Made this and thought of you.
Christian
Oh, I fucking hated that guy.
Meanwhile, my friend was doing a delighted twirl. If I’d been a generous guy, I would have had to hand it to the assface. The dress screamed Ally. The full, silky skirt nipped in to a tight waist with a gold, braided belt. The top was snowy white and draped over one shoulder, leaving the other bare. Colorful, soft, sexy. Just like the woman.
“Oh my God. There’s pockets!” Ruth screeched.
They were drawing a crowd. Women—and Linus—were coming out of the woodwork to swoon over the dress.
“Who sent it?”
“Who made it?”
“Good morning, Dominic.”
“You need to put it on!”
“This is better than flowers. Are you going to marry him?”
I headed into my office and slammed the door behind me.
“Just fucking friends,” I muttered to the empty room. But the rationalization didn’t help. I wanted to be more. And I couldn’t have it as long as she worked for this company.
I heard a ripple of laughter coming from Ally’s desk, and my inner asshole caveman came out of hibernation. Plan in place, I sat down at my computer and found the document I was looking for.
I was putting the finishing touches on my masterpiece on the screen when there was a jaunty knock, and my door opened.
“Irvin,” I said, glancing up.
He strolled into the room in that not-a-care-in-the-world way he had when he’d come across a particularly juicy tidbit of gossip. Still trying to mold me into a version of my father.
He shut the door behind him and gave me a smug smile. “Quite the excitement out there,” he mused.
“It would appear so,” I said dryly, skimming over the changes I’d made to the document. Unlike the managing editor, I didn’t have time for idle chitchat. I had a budding relationship to ruin and a lengthy actual work-related to-do list for the day.
“It’s always smart to reward a girl for her good deeds,” Irvin said, taking an uninvited seat across from me.
Disinterested, I lifted an eyebrow.
“Your assistant,” he clarified. “I heard she ‘drove the boss home’ Friday night.” The man made air quotes as he said the words.
My stomach plummeted and was replaced with the raging fires of hell. “Is that what they’re saying?” I asked, keeping my voice mild.
“Oh, nothing to worry about. A few of the gossip blogs picked it up this weekend and ran it as a blind item. Good for you, son. It’s about time you had a little fun on the job.”
I wanted to grab the man by his fucking Gucci tie, haul him out of the chair, and make him apologize to Ally. Then I wanted to toss him off the roof and burn down every blog that dared hint that I was anything like my father or that Ally was sleeping her way to the top.
“The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, does it?” Irvin crowed his approval. He slapped his knee. “Well, I’d better get back to it.”
“I’d appreciate it if you were a little more careful with the reputation of our employees here, Irv,” I told him. My tone should have frozen the man’s balls.
But he waved dismissively. “Russo secrets are always safe with me.” He gave a cheery wink and heaved himself out of the chair.
I watched him go, drumming my fingers on the desk. Irvin Harvey was rubbing me the wrong way and needed to be dealt with. He was shrewd and slimy, and I was certain he’d known exactly what my father had been up to behind locked doors here.
I’d speak to my mother about him soon.
But first, I took a red pen and underlined the new text I’d added under the Fraternization Policy.
Employees will not pursue relationships with designers or other vendors.
I was already standing when Ally stuck her head in the door. “Dom? Ten-minute warning for your meeting across town. Dalessandra is heading down to the car now.”
I nodded briskly, sliding my arms into my coat.
“Here,” I said, slapping the paper into her hands.
“You’re such an ass, Charming,” she called after me as I headed in the direction of the elevators.
I was. And the sooner she accepted that, the better.
47
Ally
I was up to my elbows in drywall spackle and feeling like a DIY badass when the ringtone I’d assigned to the nursing home cut off Maren Morris’s voice singing about bones and foundations.
I answered the call with my elbow and rested my face against the phone on the lid of the toilet. The last time I’d been in this position had been the infamous Tequila Lesbian Night. I focused on that fact rather than the instinctive fear that gripped me every time the home called.
“Ally?”
“Yes?”
“It’s Braden. Hey, no emergency or anything. We’re having some trouble settling your father down for the night. We were wondering if you’d mind stopping in?”
“Of course,” I said, checking the time. “Is he okay?”
“He’s all right. Just agitated.”
“I’ll be there in half an hour.” My father, the man who had only raised his voice when the Mets were playing or when he was shouting “Bravo” in a concert hall, suffered states of agitation where nothing short of strong sleeping meds could calm him.
The nursing home was a mile from me. The buses didn’t run as often this late on weeknights, and it was too late to call Mr. Mohammad and ask to borrow his car. Walking it was. I bundled up in Dad’s old ski jacket, pulled on the thickest socks I could manage inside my sneakers, and hit the sidewalk.
It was cold enough, windy enough, for my face to sting.
At least Dad hadn’t fallen. At least he wasn’t sick. At least I had a job, temporarily, that could handle a lot of the expenses. At least I was finally making progress on the house. I counted my blessings as I power-walked my way through Foxwood.
So much had changed here since childhood. This street was one eighth-grade me had peered at through the school bus window while I planned my grown-up future. Spoiler alert: My imaginings had never looked like this.
My life in Boulder was one my eighth-grade self would have approved of. I had friends. Boyfriends. I worked jobs that I loved and took time off to live.
I spotted the big house all aglow on the corner behind its brick pillars and greenery and felt the familiar tug of longing. I’d loved this house and what it had represented my entire life. A family lived there. Two parents, kids that played outside and climbed trees and sold lemonade on the sidewalk. The Christmas light display drew crowds every year.
Now there were grandkids and Sunday brunches and holiday celebrations.
I paused on the sidewalk.
They were hosting tonight. A weeknight dinner party probably running late because everyone was having too much fun to leave. Glasses of wine. Candles. The faint notes of a jazz record spilled outside to me.
A fierce longing hit me hard enough to have me turning away. I wanted a home and a family and friends who didn’t mind a wine hangover on a Tuesday morning because we weren’t ready to end the fun.
I missed my old life. Missed the comfort of believing my father was happy and healthy. Missed being able to breathe. To be selfish. I missed being able to go out for drinks on a Wednesday or take a friend out to dinner. I missed cooking for a cute date that I was excited about. God, I missed sex. I missed not having to know my checking account balance down to the penny.