“You bug the shit out of me.”
“Yeah, but I’m already taken. Is she?”
“Who?”
“Don’t play me, Russo.”
“She’s single,” I admitted.
“What a coincidence. So are you.”
“Not happening. Besides the fact that she’s annoying, has no professionalism, and pisses me off every time I see her, I don’t date employees.”
“Maybe you should look into changing that policy. Because she’s definitely interested in you.”
Was she? Or was she interested in what Dominic Russo represented?
It wouldn’t be the first time a woman had been more interested in my name or family connections. After all, she’d already gotten a job out of just knowing me.
“Don’t make me send you the middle finger selfie again,” I told him.
21
Ally
Wednesdays weren’t the best bar shifts for making cash, but they were better than nothing. Plus I’d managed to finish up a design project for a client—a series of Facebook graphics for a product launch—between Label and my shift at Rooster’s.
The invoice was sent, and my tip jar was half-full. My first paycheck from Label was slated for next week, and Dad had been discharged back to the nursing home this morning.
Things were moving in the right direction.
“Have a good night, guys,” I called after two patrons who had warmed barstools for two hours, arguing seventeenth century literature and flirting with me.
They’d left me a thirty percent tip that made my mercenary heart tap out a pitter-pat.
That pitter-pat turned into an aggressive timpani solo when Domnic Russo took one of the vacated stools.
We stared at each other while he shrugged out of his coat. He was dressed more casually than he had been in the office. Jeans and a well-fitting gray sweater that made his blue eyes look more silver. His sleeves were shoved up, revealing tattoos on both forearms.
Yum.
What was it about this man that made me feel… whatever this was?
Wordlessly, I dropped a napkin on the bar in front of him.
The bar was still loud, still busy. But everything seemed to fade into a blurry background as we stared at each other.
What was this?
Why was he here?
Why did I want to climb over this bar and slide into his lap?
Well. Besides the obvious.
“What’ll it be, boss?” I asked, going for light, blasé even. But when the words came out, they sounded like a proposition to me. Beer? Bourbon? Me?
He pointed to a craft beer on tap and leaned his forearms on the bar.
I poured his beer and set it in front of him.
“Yo, Al, got a round of bachelorette shots comin’ up,” one of the servers called from the end of the bar. I was old enough to be his very young aunt.
Relieved I turned away from those eyes that were burning holes into me and yanked the ticket off the printer. I went to work, pretending that every fiber of my being wasn’t focused on the man behind me.
I made six Screaming Orgasms, poured four more beers, and shook up two martinis before finding my way back to Dominic.
“Hungry?” I asked.
“Do you get a break?” He pushed his empty glass toward me. His gaze lingered on the beaded bracelets on my wrist.
“I get fifteen,” I said, wondering what he could possibly want badly enough to come down here and sit at my bar.
“Will you eat with me?” he asked.
Now I was nervous. He was being nice. Polite. I trusted the grumpy, yelly version of him a hell of a lot more than this civilized one.
“Sure,” I said.
He looked relieved.
“Another one?” I asked, taking his glass.
“Yes.”
Twenty minutes later, I was seated across from my boss at a way-too-intimate high-top table tucked into a very dark corner.
Our differences were impossible to ignore. He was in designer duds. I was dressed like a cheap cowgirl. He’d ordered the filet, and I was dining on my employee discount hamburger.
“What’s going on? You’re not here to get me fired, are you?” I cut my burger in half so I could save one portion for lunch tomorrow.
He didn’t crack a smile. If anything he looked even more serious.
“How many jobs do you need?” he asked.
“As many as it takes.”
“Does it have something to do with your family emergency?”
I chose to take a bite of burger rather than answer him. Dominic’s nostrils flared, and he was back to glaring at me. This at least felt normal.
“Harry seemed to think that there’s something between us.” He said the words slowly and to the steak in front of him rather than to my face.
“Something besides a murderous rage?” I clarified.
He did look at me then. “He thinks that we’re attracted to each other.”
I didn’t say anything.
It was a self-preservation thing. There was no way in hell that I’d admit to being attracted to the man.
“I don’t know how to talk about this without putting you in an awkward position,” he admitted.
Since when was Dominic Russo worried about making me feel awkward?
“Okay. Now you’re starting to worry me,” I announced. “How about just be honest? Spit it out. Rip off the bandage. We’re adults here on our own time.”
“Fine.” He took a breath and then looked me dead in the eye. “Are you attracted to me?”
I laughed.
He frowned. Fiercely.
“What?” I asked. “That’s a ridiculous question.”
“Then give me a ridiculous answer,” he growled.
I rolled my eyes. “Yes, Dom. I’m physically attracted to you. I imagine most women and plenty of men are.”
He held up a bossy, obnoxious hand. “Don’t be flippant.”
“What’s the problem?” I asked.
“I’m your boss.”
“Technically I have about a hundred bosses,” I corrected him.
“It doesn’t matter. There’s a policy—”
“I know there’s a policy. Are you accusing me of violating it?”
“What? No.” He closed his eyes for a beat and then opened them again. “What I’m trying to say is I’m not willing to violate the policy.”
“Wait a second. Dom, are you saying you’re attracted to me?” I asked incredulously.
He glared at me. “You’re not stupid, Ally.”
“Apparently I might be. Are you attracted to me?”
I held his gaze, and for the first time, saw the storm in those blue eyes. He was fighting some kind of internal battle.
“Dom?”
His jaw flexed twice before he answered. “I’m attracted to you, Ally. Very attracted,” he said, his voice low and rough.
Oh, lord.
Sex hormones dumped into my bloodstream so quickly I felt lightheaded.
“Oh.” It was the only word I could get out as a wave of confusion and white-hot lust crushed me.
“Oh?” he repeated, looking annoyed.
“Give me a minute,” I told him. “I’m processing. I thought you hated me.”