Broken Headboards: Nights In New York Series Book 3

by Starr, Tara

  Ashley

  “Ashley?” Tess asks me and I snap back to reality.

  “Sorry!” I exclaim to Tess. “I got a bit distracted.”

  Tess just rolls her eyes and takes a sip of her drink. We decided to catch up for afternoon drinks at Rue 57. Tess figured that she needed to get a chance to unwind after all the chaos.

  And I had a present to give her.

  But that doesn’t help that I’m just so distracted with…

  Well, I think you can take a guess, can’t you?

  If you need a hint, then let me just tell you it involves a tall, dark, and handsome billionaire who just so happens to be the CEO of Draper Pierce.

  Yes. Taylor John.

  The date that we had last night was…amazing.

  “Ashley, this is the fourth time this hour that you’ve drifted off into your own world there,” Tess complains. “What’s going on?”

  I take a long sip of my cosmo and wonder how I’m going to explain my continual distraction from life caused by Taylor fucking John.

  “Is it Taylor John?” Tess asks and I seriously feel like rolling my eyes at life. Or just Tara Starr.

  But instead I take another drink.

  “It is Taylor, isn’t it?” Tess asks, honing in. “I knew it. What’s going on with you two?”

  “Nothing,” I say hesitantly.

  Tess snorts. “Bullshit,” she says to me and takes another drink, finishing her Cosmo. “You went a date with him right?”

  “Actually we went out last night for teppanyaki,” I say to her and she raises her eyebrows.

  “And?” Tess asks me.

  “What do you mean, ‘and’?” I ask, not liking where this line of questioning is going.

  “Did you fuck him?” she asks, not pulling any punches.

  Fuck.

  “Since when did you become the alpha male who fucks everything?” I ask her. “What are you going to cum on senior citizens in the pool now?”

  Tess just rolls her eyes. “This isn’t Man Vs. Woman, Ashley. Please tell me you fucked that man. I know you want to.”

  I can’t help it. I let loose.

  “I know!” I say to her. “I so want to. But I’m not sure if he wants me!”

  Tess recoils from me. “What the hell, Ash!” she yells as another drink is placed in front of her. “That man is crazy over you.”

  I’m silent.

  “Does he like smell or have bad breath?” she asks me, quieter now.

  “No, he smells great and he has amazing breath,” I reply back.

  “Well did you have food in your teeth?” she asks again.

  Jesus.

  “No I didn’t have food in my teeth,” I say to her.

  “Did you fart in front of him?” Tess continues with her inane questions that are probably coming from the second drink that she’s downing. “Guys don’t like it when you fart in front of them.”

  “Fuck, Tess, I didn’t fart in front of him,” I say, pounding my drink. I’m not sure I’m supposed to pound cosmos. The bartender seems to have my next drink already for me because it just materializes. “I don’t know if Taylor wants to fuck me because he seems to like me just as a friend.”

  There’s silence from Tess at that admission.

  “Why do you say that?” she finally asks.

  I shrug. “We went out last night,” I start and Tess settles back in her chair. “Except I went to meet him an hour earlier than we had said. I was hoping I’d catch him as he was getting ready and we’d…you know.”

  “Fuck,” Tess adds.

  “Yeah,” I agree. “But he just didn’t seem to be too interested.”

  Tess ponders this for a long moment.

  “Tell me exactly what he said,” she says finally.

  I take a deep breath, and another drink as I recollect the words Taylor said to me.

  “He said, ‘You look fucking gorgeous’,” I tell her. She widens her eyes.

  “That sounds like he wants to do you, babe,” she says to me. “What did you tell him?”

  “Well I may have said something like, ‘You look fucking sweaty’,” I say and Tess grimaces. “What? He was back from the gym and I was saying that so you know, maybe I could lick it up or something.”

  “Well, what did he say after that?” she asks me.

  “I think he asked me if I wanted to join him…” I say, whimpering at this admission.

  Tess snorts and coughs.

  “And that’s not an invitation?” she asks incredulously. “What did you say?”

  I pause for a long moment and realize what I said.

  “I think I said I was hungry,” I say sheepishly. Tess is staring daggers at me. “What? I was starving, babe!”

  Tess finishes her drink. Wow. That was fast. I knew she had a lot of stress to work off but I don’t think I’ve ever seen her drink so fast. It must be Austin. He’s riled her up so much because he’s like made for her—a perfect match for her. And she’s never had a match that was so equal for her in her life as far as I can tell.

  “Ash,” Tess says very seriously. “You need to call him. And tell him to come over to your place and fuck you.”

  Yeah. I can’t do that.

  Not ‘Mr. CEO’ of the largest investment bank in the world. The guy hangs out with models and actresses on the regular. I’m just a lawyer.

  “If he wanted to, Tess, he would do more,” I tell her. “Look at Colt and Serena. Or Malcolm and Sonia. Or even Daphne and Dominic,” I say to her.

  Tess nods. But she’s not convinced.

  “If he really wanted me, he’d make more of an effort to get me,” I tell her.

  “Well, not if you’re telling him you’re hungry and treating him like a friend by showing up early and not banging him,” Tess says to me. “You guys are gaga for each other but you don’t even see it. You’re both dumb as rocks.”

  Says the person who is probably secretly in love with Austin.

  Speaking of Austin…

  “How’s the competition going?” I ask her. “The big final challenge is coming up. You ready?”

  Tess sighs.

  “I have everything I can do,” she says. “But with all the warfare between us, we’re really not operating at 100%.”

  I nod. Cyber attacks and tied up capital will do that to you.

  “Well, maybe I have something that will help,” I say and Tess’s eyes go wide.

  See, yesterday as Taylor showered, I looked through that file.

  I know. I wasn’t supposed to. But it said ‘Giovanni Giannoni’ on it. And everyone knows who Giovanni is. The world famous bedroom set designer. He did all 17 bedrooms in pop star Kristi Crawford’s Bel Air mansion.

  So I looked it over. I don’t know why Taylor had it. It was probably just a profile on a high net-worth client for Draper Pierce. I know Taylor personally meets the ultra-wealthy that his bank manages money for. Anyways, if Taylor is managing this guys assets and I can give his contact number to Tess, then it’s a double win, right?

  “Come closer,” I say to her. “I’ve got someone who will help you seal this deal and win the contest with no doubts left.”

  Tess leans in close and I start to get the pictures I snapped with my phone.

  If nothing else, something will come from last night.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Austin

  “Mr. Giannoni,” I greet him as he walks through Oakmont’s lobby door. “Thank you for meeting with me.” I extend my arm half way to shake his hand. He does the same while also gently caressing my elbow.

  Ok…it must be a European thing.

  “Mr. Randall, the pleasure is all mine,” he says, a trace of his Italian accent mingling with his words. He eyes me up and down and for a second, I feel objectified. But then, I remember it’s Giovanni Giannoni, a world-renowned designer who’s known for his bedroom sets and headboards, so I don’t fucking care. He can objectify me all he wants, I’m used to it anyway.

  That’s
the reason why he is here right now. Well, no, not to stare at me—but for his expertise. The last round of this competition is on bedroom sets, especially headboards, and this is the man for the job.

  I might know furniture, as my billion-dollar empire suggests, but he’s a highly sought-after and respected designer in the industry.

  And, it’s his headboards that made him who he is today. This meeting is a big fucking deal and I’m not about to waste it. With his help, I’ll be able to win this whole fucking competition.

  I gotta hand it to Taylor—he hooked me up in a big way.

  “Please, come with me. Would you like some tea or coffee?” I ask him, leading him down the hallway to my office.

  “No, thank you,” he shakes his head and enters my office when I open the door for him.

  “Miranda, please hold all my calls until Mr. Giannoni leaves,” I instruct her.

  “Yes, Mr. Randall,” she glances up at me from her computer and then goes back to work.

  I could’ve had her, or my receptionist greet him. But I wanted to do it. Sure, for smaller clients I’ll have Miranda offer refreshments, but he is a big deal and I want him to know that I respect his time and willingness to meet with me. You can chalk it up to southern hospitality. I remember where I’m from.

  I close the door, and twist around to find him standing in front of my bookcase, looking over the contents.

  “Very fascinating material, Mr. Randall,” he says. “I’m impressed.”

  “Thank you. Please have a seat,” I pull out the chair for him and walk over to my desk, buttoning my suit jacket as I sit down on my chair.

  He walks over it, whipping his palms on his thighs as he slithers down onto the leather seat. He smiles, and his crooked teeth poke out from under his lips. He’s not the most unfortunate looking man, but there are some slimy qualities about him. He also dresses like he sleeps under the Milan runway and wears their castoffs, but then again, it is Giovanni Giannoni. He can do whatever the fuck he wants.

  And, I’m also not paying him to look good. I’m paying for his skill and ability to deliver me the $2 billion-dollar contract with the Clarendon Tower with a design that I can manufacture.

  “What can I do for you, Mr. Randall?” He asks, reaching for his brown satchel and retracting a worn-leather notepad and pen.

  Good, this guy gets right to it.

  “A headboard,” I don’t mince words. “I know you’re the man to ask for such a piece. From what I’ve seen, you’re work is impeccable, and the headboards are exquisite—one-of-kind type of designs, and I’d like to discuss commissioning one of them.”

  “Ah, a headboard,” the corners of his mouth curl up, but they don’t reach his eyes. Rather there’s a flicker of something in them and it instinctively worries me, but I can’t put my finger on it. “You’re right, that’s one of my specialties.”

  Ok…maybe, he just has an odd way of talking about himself?

  “Exactly. That’s why I knew you were the man for this job,” I smile, reassuringly.

  “That I am.” He nods and looks down at his notepad, scribbling something down aggressively.

  “Now, at Oakmont, we specialize in heavier pieces, relying on overstated and rich luxury. For instance, one of our best-sellers and most awarded pieces is our genuine leather chair,” I point to the back corner where I have the first one ever made on display. “We’re known for our sturdiness, and we don’t shy away from showing off our plush pieces.”

  “Hmm. I see,” he mumbles and runs his pen over his mouth, overacting his thinking process. Or maybe this is his method? I have no idea. Each person is different with how they approach their work and he might have to sit and mull over a design in silence while rubbing a pen across his mouth. To each their own. But still, it’s a bit uncomfortable to watch.

  I clasp my hands in my lap, and lean back, watching him contemplate what I just said.

  After a few seconds, the silence weighs on me and I lean my elbows on the desk.

  “Thoughts?” I ask, anxiety filling my voice.

  “Hmm. Yes, Yes,” He nods, writing some more notes down. “That can be done.”

  “Ok?” I ask, and I peak over the desk, hoping to get a glimpse of what he’s writing down.

  I continue. “I’d be happy to show you some examples of my work to give you a better idea of what I’m looking for. Better yet, here is my portfolio. Look at it and use it for your reference.”

  “Oh, there is no need for that,” he waves his hands in front of him, shooing my folder away.

  “No?” I narrow my eyes, confusion and worry knotting my stomach. “Why not?”

  “Before any meetings I take with a designer or client, such as yourself, I have my people do their homework. So, I’m already very familiar with your work. I have also followed your career since the humble beginnings of Oakmont Furniture Inc. I commend you for your tenacity and hard-work in making this business what it is today.” A grin as large as my fucking desk spreads across his face.

  I don’t know why his compliment rubs me the wrong way, but it does. It seems too…fake. I don’t fucking know. I’ve always been good at reading people and there’s something about this guy that I’m not sure about. But again, it’s also Giovanni Giannoni. This guy is a fucking legend and if something were to be wrong with him, I’m sure someone in the industry would’ve exposed him by now.

  “I appreciate that. Thank you. But, please, let me know if there is anything you need during the production stages,” I reiterate.

  “There is no need to worry, Mr. Randall,” his tongue slides over my name like he’s licking me, and I squirm, feeling the awkwardness smother me.

  “Good to know,” I stand up, signaling to him that it’s time to go. He follows me, tucking his notepad back into his satchel. “Thank you again for taking the time to meet with me. And, I look forward to working with you. I’m truly humbled by your patronage,” I reach out to shake his hand again.

  “Again, the pleasure is all mine.” He grabs my hand, cradling it with both of his and shakes it up and down, slowly. I clear my throat and pull my hand out with a quick thrust, reaching for the door and opening it. He smiles at me as he leaves, and I shut the door behind him, feeling both used and excited.

  But mostly fucking excited.

  I walk over to my bar cart and pour a few finger lengths of whisky to celebrate my inevitable win. They should sign over the Clarendon to me now because Tess will not have a chance in hell.

  With my whisky in hand, I stand in front of my floor-to-ceiling window and look out over the skyline. A wave of pure adrenaline rolls through me and I shiver knowing that Oakmont has made it to the fucking top.

  The last time you saw me here, baby, I had a redhead between my legs, making me feel like a King. But let me tell you, right now, I feel fucking invincible. This is what it feels like to be a King. To know that the reign is finally and securely in your hands. It’s a feeling I can get fucking use to.

  And, really, I should. It’s not every day you win a competition for the most exclusive contract in New York…and $2 billion.

  A sliver of remorse loosens my pride when Tess enters my mind, but then again, she’s lost gracefully before. She can do it again.

  Maybe I should soften the blow though. I’ve been told I do have that magic touch.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Tess

  I can’t believe I’m nervous.

  Sitting on my office, I tap my foot against the floor nervously, checking my wristwatch every ten seconds or so. I take a few deep breaths, trying to calm myself, and then decide to go for the whisky decanter I keep on the corner table and pour myself a glass.

  That should help ease my nerves.

  It’s kinda funny, in a way.

  I’ve never been this nervous before, at least when it comes to meeting people in the industry. But this is Giovanni Giannoni we’re talking about in here! He is the Steve Jobs of bedroom sets, the Michelangelo of headboards. You mig
ht think that I’m more excited about this than I should be, but that’s because you don’t know the industry. I do, so you can trust me when I tell you that this guy is a God.

  And it’s all thanks to Ashley.

  “He’s arrived,” my assistant buzzes me through the intercom, and I instantly sit straight in my chair, hiding the whisky in one of drawers.

  “Send him in,” I reply, my gaze drawn to the door. A few seconds later and a spindly man with short white hair steps in. He’s wearing a black turtleneck that’s frayed and gray trousers that are too short, and the shoes in his feet seem to be worn. He might not be a part of the fashion industry but he still makes a great headboard.

  “Mr. Giannoni,” I greet him, jumping up to my feet and walking around my desk. I shake his hand as he looks around my office, probably analyzing all the stupid mistakes I did with its furnishing, and I can’t help but feel self-conscious.

  If I wasn’t feeling so self-conscious, I’d reflect on how awkward he seems as he shakes my hand.

  “Nice décor.” Smiling, he turns to me and nods.

  I dunno.

  It feels almost…forced. As if he’s being very plastic about me.

  But I’m going to stop being paranoid.

  “So, you said you needed my help?” He asks me, a slight twang of an Italian accent hiding behind his words. “Here I am.”

  “Thank you! I know you must be awfully busy, so I’m really thankful you took the time.”

  “Don’t you worry, Ms. Armstrong. I was in the city anyway,” he says. “For work, of course.”

  Something about this guy seems a bit…slippery.

  Like he’s too willing to work with me.

  “Of course,” I repeat. Clearing my throat, I motion for him to sit down and then take my seat behind the desk. “So, what I need is something that’ll be right up your alley. I know you made your name with headboard designs, and that’s exactly what I’m looking for.”

  “Ah, a headboard,” he smiles, and there’s something in the way he looks at me that’s slightly disconcerting. Almost as if he was already expecting my request. Odd, but I just push all that to the back of my mind. I gotta keep focused on the task at hand.