By a Thread: A Grumpy Boss Romantic Comedy

“Ilook like I ran face-first into a bar fight,” I complained to my reflection. My face hurt. Worse. It looked like it hurt.

The movies where the heroine gets backhanded and jumps back up to badassedly wipe the blood off her lips before grinning at the villain were total bullshit.

I’d tried makeup. All of the foundation and concealer I had still couldn’t disguise the swelling and the darker bruises. There was no way Dominic would a) not notice that half my face was bigger and more purple than the other half and b) let me get out of explaining what had happened.

I winced at the thought and then again at the pain the audacity of having facial expressions caused.

As much as I hated to do it, I had to call in sick. There was no way around it.

It was early enough that he wouldn’t be at the office for at least another hour. I wasn’t being a big ol’ chicken, I reminded myself as I dialed his desk extension instead of his cell phone. I just didn’t want to bother him with something as insignificant as my absence today.

My neck flushed hot and splotchy in the mirror.

“Hi, Charming. It’s, uh… me. Ally. I’m sick. I can’t come in today. But I swear I’ll make up the time. I can work late tomorrow or on the weekend or… whatever.” I remembered to cough, but it came out more like the honk of a wounded goose.

My neck was on fire with lies. I bobbled my phone, dropping it into the sink. “Damn it!” I hissed, making a grab for it and disconnecting the call.

I really needed to work on my lies. But for now, I had moisture-resistant Sheetrock to hang.

I spent the day hanging and taping Sheetrock in the bathroom and not answering my phone. Dominic called three times, and I let it go to voicemail each time. And, of course, listened to the messages immediately afterward.

He sounded concerned, asking if I needed soup, then annoyed because who the hell was supposed to do all the work I was supposed to do? Very on-brand for Dominic Russo.

I didn’t respond. But guilt at missing a full day of work started to eat away at me. I tried to stuff it down with a turkey sandwich, made just the way my dad liked—with thin slices of apple topped with sharp cheddar. It was nice to have cheese back in my life.

According to the nurse at the desk, it was a good day for Dad, which meant I couldn’t see him.

Not with my face looking like this.

Not if there was a chance that he’d realize the bruises came from him.

By early evening, I couldn’t take it anymore. I’d watched my inbox overflow with its usual frenetic energy all day, but I hadn’t been there to take care of anything. Looming responsibilities made me feel itchy. I decided I’d put in a few hours of work tonight and start fresh tomorrow… if my face cooperated.

I showered, dressed, and headed into the city. The night air was cold, crisp, and felt like snow. It was after nine by the time I let myself into the office with my keycard. The floor was dark and quiet. A ghost town compared to the daytime productivity.

In a nod to the overwhelming quiet—and, okay, to make sure Dominic wasn’t pulling an all-nighter in his office—I tiptoed to my desk.

The office was empty, and I was alone. I breathed a sigh of relief and flopped down in my chair. My desk had a stack of new files. My email inbox was demanding my attention, and I had nothing but a few uninterrupted hours to make some headway.

I put in my earbuds, cranked up one of my favorite dance playlists, and dug into the work.

The hand that clamped down on my shoulder half an hour later scared the ever-living shit out of me.

“Oh, sweet Jesus!”

“Who the hell did this to you?”

The demand, growled over the volume of my music, nearly shocked me out of my chair and onto the floor.

But he caught me.

I was staring into the eyes of one furious Dominic Russo.

I clutched at my heart to make sure it was still functioning. He yanked my earbuds free.

“Who the fuck hit you, Ally?” He enunciated each word with a burning fury that was both terrifying and touching. None of that rage transferred to the fingertips that gently tilted my chin so he could get a better look.

“No one,” I lied, trying to slip out of his hold. My neck was en fuego. This was so stupid. I should have just stayed home. “I had a little home renovation mishap. Not that it’s any of your concern.”

“That’s a fucking handmark on your face, Ally. Don’t lie to me.” He sounded pained.

My neck was a pulsing beacon of hives proclaiming my lies.

“Dom, it’s none of your business,” I said, trying to wheel back to put some distance between us, but he held my chair by the arms, and my feet skittered uselessly on the carpet.

“Don’t pull that shit with me, Ally,” he said darkly.

“Don’t ask questions about things that don’t concern you.”

“You’re my employee. You concern me. Are you dancing again?”

I rolled my eyes. Which was a mistake because a) it hurt my face and b) it really pissed Dominic off.

“Again. None of your business. And no I’m not dancing. It was an accident. He—” I choked on the word and immediately shut up.

“He.” His voice simmered with rage on the pronoun.

“Dominic, stop. It’s nothing to worry about. It’s my responsibility,” I said, my voice breaking.

I realized with horror that my eyes were going hot and glassy. I thought I’d gotten a hold on the waterworks. But it was like someone had turned on a freaking geyser.

“Ally.” He whispered my name. It was like a caress.

I shook my head. “Don’t do this, Dom. Don’t be nice. Don’t ask me questions. I’m hanging on by a thread here.”

He pulled me out of the chair and into his arms.

It was a hug. A hard, breathless hug.

And that’s what broke me. The unyielding contact of his body pressed against mine, his arms wrapped around me tight enough that the only thing I knew for certain was that I was safe.

“I can’t take this anymore, Ally,” he breathed against my hair. “I can’t just watch from the sidelines and pretend it doesn’t fucking kill me that I can’t touch you.”

I didn’t trust my voice. Didn’t have any words worth saying anyway. I just wanted to be held like this.

The tears I’d been holding back for so long burst through the dam. Those defensive walls trembled once before crumbling to dust beneath the weight of relief. I was going to ruin his very nice shirt with my silent but dramatic waterworks.

“Baby,” he whispered against the top of my head. “Talk to me. Please.”

I shook my head.

His arms tightened around me. “Why do you have to be so fucking stubborn?”

Again, I shook my head. “Not won’t talk. Can’t talk,” I managed between shaky breaths.

“You’re killing me, Ally. Right now, I just want to murder whoever put that mark on your face without letting go of you.”

That only made me cry harder.

In a moment that would have been incredibly romantic had I not been squirting liquid from both eyes and nostrils, Dominic picked me up, tucking my face under his chin, and carried me into his office. He kicked the door shut, threw the lock, and crossed to the couch.

He settled with me in his lap. Which was a much different feeling from the last time I’d been in it. Though, despite my hiccupping sobs, I still managed to engage my Dominic Dick Radar to notice that he was indeed hard. Definitely a permanent condition.

“You can’t murder him,” I told him mournfully.

“Give me one good reason why not.”

“He’s my father.” He stiffened against me.

More tears poured forth. An entire six month’s worth of banked hurt, angst, and fear flowed down my cheeks and onto Dominic’s crisp, white shirt.

He clutched me tighter to him. Murmured softly in my ear. Making promises we both knew he couldn’t keep. Through it all, he stroked my hair, my back, in long, comforting sweeps. The sweetness, the gentleness of his touch when I could still feel him vibrating with anger beneath me steadied me.

“Tell me, baby,” he demanded.

So I did. In fits and starts while silent tears slipped down my cheeks.

“Once I sell the house, that money will go to the nursing home, and he’ll be safe for at least a couple of years. It’ll buy me time to figure out how to make it work. I don’t want to have to move him to another facility if I can help it. But it’s so expensive. I’m not going to have a choice if I can’t get the house on the market.”

He said nothing, but I felt his arms band tighter around me.

Shifting in his lap, I sat up.

He cupped my face, then brushed my hair back from my eyes. His expression was so very serious. “Thank you for telling me,” he said finally.

“My dad isn’t violent,” I said earnestly. Wanting him to understand. “It’s his disease. He’s not who he was. There are still glimpses of him here and there. But for the most part, my dad is gone.”

“I’m so sorry, baby,” he whispered, wiping the fresh tears from my cheeks with his thumbs.

“Stop being nice to me, Dom.”

“Not this time.”

We stared at each other for a long moment. The night skyline of Manhattan glowed outside the windows across the room as the predicted snow fell steadily. I took a few slow, deep breaths. Selfishly stealing Dominic’s heat and claiming it for myself.

“I should go,” I said. “I have some work to catch up on, and I need to get home before the snow gets worse.”

“No.”

“No?” I laughed. “It’s adorable that you still believe you have a say in what I do.”

“It’s adorable that you think I would let you walk out of here tonight,” he countered.

I made a move to get out of his lap, but he tightened his grip.

“Dominic.”

“Kiss me, Ally. Let me make you feel better.”

I hesitated, balancing on a very dangerous precipice. I’d already crossed lines tonight. I’d shared too much, been too vulnerable.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I said softly. If he kissed me now, when my heart was already in a million little pieces, I was going to do something really stupid… like fall in love with the man.

“Let me,” he said, his voice grave.

Of all the ways we’d been intimate to this point, we had never kissed. I’d never had his mouth on mine.

“I don’t know if I can walk away when I need to,” I confessed, the panic rising up in me.

“We’re past walking away, Ally.”

A statement of fact, as if my fate were already sealed by his words.

“I’m not looking for anything,” I insisted, nerves getting the best of me.

“I wasn’t looking for you. But I still found you.”

“What are you saying?” I squeaked.

“I’m saying I found you. And I’m not fighting it anymore. You’re mine.”

He shifted me in his lap so I was straddling him. Just as I had at the club. Only this time, I was the vulnerable one.

“You’re scaring the hell out of me, Dom,” I admitted, digging my fingers into his shoulders, into the heat under that damn vest and shirt.

“I’m scaring me, too,” he said, nuzzling my jaw and down my neck. Moving his lips against my flesh. “I’m fucking terrified.”

Goose bumps exploded on my skin. I was suddenly hot and cold and dizzy and rooted to the spot. His mouth moved ever so gently over the bruise on my face, erasing the hurt as it went.

I was spread wide over his crotch, his cock nestled up against where I ached for him the most.

“I don’t want anything serious,” I whispered on a shiver when he brushed a kiss to the corner of my mouth. My lips burned with the need to feel his.

His laugh was gentle, but I still heard the sound of prison doors slamming shut. “Oh, sweetheart, you no longer have a choice.”

He kissed me then. Mouth firm and demanding, he devoured me until I lost the battle and opened for him. His tongue thrust home, invading me, taking from me any breath, any words, any sense that wasn’t already completely wrapped up in and around him.

I was flying and yet anchored to this spot by his body, his arms. His hands settled on my hips, and he dragged me over his erection. Back and forth.

“Let me make you feel good, Ally,” he demanded again, roughly.

“Yes.”

And with one little word, I set us both free.