Page 33 of By A Thread
I was. I liked fighting with her. At least she didn’t go cry in a corner if I looked at her wrong.
I glanced at her desk. There was a banana sitting next to the phone. “That’syour lunch?”
“Yes. It is. Now, is there anything else you’d like to judge me on—maybe my outfit or perhaps I’m breathing too loudly—or can I get back to my lunch break?”
“A banana isn’t lunch.”
I’d been around the fashion industry long enough to know how rampant eating disorders were. But I’d seen the woman polish off two cranberry muffins during the meeting this morning.
“It is when you’re newly and temporarily poor.”
“Newly and temporarily poor,” I repeated.
“Don’t worry, Dom,” she said, dryly. “It’s not contagious.”
Dom. Not only had she used my first name. She’d given me a nickname… one that wasn’t mean.
“Did you need something, or did you just decide to spread your cloud of doom to another floor?” she asked.
“Most new employees at least pretend to show a modicum of respect to management.”
“Most new employees didn’t already lose one job in the past week to management,” she shot back.
“So you’re blaming me for being newly and temporarily poor?”
“Don’t flatter yourself. You just managed to make me a little poorer.”
“Is that banana really all you have to eat?” I asked.
“Do I really need to converse with you when I’m off the clock?” she asked, reaching for the banana and peeling it.
As if the gods were smiling on me, her phone timer dinged, and I smirked. “Looks like you’re back on the clock.”
She sighed, hit save on her laptop, and closed it.
“What can I do for you,boss?”
“Just keep being your belligerent self, and sooner or later, my mother will realize she made a terrible mistake.”
“I don’t know about that. She kept you around.” Ally took a deliberate bite of banana, and I was instantly, stupidly aroused.
I was back to being pissed off. This was ridiculous. I’d never gotten a hard-on from a conversation with a coworker. Clearly my self-imposed celibacy had gone on a little too long if arguing with a woman while she ate fruit turned me on.
I leaned in. “Quit.”
“Make me.”
“I fully intend to.”
“Great. Now that that’s settled, how about you scamper off to whatever ring of hell you came from and let me earn my paycheck?”
I turned to leave and nearly ran into someone.
Malinda? Matilda? The blonde with theReal Housewiveslips was standing too close. She’d been one of the few who accepted the settlement and decided to stay. She’d also been one who had enjoyed my father’s advances.
“Hi,” she said, her voice all babydoll breathy.
If she called me “daddy,” I was going to puke.
