Broken Headboards: Nights In New York Series Book 3

by Starr, Tara

  “God, you guys sound so fucking cheesy,” Taylor interjects.

  “Dude, don’t even start with us. You know you and Ashley are seconds away from living happily-ever-after,” Colt jabs back.

  Taylor rolls his eyes and downs his tequila. “Fuck you,” he says and grimaces when the tequila singes his throat.

  He shimmies his shoulders, letting the agave warm and relax his muscles. Then he swings his head in my direction.

  “Why are you asking that Austin? Who has you fucking enamored?” he asks.

  I swallow a large gulp of my drink and put my elbows on my knees, gearing myself up to tell them the truth. And to admit it to myself.

  “It’s Tess,” I confess.

  They all collectively drop their jaws in awe.

  “Are you fucking serious?” Taylor shouts, not holding back his reaction in the slightest.

  “Woah dude,” Dominic adds.

  “Wow,” Colt and Malcolm say at the same time.

  “Fuck. I didn’t think it was that big of a deal,” I say in defense, running my hands over my face.

  “What? It’s not a big deal?” Taylor punches my shoulder. “This is the wrong fucking time to fall in love when the competition is so close. Let alone fall in love with your fucking competition. She’s the one beating you, by the way, did you forget about that already?”

  The other guys look between Taylor and I, and they fall silent, sipping their drinks nonchalantly.

  Smooth, guys. Really fucking smooth.

  “Dude, you never know when love is going to bite you in ass. It’s an unexpected thing,” Colt says, standing up for me.

  “Jesus, fuck me,” I sigh and fall back onto the booth.

  And like fucking clock work, two women, one with a short bob and a dainty brunette, climb into our booth, eyeing us like they’ve won the jackpot.

  I understand their intrigue, but seriously? Why the fuck now?

  “Hey guys. What brings you out to Aspen tonight?” The blonde curls her tongue around the small red straw in her drink.

  “Boys night,” I tip my drink up towards her. “And you?”

  Maybe, she’ll be able to distract from making a bigger ass out of myself. I know the waitress didn’t do it for me, but this girl looks like she has the potential to steer me away.

  We’ll see.

  She takes my question as an invitation to sit next to me.

  “Me too,” she bats her eyes and giggles, too enthusiastically. “Well, girls’ night.”

  Ok, baby. It’s not that funny.

  The brunette seats herself next to Taylor, who seems to enjoy the attention, though he refrains from brushing up against her. He might not admit it yet but he’s just as into Ashley as I am into Tess. He’s just too big of a fucking coward to admit it.

  “What’s your name?” I ask, loosening the noose of awkward silence around my neck.

  “Jane Doe,” she announces as her tongue does that twirl thing again.

  I choke on my drink—did she just say Jane Doe? I eye her up and down, hoping she’s joking.

  “Jane Doe?” I ask for clarification.

  She bobs her head up and down, beaming with pride.

  Oh, honey, that’s the most common name ever. Why would you be proud of that? They fucking name unclaimed corpses at that. She’s as common as a fucking dead person—morbid, I know.

  “Gotcha,” I say, and just like that I’m bored.

  “What’s yours?” She leans forward, trying to direct my eyes back to her.

  “I’m Austin Randall,” I declare, with no emphasis in my tone what-so-ever.

  “Oh…where have I heard that name before?” She looks around, like a lost bird looking for their mother. “Oh!” She shrieks.

  And, there we go. Watch how this works, baby. I told you I wasn’t making this ‘girls fawn all over me’ shit up.

  “You’re the Austin Randall. Of, like, the furniture empire?” She blinks her eyes, and I swear it mimics a fucking windshield wiper on high.

  “That’s me,” I finish my drink.

  Her hand lands on my knee, sliding slowly up my thigh. Scooting closer to me, she whispers in my ear. “That sounds fascinating. Tell me more.”

  I look at her, sticking my neck back so my lips don’t accidentally touch her. Yeah, that’s how close she is to me.

  “Maybe, another time.” I jerk my leg out of her hold and stand up from our booth. “Boys, I’m headed back. I’ll see you later.”

  They all nod and lift their drinks up to acknowledge my exit. Except for Taylor. He’s attention is held by the busty brunette but I can tell his heart isn’t in it. He’s probably thinking about Ashley.

  I walk out, leaving the women sulking on the couch behind me.

  Before Tess, I would’ve entertained the blonde. She’s my type—easy, horny, and attractive. I really don’t have high standards, baby, just that they want me and consent to fucking. The redhead at the beginning of this book is Exhibit A.

  But, now I do. Not only was Jane Doe the least creative name in the world, possibly more boring than a yawn itself, but she’s too easy.

  After Tess, I’m craving something more. I want a challenge, a woman who can spar with me, and fuck…even beat me.

  This is the first time in my life that someone has beat me. And it’s Tess.

  That must be why I find her so attractive. Or, why I can’t stop thinking about her?

  I’m amazed by her ability to one-up me and do it more than once.

  That has to be it.

  I can’t be falling for Tess, right? No, I’m falling for the idea of her and the strength she possesses. It’s new and so fucking erotic.

  That’s has to be it, right?

  I’m not going to be the next Dominic and Daphne, Malcolm and Sonia, or Colt and Serena. That’s not me. I’m not the romantic sucker here, not like them.

  At least I wasn’t.

  Chapter Twenty

  Austin

  I press the link.

  And, it navigates me back to her page.

  Tess Armstrong of Domina Designs.

  I scroll down, passing over the photos I’ve seen for the umpteenth time. They’re all pictures of her posing with her clients, next to her designs, but I stop on her headshot.

  The fullness of her lips are coated with her signature red lipstick and they sparkle against her crystal blue eyes. Her hair is pulled back, showing every flawless inch of her face.

  Uhh… what the fuck am I doing?

  Who am I?

  This is not Austin Randall. I do not fucking creep on women, let alone daydream about them. Fuck that. Remember, baby, it was only a few chapters ago I was jerking off to these pictures. Why am I so fucking caught up in her?

  Fuck. Fine, I’ll admit it. This isn’t the first time I’ve gone to her website today and it’s not even noon yet. It’s getting fucking ridiculous, I know, but it’s all in the name of preparation. Right? I have to know my competitors both inside and out.

  So far, I’m doing a damn good job at both.

  I exit out of her site in frustration.

  I’m really never like this. Ever. I’m a man who needs no woman. They have their purpose in my life, of course, but like I said before, it’s temporary. I cast them aside as soon as they stop screaming my name in utter appreciation. I’ve never thought about any of them after that.

  One and done. Always.

  But fucking Tess.

  It has to be because she’s my competitor and she knows how to put me in my place. And, that’s occasionally below her. I will always loathe being second place, all I want to do is stand behind Tess and look at her perfect ass. Grab it. Squeeze it.

  Fuck.

  I need to get my head back in the fucking game.

  I slam my computer shut and push it to the end of my desk. Grabbing the blueprints for my sofa, I look over the dimensions to ensure their accuracy and go over the specifications of the leather material I’m using. I also triple-check my invoices, ma
king sure the materials will be here on time.

  Everything looks ready to go, which is not a surprise.

  I grab my desk phone and hit my assistant’s button.

  “Mr. Randall,” she answers almost immediately and in an upbeat tone.

  “Miranda, when did the team say they’re going to have the sofa completed?” I ask, a sudden ball of anxiety forming in my gut.

  I need to win this round. I can’t let Tess take this from me again. Regardless of what I think I might be feeling for her, she is still my motherfucking competition.

  “Tonight. However, I have something you might be interested in. Do you need any more coffee before I come in?” I hear her rummaging around her desk, rifling through some papers and what not.

  “Sure, that’d be great. Thanks.”

  Momentarily, the door opens. Miranda enters with a folder tucked under one arm and a steaming hot mug of coffee in the other hand.

  “What’s that?” I take the coffee out of her hands and take a sip, nodding towards the folder she’s holding.

  She pulls the folder out from under her arm and props it open in front her. A small smile curves her mouth when she looks inside.

  “Seriously, Miranda. I don’t have all day,” I press her.

  “Ok, well, I have some information that will give you the advantage for the next contest,” she says, raising her eyebrows.

  “And…what is that information?”

  “Here, read it for yourself,” she closes the folder and hands it to me.

  I put my coffee down and open the folder, splaying the varying documents around on my desk. I read over Miranda’s oh-so intriguing information, trying to uncover what it is that’s so damning.

  But, as soon as I settle on the letters spelling out, Domina, sofa, fabric…my interest is sincerely piqued.

  “Have you been doing some investigative work?” I scold Miranda sarcastically.

  “It’s my belief that everyone should be overly prepared when going into each round of a competition. And, that requires ample amount of research on both the client and the competitors,” she says in such a professional tone it makes me grin.

  “Well done Miranda.”

  “Thank you sir.”

  I continue to parse through the rest of the files, sipping on my coffee every now and again.

  Oh, shit.

  Is this true?

  I clasp the piece paper in my hand, darting my eyes between Miranda and the document. My shocked expression telling her everything she needs to know.

  “Yes, exactly.” She smiles, nodding her head to emphasize how big of a deal this is. Then she crosses her arms and leans on her heels, feeling very confident in herself. As she should.

  This folder contains everything I need to know to win the next round. To win this whole fucking competition.

  Not only will I win—I’ll be putting Tess in her rightful place. Under me.

  Or, really, second place.

  She’ll be going down and it’ll be in a grand fashion—bigger than any scheme either of us has pulled.

  And all I need to do is sign on this dotted line and authorize the purchase.

  I reach for a pen on the side of my desk and scan over the wording on paper once more before I open the cap.

  For a moment, I’m still. This might be a competition and I am willing to do just about anything to win, but it’s Tess I’ll be railroading.

  Can I do that to her?

  Is this all worth it?

  I look up at Miranda again, and she senses my hesitation. Loosening the grip on her arms, she lets them hang by her side and leans over my desk to see if I’ve sign it or not.

  Her brows furrow in concern and she opens her mouth to say something.

  “Mr.—”

  I hold my hand up to stop her from saying something I don’t want to hear. I definitely don’t want to get into why I’m feeling this way…and especially with my employee.

  Goddamn it, I’m fucking Austin Randall. I’m not some love-struck teenager who’ll throw everything away because some woman gave me attention. I’m sorry, baby. If you thought I’d be that romance hero who’ll drop his livelihood for a woman, you’re reading the wrong book because that’s not me.

  I made this company into what it is and I’ll be damned if I’m going to let that dwindle away anytime soon. I will continue to do whatever it takes to make Oakmont Furniture the best it can be.

  And Tess Armstrong will not deter me from that.

  I sign my name on the dotted line, piling the papers up in a neat stack when I’m done. Handing the folder over to Miranda, I feel vindicated and powerful.

  Like Austin Randall should feel.

  But as soon as Miranda leaves, I look at the door shutting behind her and the reality of my signature sinks in.

  If I wanted this so badly then why do I feel like I just made a terrible mistake?

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Tess

  Waking me up during the middle of the night is a dangerous proposition. So the moment my cell phone starts ringing like crazy, I know that whoever dared to call me has nothing but bad news to deliver

  Still half-asleep, I listen as the night shift team leader, Anna, tells me I’m needed at Domina. And that it is an emergency. She tries to explain it to me, but her panicky ramblings only tell me one thing—I need to get to the Domina building.

  Fast.

  And that’s why, despite it being three in the morning, I’m sitting in the back of my Maybach—my driver with his foot heavy on the accelerator—as we make our way into Queens. Still bleary-eyed, I try to think of what could’ve happened that required the team leader to call me in the middle of the night.

  A fire?

  A comet heading toward our building?

  Or did Austin hire a rogue team of Marines to storm my offices? Seriously, I won’t be that surprised if he went that far, to be honest. He knows I’m playing for keeps, and so is he.

  “Thank you John,” I tell the driver as he stops right in front of Domina’s building, where both the offices and manufacturing floor are. Jumping out of the car, I step into the dead of the night and rush toward the building. Inside, I head straight toward the manufacturing floor, where a small army of women—my always capable night shift—is idly sitting on the workbenches chattering away.

  “What the hell’s going on?” I ask, and they all look at me with an apologetic expression. The shift manager walks toward me and, sighing heavily, shakes her head.

  “I tried to deal with it, but...we have a problem, Ms. Armstrong,” Anna tells me.

  “I can see that. Why aren’t the girls at work? I know this work is exhausting but remember that there’ll be a nice bonus for everyone working on this project at the end of the month. I’ll take care of you, girls, as always.”

  “We know that, ma’am.” She nods her head, and I can tell that she’s looking for the right words. Whatever’s happening must be serious. These girls have never given me trouble, and I’ve always made sure they were more than fairly compensated for their work.

  So what’s happening here?

  “Alright, out with it. I don’t care how bad it is,” I say. “Just tell me what’s going on.”

  “Well, you see...our distributor was supposed to arrive at 9 pm with a shipment of the fabric we need,” Anna begins.

  “Yes, and our just-in-time schedule has never failed us before. Did the distributor mess up?” I ask.

  “Not exactly. There’s no issue with the distributor.” Anna runs her tongue over her parched lips, and I can see the gears inside her head turning as she musters enough to courage to finally tell me what’s what. “The problem is the supplier.”

  My fingers twitch unconsciously as I ready myself to grab my cell phone and rip a new asshole into whatever bastard decided to mess with my distribution line when I’m trying to score the deal of my lifetime.

  I’ll have someone’s head for this.

  “Which one is it? Martin, right?”<
br />
  “Yes, Mr. Oliver Martin,” she nods. “Initially we thought there must have been a delay, or some other thing. But then the hours kept passing, and we still hadn’t heard a thing, so I decided to give the supplier a call.”

  “You did good Anna,” I praise her. I’ll have to pay attention to her—she showed initiative under pressure, and she’s already acting as team leader for the most demanding shift in the company. Might be she’ll reveal herself useful higher in the chain-of-command. “What did the guys at Martin & Co. tell you?”

  “They told us they had run out of fabric,” she says finally.

  “What?” I ask incredulous. “That doesn’t make any sense. They assured me they had enough to cover the whole—”

  “Yes, but apparently someone placed a massive order with Martin. Whoever did it pretty much bought all the fabric they had on inventory.”

  Austin.

  “That fucking bastard,” I growl, stalking away to one of the corners of the floor. I fish my phone out of my purse and dial Austin’s number immediately. It just keeps on ringing endlessly before inevitably going into his voicemail.

  And so I just try again.

  And again.

  When he finally picks up, his voice sounds mellow, as if I had woken him up. Good. If I can’t rest, neither does he.

  “Already missing me Tess?” he asks.

  “Not exactly, but I’d pay to have my hands around your neck right now,” I snarl.

  “Kinky,” is all he says. “I like that.”

  “Cut the bullshit Austin. I know it was you who bought the fabric from Martin & Co,” I declare.

  “Yeah, they have some pretty good shit,” he admits. “I actually don’t have any use for it right now, which is a damn shame, but their stuff is so good I just had to buy all of it. What can I say? I’m a compulsive shopper.”

  “Okay, you proved your point Austin,” I say, trying my best to stay cool. “Let’s do it this way—name your price and I’ll buy the fabric back from you.”