Page 35 of By A Thread
I didn’t know exactly what the hell was going on. But I’d wasted more brainpower on Ally Morales in the week and a half since I’d met her in that stupid pizza shop than on anything that actually deserved my attention.
That was a problem.
And I was the smart guy who decided that since I’d proved I could leave her alone, I next needed to prove that I could be around her… and not want to fuck her.
I’d requested her.
It wasn’t a big deal, I told myself as I glanced at my watchagain. I’d requested admins before. Ones I knew would be less annoying or wouldn’t make weird nervous humming noises if I asked them a direct question.
Requesting Ally didn’t mean anything.
I wasn’t interested. Not inthatway. I didn’t sleep with people who pissed me off and pushed my buttons. I was, however, curious about her.
What took a woman from being a semi-successful graphic designer in Colorado to a server living off bananas in New York? Her credit wasn’t great. The credit report noted a shit-ton of credit card debt in the last three months. But the street view of her home address—yeah,okay, so I’d looked up her address. I wasn’t happy about that either—showed a family home in a nice neighborhood in a decent commuter town in Jersey.
She didn’t own the house, but I’d stopped short of doing a totally legal property search to see who did.
I’d also stopped myself a dozen times from looking for her on social media.
I wasn’t an impulsive guy. This itch to learn more about her annoyed me. I didn’t evenlikeher. But her company photo did make me laugh. I called up the picture again on my screen and smirked. Was she mid-sneeze?
There was a knock on my open door, and I jolted in my chair.
Ally was standing in my doorway with a coat draped over her arm and a backpack slung over her shoulder. “Ready to go, Charming? Or do you need a few more minutes with your porn?”
I closed her picture and rose.
Those eyes went wide, and her lips formed an O.
I glanced down, wondering if I’d forgotten to zip my pants or something.
Nope. Zipped.“What?” I demanded.
Silently, she shook her head.
I looked back down. No stains. My tie was still tied. My vest still buttoned.
“Do you have a problem?” I asked, enunciating each word.
She shook her head. “Nope. No problem,” she finally croaked. Now she was looking everywhere but me. The carpet appeared to be quite fascinating. Her neck was turning an interesting shade of pink.
“Try to pull yourself together before the meeting,” I suggested, brushing past her.
Greta was waiting by her desk with my coat and briefcase. “Be nice,” she ordered.
Ally snorted behind me.
“I’malwaysnice,” I growled, shoving my arms through the sleeves of my coat.
Both women shared a laugh at my expense.
“You’re a funny guy, Dom,” Ally said, slapping me on the shoulder. She had apparently recovered from whatever seizure or psychotic break had rendered her mute. “Nice to meet you, Greta.”
“Good luck, Ally,” Greta said with a traitorous wink.
We didn’t talk in the elevator, each doing our damndest to pretend the other didn’t exist. But as more people crowded in, I found myself pressed up against her in the corner. What was this annoying electric buzz every time we touched? Even through layers of clothing, I was still keenly aware of her shoulder pressing against my arm.
Hell, the guy from twenty-three was brushing my sleeve with his elbow as he played Tetris on his phone, but that contact barely drew my notice. There was a tension between Ally and me, wrapping itself around us and pinging back and forth.
