In the middle of the day. In my own office.
I’d come so fucking hard my knees buckled.
When it was over, I couldn’t look at myself in the mirror.
I was afraid it wouldn’t be my reflection I’d see.
Today, I was keeping my fucking hands off my fucking cock and my fucking mind off fucking Ally. End of story.
I mustered every ounce of willpower I had and focused on the layouts on my desk.
Sheer stubbornness won out, and I didn’t surface for another thirty minutes until there was a knock on my open door.
Harry Vandenberg, investment banker, snappy dresser, father of two, and the man who held the title of my best friend lounged in my doorway. He was tall and rangy. I had inches and pounds on him, but he had the smile that women flocked to. He was charming. I was… less effusive.
“He is alive,” Harry quipped, strolling into my office. He whipped out his phone and snapped a picture.
“What’s that for?” I asked, standing to greet him.
We shook, then hugged.
“Proof of life for the rest of the guys,” Harry explained, firing off a text. My phone binged, and I knew it was a group text.
“It hasn’t been that long,” I argued, leaning against the desk.
He sank down in the chair in front of me. “I haven’t seen you in a month. The last time you came out with the rest of us, the air conditioning was still on.”
I’d left a job I loved at Dorrance Capital thirteen months ago, baffling my investment banking coworkers with the decision.
“I’ve been busy,” I told him.
“You’re always busy. Hell, I’m always busy. But that’s no excuse. We’re going to lunch.”
Lunch sounded good. Getting out of this office sounded good.
I reached for my phone, which was now buzzing at incessant intervals. I could only imagine the shit that was being dished out from my former coworkers.
“Not fair, Charming,” Ally stormed into my office. She held a clear plastic garment bag aloft.
I almost cracked a smile. Almost.
“What seems to be the problem, Maleficent?” I knew exactly what her problem was. That bag held four new vests that I’d ordered specifically with torturing her in mind.
Sue me. If her mere presence was torturing me, then I could at least make sure she was suffering too.
She turned to Harry. “I’m sorry. Is this an important meeting? Would you prefer if I come back to yell at this jerk later?” she asked him.
Harry grinned. “I’m an old friend of this jerk. Feel free to hurl insults at him in front of me.”
“Great! Thanks,” Ally said, tossing the bag on my desk. “I’ll tell you what my problem is. His name is Dominic Russo, and he’s a pain in my ass.”
“I’m Harry, by the way,” my idiot friend piped up. He was far too amused for my liking.
“No introductions,” I said. “Ms. Morales won’t be with us much longer. It’s only a matter of time before my mother comes to her senses and fires her since she seems incapable of behaving professionally.”
Ally flipped me off.
I crossed my arms and looked bored. “Are you through?”
She jabbed a finger at the bag then at me. “Make sure you know what you’re doing because this means war.”
“Don’t start something you can’t win,” I warned her quietly.
I get it. I’m an asshole. I don’t want her around. But I can’t leave her alone. Deal with it. It was worth the five figures those vests cost just to see her annoyed. Besides. I liked vests.
“I have no intention of losing, Charming.” She turned her back on me, and I wanted to punch myself in the face for instantly noticing how well those fucking fire engine pants accentuated the curves of her ass. “Harry, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Ally,” she said.
“Very nice to meet you, Ally,” Harry said, all charm. He stood and offered his hand.
I clenched my jaw. He could touch her, and it meant nothing.
I, on the other hand, didn’t trust myself to survive even basic contact. Ally was only safe, my soul was only safe, as long as I didn’t touch her.
“Go away, Maleficent.”
She turned her attention back to me, and I hated the relief I felt.
“Just remember, Dom. You started it.”
She walked out, and Harry and I watched her go.
“Who was that?” he demanded.
“No one. Let’s go.”
“Why are you not chasing that woman around with a diamond ring?” Harry demanded, the second the server walked away from our table.
“What woman?” I asked, pretending like I didn’t know exactly who he was talking about.
“The Maleficent to your Charming. I thought you were gonna crack a filling or two.”
“She’s not my type,” I said. “How’s the debt market report looking?”
“Uh-uh,” he said, shaking his head and ignoring my redirection. “Nope. No subject change. You and Ally. What’s the story?”
“There’s no story,” I insisted, unrolling my silverware from the napkin to give me something to do.
Harry was silent, and I looked up. He was sniffing the air. “You smell that?” he asked.
I knew where this was going. “I do not.”
“I do. It’s strong. Here. Let me waft it toward you,” he said, flicking his hands at me. “That’s the smell of bullshit.”
“It’s nothing. She’s just an admin at work. My mother hired her.”
“The fashion icon and editor-in-chief Dalessandra Russo does not hire admins,” he pointed out.
“She does when I get them fired from their jobs at pizza places in the Village.”
Harry hooted in amusement. “Oh, this is good.”
“Nothing is good. There’s no story. There’s no anything.”
“Brother, the last time I saw sparks flying like that was when my father-in-law tried to microwave leftovers in tinfoil. You’re either in deep denial, or you’re trying to lie to my face right now.”
“There’s nothing there. Nothing has happened or will happen. We just get under each other’s skin,” I insisted.
“When’s the last time a woman got under your skin?” he asked.
The server returned with our drinks, and I reached for mine with desperation.
The answer was never, and Harry knew it.
“The main requirement for me to be interested in a woman is that she doesn’t annoy the shit out of me.”
“There’s a fine line between annoyance and ‘damn, I really want to get that naked,’” he pointed out. “When I met Delaney, I spent fifty percent of the time wanting to murder her and fifty percent of the time wanting to get in her pants.”
Delaney was Harry’s wife. She was an attorney known for aggressive cross-examinations. They met at a bar and had spent the entire evening arguing over wine and football. Ten years and two kids later, they still considered a good argument to be the best kind of foreplay.
“Not all of us are as fucked up as you two,” I said.
He ignored me. “I can’t wait to tell Delaney that Dominic Russo finally met someone who bugs the shit out of him.”