by Starr, Tara
“The price? The fabric isn’t up for sale, Tess,” he says with a fake air of innocence. “That’d be a dishonest thing to do. I mean—buying all that fabric just so I could sell it at a higher price? That’s a predatory way of doing business, don’t you think? At Oakmont we pride ourselves in our ethics.”
“How much?” I growl. From the other side of the line comes his amused laugh.
“Alright, if you insist…” He pauses, as if he’s trying to do the calculations in his head. “Let’s say...five times the price Martin cut for you.”
“Five times?” I can’t believe my ears.
Christ, the bastard must’ve run the numbers. And he was right—I’m overexposed now, and he’s using that to screw up my operations. With the amount of money I spent tying up his supplier, I don’t have enough money on hand to cover such an outrageous price tag.
“This isn’t over,” I hiss through my gritted teeth. Before he has the chance to say anything, I hang up on him.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Austin
25 to 20.
I walk into the conference room today five points down.
But something tells me that the tables have turned and the ball is in my court. And no I’m not trying to relive the horrifying ping pong dining table. Seriously, what the fuck was that? I do have to admit though, the asshole part of me can’t wait to see what Wally has in store for us this time.
Forget about Wally—we probably should anyway—I know this round is mine. I’ll be walking out of here with a solid 30 points and a step closer to winning that contract with Clarendon Towers. A contract that’ll make Oakmont more prestigious and successful than I ever could imagine. Well really it’s more than my father, grandfather and his father, could’ve ever imagined.
The judges make their entrance, creating a commotion as they stroll around everyone’s sofa display. It’s such an ostentatious show but I know they fucking love it. Taylor is no exception. He’s not unlike me in that we thrive off this attention—wanting people to know the power we hold in our hands. The ability to crush a person’s livelihood lays at our fingertips and all we have to do is snap and everyone will bend our way. It’s a fucking addicting high.
That’s how I feel right now knowing there’s nothing between me and those ten points.
But there’s something else I can’t shake. A feeling I’m not familiar with and it’s annoying the shit out of me.
I pace my designated corner, looking over my sofa again and again.
“Miranda, how’s everything looking?” I ask her for reassurance, though I’m also generally interested in how the competition is looking. Mostly how Tess is looking.
She looks at me and tilts her head in confusion. This is a rare sighting…Austin Randall is anxious.
She slides her leopard print sunglasses on, folding her clipboard into her chest and looks over the sofa in front of us.
“All is good, Mr. Randall. From my projections, you’re all set to win this round.” She lowers her voice so that only I can hear it. “Even without Oliver Martin in your pocket, you’d still win.” Her smile reaches her eyes and she pats me on the shoulder. But the twinge of guilt pulls at me.
Winning is in my blood. And, I will do whatever it takes to win—dirty or clean. That’s not new for me—but this feeling is. And let me tell you, I fucking hate it.
But she had it coming. You can’t expect a man, especially Austin Randall—a King amongst men—to roll over and let Tess whip my ass. I will fight back and prove my worth, even at the expense of my squeaky-clean reputation.
Ok, you can laugh, baby. We all know that my reputation is the farthest thing from clean. Hell, you wouldn’t have continued reading if you weren’t intrigued with what I’ve done and what I can do with these hands. So, it shouldn’t be a surprise that I took advantage of a loophole and that Tess fell victim to my instinctual drive to win.
She’s a big girl. She can manage. As she’s proven many times before.
I wrap my arms around my chest and glance over at her. She’s not looking in my direction.
She’s pissed. And, rightly so. But I’m surprised she hasn’t let herself wander, just a little bit.
She bends down to do a last-minute dust off her sofa’s trim. It’s another sophisticated design, Domina-oriented. But the micro-suede fabric she’s using seems a bit out of place. From what I’ve learned, that is not her fabric of choice and to be honest, it wouldn’t be mine either. It’s too temperamental and common for Clarendon Tower. Sorry, I had to say it.
But I know she had no other option.
Thanks to me.
“Welcome back contenders!” Taylor projects his voice over the conference room. “We’re particularly excited to see what everyone brought here today and from what we’ve seen so far, we’re impressed. However, looks aren’t everything when it comes to these pieces. If you were to win this competition, these sofas will be used everywhere in Clarendon Tower. Not just in the lofts. These pieces need to be Clarendon Tower, they will be become the statement. But they also need to able to withstand the expected and unexpected elements of Clarendon Tower.” He smirks and rubs his hands together, like he’s replaying everything that’s happened in this place from corrupt Board Presidents to art thief’s. It’s never boring at the Clarendon, that’s for fucking sure. No wonder why Tara likes us so much.
I might be only half listening to Taylor’s spiel because Tess’s figure distracts me. Her body sinks when he spells out the qualifications of this round. Such a reaction is warranted seeing as micro-suede isn’t the best, like I’ve said.
She knows she’s already lost.
Sorry baby. It had to be done.
“Tess. Would you like to start us out?” Taylor reaches his arm out towards her and the board waddles over to her spot.
“Yes.” She nods her head and crosses her arms, dragging her feet over to her sofa.
I watch her, my gaze in-tuned to every part of her body. For some reason, I’m rooting for her. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t want her to win. I’m winning this, baby. But I also don’t want her to fall on her face.
Even though I know—this is Tess. This woman would never fall on her face. Unless she planned on doing it and she’d do it better than a fucking US gymnast landing after a triple-barrel axle or some shit.
I hear the words “soft” and “versatile” come from her and I nod my head, those are the most common adjectives to use when describing micro-suede. It’s interior design 101.
She mingles with the judges for a moment and there are some hushed words between her and her assistant. Then, she stares straight at me.
It’s an intense look, and I feel the bluntness of her sharp daggers piercing into me. She narrows her eyes into small slits and I can’t look away from her. It’s as if she nailed me to a cross, unable to repent for my sins until she lets me go.
She’s fucking powerful.
“Austin. You’re up,” A voice comes from behind me.
“Austin?” Another deeper voice emerges.
I can’t move.
“Mr. Randall…” Miranda taps my shoulder.
“Austin!” Taylor yells, and it jerks me out of her hold. Finally.
“Yeahs. Apologies. Come with me.” I wave them over to my sofa.
Get your shit together Austin.
“Are you ok?” Miranda says under her breath, hiding her mouth with her clipboard.
“Yeah,” I mutter and re-direct my attention back to the panel. “Here is my masterpiece.” I present my sofa in a Vanna White motion. Men can look good doing that too, trust me.
“Tell us, why did you choose leather again?” The VP chimes in.
“The choices behind the making of this sofa are all deliberate. At Oakmont, we specialize in using only natural elements and illuminating their innate beauty, which most overlook when they’re concerned with the overall appearance of a piece. I believe that this sofa speaks to the Clarendon Tower because of that aspect alone. It’s
sophisticated, elegant, and exclusive, but really, it’s the smallest details that make Clarendon Tower what it is really is—the people, the paintings on the wall, the crystal in the chandeliers that sparkle across the lobby and so much more. Every inch is important and that’s not unlike this sofa.”
I continue, while leaning down to show them the hem of the couch where the leather is stitched together in an intricate weave. “The fabric I choose stands the test of time. It’s strong and has the capacity to withstand any element. Seeing as every part of this sofa is made out of only natural materials, it can endure most, like nature itself.” I reiterate Taylor’s word choices. “The coating I used ensures this while also making the material soft to the touch. All of which embodies and complements the Clarendon.”
I step back and let the judges look over my sofa and mull over my words, watching them deliberate certain aspects and occasionally jotting down notes in their notepads.
“Very well, done.” Taylor twist his head back.
“I am very impressed,” the VP says with a large grin plastered on his face.
“Thank you. I am very proud of this piece,” I add.
And, not to stroke my own ego too much, but that fucking monologue is Oscar-worthy. I’m surprised they haven’t given me the ten points already. I’m kidding.
Ok, not really.
I clasp my hands together and walk around my sofa as the judges walk over to the next contestant.
Wally.
And he doesn’t disappoint, baby.
To my surprise, and I think to the judges as well, Wally’s presses a button on the side of the sofa and out springs a bed.
That’s right, he made a sofa bed. And then brought it to the damn Clarendon Tower.
He knows no bounds, I swear to fucking God.
“How? Where…where do you see this going, Wallis?” One of the judges stammers out, almost lost for words.
“Anywhere! How great would this look in the lounge? Why go to bed when the bed can come right to you?” He explains with a confident smile.
“Oh…ok,” Taylor says. “Thanks, Wally. That’ll be all.”
They all walk away in silence, some with eyes bulging out of their heads.
I am going to miss this guy and he’s endless supply of entertainment. I do have to give it to him though for being so confident in his decisions. But Jesus Christ, this man should’ve stopped before he began.
“Again, thank you all for coming today. This is the second to the last round, and as I’ve said, we are very pleased with all the work everyone has put forth in the competition so far,” Taylor declares, but I know he’s lying. He is the best damn banker in all of New York, so he’s had to perfect these skills.
He continues. “But there are only two winners today. The rest who do not receive points will be dismissed from the competition.”
“Today, we are awarding Austin Randall of Oakmont Furniture ten points for his quality sofa. And, Tess Armstrong of Domina Designs with five points for her versatile option. Thank you again for your participation contestants. And good luck to our two finalists!” The VP announces, cutting Taylor off.
I let out an audible breath I didn’t know I was holding in.
Fuck.
I fucking did it.
The 30 points are mine.
“Good job, sir,” Miranda says before she directs my team to clean up.
I won.
Just like I knew I would. And, it feels fucking great.
Kind of.
In the corner of my eye, I see Tess hug one of her assistants and they start to gather up their belongings. And, there’s that damn guilt again.
But she did get five points too. So now we’re tied.
It’s 30 to 30, and it’s still anyone’s game.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Tess
Two.
That’s how many weeks have passed since the sofa competition. I wasn’t expecting it to be such a close race by now, but here we are—30 to 30. Everything can happen at this time, and only God knows which one of us will win the contract.
I never expected it, but there’s no use in hiding it from you: every single day I’ve been thinking non-stop of what’s going to happen when the competition comes to an end. I want to win, but at the same time...I can’t help but feel guilty about it. It’s hard to keep going full-steam ahead while knowing that my goal is to make Austin lose.
It was all fun and games when we started this, but it’s different now. Somehow, I’ve come to care about him. I know how hard he’s always worked for Oakmont, turning his company around when every debtor of his was ready to pillage every last dollar in his name. And I know how important this deal is to him—in a way, I know he wants it to be a winning chapter in his family’s history, the final proof of everything he did for a business that has been part of the Randall’s for decades.
One hundred.
That’s how many hours I’m putting in each week. Sounds crazy? Well, that’s because it is. No sane person would ever work this many hours, but some among of you will nod their heads. You know that sanity and ambition don’t go hand in hand that often, don’t you? When you want to make the impossible happen, sometimes you have to be willing to go a little insane.
Every day I meet with suppliers, designers, distributors, marketers and many, many more people working for or with Domina—a small army I’m responsible for. And every day I crack the whip, trying to keep everyone on the same page while we push ahead, trying to propel Domina to new heights.
It’s hard.
In fact, it’s the hardest thing I think we’ve ever done. But at the same time, I never saw my employees this excited about anything. They believe in what they’re doing, and they want to make it happen just as badly as I do.
Just as it is for me, they don’t see this as a job.
They see it as a mission.
And, damn, I’ve never been so proud of these people. They’re sacrificing all their time just to make sure we win the Clarendon competition, putting their hearts and souls into their work.
If we win, you can be sure there’ll be a fat bonus for everyone involved.
Six.
That’s how many times Ashley has insisted on calling me throughout the day, every day. And, as frustrating as it might be some days, I actually feel happy whenever I see her name on my phone’s screen. You know what I’m talking about, right? Nothing beats fifteen minutes of gossip, especially when you’re under a lot of pressure.
Hey, anything that helps a girl to unwind.
I know that six times might be a bit too much but that’s Ashley for you. Whenever she has anything she wants to tell me, she just grabs her phone and keeps waiting till I pick the damn thing up.
Every time. Without failing.
Mostly, it’s all about that little thing she has going on with Taylor. She still doesn’t want to say it out loud, but it’s as plain as the sky is blue—these two are head over heels. They spend all their time together, and you just have to take one close look at the way they smile toward each other to know that it’s love.
It’s hilarious, really.
Ashley had always prided herself in the fact that she didn’t need a man, and now here she is, completely crazy about one that always had quite the reputation.
Of course, Taylor isn’t the only topic of discussion.
Every time she calls, she wants to hear about Austin.
And I bet you do too.
Seven.
That’s how many dates Austin and I have gone on.
As weird as it may sound, I’ve never really been the kind of woman that enjoys going out for dates. Sure, I’ve tried it in the past. Thing is, most men are boring, and only have one thing in their minds. Yeah, I don’t need to tell you what that one thing is, do I?
I appreciate being the center of attention, as well as being desired. Every woman enjoys that, if we’re being honest with ourselves. But you don’t need to go out on dates to have any of that, do yo
u?
But with Austin…
It’s hard to explain, but with him it feels right. It isn’t just about the sex. There’s a connection there, and I know that he can feel it too. Maybe it’s because we’re both two ambitious persons, or maybe it’s because we’ve worked in the same industry for so long. Or maybe it’s something else entirely.
I can’t really say.
What I can say, though, is that I’ve never been so sure of that connection. When I’m with him, doesn’t really matter where, it feels as if that’s exactly the right place to be.
Twenty.
That’s how many times we’ve had sex. Probably more, now that I think of it. I haven’t exactly kept a spreadsheet, you know? Sure, I know I just told you that it really isn’t about the sex, and now here I am telling you that we’ve fucked more than twice per day.
Every day.
But I think that’s part of it, you know? When the sex is this great, it frees up the space for something else to blossom. When the connection our bodies share is this strong, it only makes sense that both our minds will follow suit.
And, yeah, the sex is amazing.
As it has always been.
I don’t think there’s a single room in both our apartments that we haven’t done it in. Just try not to think of what we’ve done in my kitchen counter if you ever drop by for lunch, alright? Just try and pretend you’re not uncomfortable, and I’ll do the same.
Five.
That’s how many times I’ve had breakfast with him. It might seem like a small thing, but it isn’t. To sleep next to him, our bodies exhausted, and then feel his warmth against my skin the moment I open my eyes...is there anything better than that?
Even though I’ve been working long hours, I can never resist it. If I have the chance to sleep with him—and then share breakfast as we see the sun rise on the horizon, then I’m taking it.
Getting this contract might be the most important thing in the world right now, but at the same time, now that I found Austin...there’s no way I can give up on everything we have.