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.”
“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