Page 207 of By A Thread
“Stand the fuck up.”
I put my reading glasses back on and went back to looking at my monitor. “Get out of my office, James. I have real work to do.”
“Stand up and make me.”
I had a good thirty pounds on the man. But he was ten years younger. I wasn’t certain he couldn’t beat me to a pulp.
“It was a trade, by the way. I made her what’s in the bag, and she did a little promotion for me. There was no sex, and you’re the dumbest motherfucker on the planet if you believe that she’d do that to you. I don’t know if you’re deflecting your own sins or what—”
“I never so much as looked at another woman,” I growled, yanking off my glasses. This idiot needed to leave my office. Immediately.
“Oh, does it piss you off when someone accuses you of something you didn’t do?”
“Fuck off, James. I’m losing my patience.”
“You’ve lost your damn mind. She’s a great girl, and I’m going to do everything I can to convince her to run in the other direction when you realize what a huge mistake you made and try to crawl back.”
“In the meantime, you can talk her into your own bed,” I said flippantly.
“Okay. My turn!” Faith, Ally’s friend, stormed into my office. She wore hot pink leather leggings and some kind of wooly, white crop sweater. Her hair was pulled up on top of her head in one sleek ponytail.
“I’ve got this, babe,” Christian said, instantly softening.
Faith paused to cup the man’s face in her hand. “I don’t want you to break your gorgeous, talented hands on this steaming piece of shit’s face.”
“Can I help you?” I asked dryly.
She glared at me and casually strolled around my desk. I turned my chair to meet her but refused to stand.
She gave me a terrifying smile and cracked me right across the face with her open palm. Ally didn’t bitch-slap, but Faith did it like it was an Olympic sport and she was a gold medalist.
My ear rang like a school bell.
“You hurt my friend, and I want to murder you for it. I want to reach into your chest, rip your pathetic excuse of a heart out, and drop-kick it across the Hudson, you stupid son of a bitch. I don’t care what baggage you come with. That’s no excuse for treating one of the nicest, most beautiful souls in the world like garbage,” she hissed in my face.
“Okay, babe. Let’s get you out of here before this coward calls security,” Christian said, towing Faith away from me.
“I’ll meet you out front,” she said, stopping to kiss the man hard on the mouth and then give me the most violent middle finger I’d ever received on her way out.
Christian watched her go with the eyes of a man half in love.
Fuck.
I’d forgotten what Ally had said at my birthday party.
Invisible knives inserted themselves into my gut.
“Well, it’s been fun. I hope you’re real happy with yourself, man,” he said, turning his attention back to me.
“It’s been delightful,” I snarled.
“Everyone has baggage, Russo. Most of us are just smart enough not to hurl full-sized suitcases at the people we love.” He patted the garment bag. “Here’s your custom fucking vest Ally asked me to make for you. Hope it doesn’t even come close to making up for losing the girl.”
My world was starting to close in on me. The walls of my office loomed closer and closer. Had I really thrown away something real, or was I justified in my distrust?
She wasn’t Elena. She hated artifice. Ally taught women to dance and love their bodies. She created beauty with color and design. She inspired kindness and generosity in everyone—myself included. She put her entire life on hold to clean up someone else’s mess.
And I wasn’t my father.
