Their resounding chorus of “Are you fucking kidding me?” was instantaneous and loud enough that half of the room turned to see what all the fuss was about.
“Oh my God! Pull yourselves together,” I said, shushing them.
“You know. If we lowered some of the barriers, maybe he’d make his move on Ally?” Ruth said.
“Lowered barriers? Guys, I don’t think we should be conspiring against management.”
“We’re conspiring for him. Not against him,” Gola mused. “If Dominic understood that we thought he was a good boss, that we weren’t comparing him to his dad, maybe he’d break the glass and eat the candy.”
“No, no, no. Nope. Nope. Uh-uh. No one is conspiring against or for anything. No one is eating any candy.”
“Ally, you’re the kind of fairy tale we all need,” Nina insisted. “Poor country bumpkin—”
“Hey, I’m from Jersey, jerk.”
Nina waved me off. “Shh! I’m telling a story here. Poor Jersey bumpkin comes to the big city and catches the eye of the gorgeous, grumpy boss who refuses to fall for anyone. But there’s something special about her. Something he’s never seen before in a woman.”
“I want to be special,” Missie whined.
“You are special. We are all special,” I insisted.
I felt the frisson again. This time it started at my toes and spread through my entire body.
“He’s coming this way,” Missie sang.
“Be cool, guys. For the love of God, be cool,” I hissed.
“He’s practically pushing people out of the way,” Ruth observed.
I hoped to God she was exaggerating.
“Hey, beautiful. Feel like causing a stir?” Christian appeared at my side and gave me a heart attack.
I clutched my heart. “Jiminy Crickets! Where did you come from?”
“Uh, the bar.” He grinned at me and wiggled a rocks glass. “I have an idea. Come with me.”
He was safer than whatever torpedo of sexy was headed my way. I took the hand he offered and let him drag me away.
Five minutes later, an up-and-coming designer was on his knees in front of me backstage, and his hands were on my breast.
“Ouch. That’s boob,” I hissed. “Are you tattooing me?”
“Sorry,” Christian said, through the pins in his mouth. “Try to hold still, and I won’t stab you as much.”
“You know, usually I wait until at least dinner and drinks before I let a guy feel me up.”
“This is completely professional. I promise,” he insisted with a lecherous wink. “Not that you’re not built to perfection, of course.”
“Oh, of course.” I rolled my eyes.
“I just only have room for so many obsessions. I’ve got a limited amount of bandwidth. Right now, mine is this line. What’s yours?” He sat back on his heels and admired his handiwork.
“Oh, I don’t think you have the time. Besides, tonight’s your night.”
He picked up the top layer of my skirt and fluffed it. “You know what I see when there’s a pile of fabric in front of me and a beautiful woman?”
“I’m guessing not just a pile of fabric and a beautiful woman?”
He shot his pointer finger at me. “Bingo, smartass.”
I helped him to his feet.
“I see a story, and I try to tell that story with cut and color, thread and accessories.”
“I like that,” I mused into my now warm and mostly flat champagne. I’d clung to the idea of using it as a prop. Also I didn’t want to get shitfaced at a work function and throw myself at Dominic or throw him off a rooftop.
“Do you want to know what I see in you?”
“Definitely not.”
“I see sexiness. Struggle. Someone who isn’t living the life she set out to build,” he mused.
“Are you like one of those fortune tellers who spouts generic crap until they hit the mark?” I joked.
He grinned, then continued. “I see a woman who would do anything for the people who have earned her loyalty. Someone who’ll stand up for those who can’t. I see someone who is fighting tooth and nail for something… or someone.”
I frowned into my champagne.
“And I see that you have a very complicated relationship with Dominic Russo.”
“Oh, come on. Not you, too. Is it a full moon tonight? This entire city is obsessed with the guy.”
“From where I stand, the guy is obsessed with you,” Christian insisted.
“Okay, enough of this artistic babble. You’re starting to freak me out.”
“Don’t be embarrassed. You’re amazing. Own it.”
“I can’t afford to own anything right now.”
“Then that’s where this dress comes in,” he said. “You’re stunning. And bold. And your boss is going to have a coronary in about half an hour.”
“I don’t care if Dominic ever looks at me again,” I lied. My neck immediately started itching.
Christian’s smirk told me he wasn’t buying it.
“I don’t,” I doubled down. “He had his chance, and I have too much self-respect. I just want to make him suffer. Like a lot. But not enough for me to lose my job. It’s a fine line to walk.”
He flashed those dimples at me. “Then let’s make the man suffer.”
“Are you sure this is okay? I’m a nobody in the fashion world, and I don’t look anything like the rest of these women.” I looked around at the models in the midst of hair and makeup and fittings. They were all half-naked and looked bored. Just another day at the office.
“That’s the point. Besides, I’ve never walked the end of a show with anyone. It’ll get the press talking. You don’t mind, do you?”
“I might wreck your entire show and ruin your launch, your career, and then your life. I’m not very lucky right now.”
“I’ll take my chances. Maybe you should take a couple of your own.”
God willing, in a few short months, the house would be sold, Dad’s bills would be covered, and I could afford to take a few chances. Maybe start a new life somewhere nowhere near Dominic Russo. Perhaps the West Coast. Or I don’t know, Thailand? Although, I wouldn’t feel comfortable leaving my dad. Not now. Maybe I’d just vacation in Thailand?
Bottom line. A little fashion industry speculation would have zero effect on my life.
“Eh. It’s fine. Let’s go stir up some shit,” I decided.
“Good. It’ll be fun,” he promised.
42
Dominic
The show was finally about to start, and I was beyond grateful because it meant that in thirty minutes I:
A) could give up the pretense of small talk and schmoozing.
B) had time for one more drink.
C) could go home and forget about Ally and that goddamn red dress.
Lying to myself was my new favorite hobby.
Of course she’d look like that in fucking couture. Half angel, half devil in siren red. But I’d still be compelled to watch her from across the room if she’d showed up in sweatpants and an I Heart NYC sweatshirt.