You know, babe. Sometimes it’s up to us to tell the universe what we want. Not the other way around.”

“My friend, the strip-club-owning sage.”

“Spend enough time around naked people and you learn to see beneath the surface real quick,” she said. “How is your dad?”

I perked up. “We had a good day this week. We had dinner together, and he remembered me. We talked about the neighbors—current, not deceased or moved away twenty years ago,” I told her.

“Babe, that’s awesome.”

“The good days are getting fewer and farther between.” I sighed, then pushed back at the melancholy that was trying to smother me. “But I’m going to hang on tight to every single one.”

“It blows,” she said succinctly.

“It really does.”

“Hey, so besides interrogating you about your newfound social media fame, I was calling to tell you I’ve got a free day tomorrow and some muscle that could use a workout. Want some help around the house? I figure we could get that tub out to the curb and tackle patching the floor. I’ve been watching DIY videos.”

This was a relationship I could count on. Faith had always been there for me, and I was grateful beyond words for her. Maybe I didn’t have Dominic Russo down on one knee in front of me, but I had Faith. “I love you.”

“Love you back. Even if you’re carelessly discarding gorgeous, virile men left and right.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“I’ll bring coffee,” she chirped.

We disconnected, and I saw that I had a new text on my work phone.

Dominic: You’re beautiful. And not just tonight.

My stupid, stupid heart gave a pathetic limp.

It turned out that Faith’s muscle was not actually attached to her own body. She brought a short, six-packed dancer named Rocco and a long-legged bartender who went by Rick during the week and Peaches Von Titz on the weekends.

“If I get hemorrhoids from this, I’m gonna be pissed,” Faith gritted out.

“Why are bathtubs so heavy?” I wheezed.

Rocco and Peaches had muscled the cast iron tub out of the living room onto the porch and were dragging the new tub enclosure upstairs where it would live in the hallway until I patched the floor and could afford a reputable plumber.

Meanwhile, Faith and I were trying not to rupture our spleens carrying the tub down the front steps.

Faith was decked out in her winter weekend warrior best. A pair of carpenter jeans worn low enough to show off the skull and crossbones belly button ring beneath the cropped hem of her long-sleeve thermal. She’d tailored the shirt herself, adding a hot pink lace-up corset closure. Her sleek, pink-tipped ponytail bobbed on top of her head.

With a cacophony of sound effects and several breaks, we were finally able to deposit the tub at the curb where Mr. Mohammad’s antiquing friend with a pickup truck and strong nephews would retrieve it later today. Trying to catch my breath, I slid into the tub and hung my legs over the edge.

“Whatcha gonna do with the Range Rover?” Faith asked, climbing in next to me.

I eyed the SUV. “Return it without telling him.”

She got the glint that always appeared in her pretty, devious eyes when she had a truly sneaky idea.

“You know, I bet we could fit a lot more drywall supplies in the back of that bad boy than my car.” She hooked her thumb toward her flashy two-seater Mercedes parked at the curb.

I chewed on my lip, considering. “It would save the delivery fee.” The man had chosen his vendetta against his father over his feelings for me. I could use his luxury SUV to haul supplies.

“Coincidentally, did you know that my favorite hardware store is right across the street from my favorite taco shop?” she mused.

“Did someone say tacos?” Rocco poked his head out of the second-floor window.

Tacos and home renovation supplies with an entrepreneur, a male exotic dancer, and a drag queen on her day off. Just another glamorous day in the life.