Broken Headboards: Nights In New York Series Book 3 Page 8

  What I see when I finally get to the top of the stairs makes my jaw drop.

  “That motherf—”

  “What’s the matter? You look a bit disheveled, Tess.” I turn around on my heels to face Austin, and then my gaze returns to all the freaking pallets leaning against every single elevator door on this floor. Just to make sure there wouldn’t be a single elevator I could use, Austin waited till all the furniture was up here and then stuck the pallets against the doors, jamming them.

  I wonder how many years a person has to serve for manslaughter.

  “I should kick your ass right now,” I growl, glaring at him. He just shrugs, pushing the door open for me as I walk past him.

  “Try and do it during the competition, will you?” He replies in an amused tone. “After all, we’re all civilized in here.”

  Christ, is there a man more insufferable than Austin Randall?

  As I make my way through the rows of seats, I realize that the place is completely packed. Apparently word got out that these competitions weren’t just boring presentations of furniture models, and now every single asshole living in Clarendon Tower wants to partake in the drama.

  Just lovely that they all chose to appear today.

  Yeah, in case you didn’t notice, my day isn’t going that well. I look as if I’ve just stepped out of a treadmill, my blouse plastered to my back, and my whole presentation had to be completely redone in under twenty-fours. Which means, of course, that Austin is going to wipe the floor with me.

  Now, I’m pretty confident that my team can come out with a solid plan in a shortened time-frame, but there’s no way I can go toe-to-toe with a company like Oakmont under these conditions. Still, there’s no way around it—I still have to give it my best shot if I want this deal to happen.

  Taking my seat at the front, near the executives of all the other companies, I purse my lips as Taylor eyes me warily. He’s probably wondering if I lost my mind and decided to go for a jog on stilettos right before today’s meeting.

  “We’re all here now, then. Let the games begin,” he announces, a dramatic tone to his voice. Clearly, he enjoys this. “All of you performed amazingly last time we met,” he continues, and I notice a glint in his eye as his gaze meets Willis. Poor guy made a fool of himself last time, and I figure he’s going to do it again today. Well, better him than me, that’s for sure. “But today’s a brand new day, and all of you have a new chance at proving your mettle. As you all know, today’s presentation will be about the bedroom furnishings, with a specific focus on the design of bed stands and end tables.”

  I notice a few of the other executives fiddling with scraps of paper, probably trying to go over some memorized speech, and I roll my eyes. These guys are more worried about the words coming out of their mouths than with the furniture they’re trying to pitch. No wonder the only serious competitors in this room are Austin and me.

  I spend the next hour and a half suffering through all the presentations, and it doesn’t take me long to realize that Taylor purposefully left mine and Austin’s for the end. Like a good showman, he wants to dazzle his audience with a great finish. I wonder if banking is like that—you make up a lot of bullshit, throw a few spreadsheets up in the air while looking all cool and smart, and people just give you their money. No wonder the economy’s fucked all the time.

  When it’s finally my turn, my presentation being right before Austin’s, I somehow manage to pull a few oohs and aahs out of the crowd as I dramatically pull the white sheets covering my furniture. My nightstands are simple in their design, minimalistic even, and they have a coat of peach-beige lacquer that adds to it. Functional and elegant, they’d blend in with the furniture of any billionaire’s bedroom.

  Against all odds, I start feeling confident as the audience claps it up. Maybe I still have a chance at winning first place again. As I return to my seat, I flash Austin a grin. I’m not entirely sure how, but I resist the urge to flip him the finger.

  Strutting toward the raised dais where the board members and Taylor are sitting, Austin then spins on his heels to face the crowd.

  “I want to start by apologizing,” he says, a solemn tone to his words. “I’ve been working long hours to bring my project to fruition, so if any of my fellow competitors saw me doze off during their presentations...I assure you, it has nothing to do with your performance.” His eyes focus on mine, and I immediately know that he’s picking on me. Of course. “Your projects are all interesting, although I have the feeling that some of you didn’t work on them for more than a day. But, of course, I know that companies like Domina must have other pressing commitments.”

  “Just get on with it, will ya?” I mutter under my breath, more than ready to pick one of my nightstands and throw it at his head. I’d be ruining a fine piece of furniture—an expensive one at that—but it’d be so freakin’ worth it.

  “But I’m not here to bash all these hard-working people, am I?” He asks the crowd, receiving a round of laughter in return. If it weren’t for Ashley, who places one hand on my leg to stop me from doing something rash, I swear I would have start throwing bed stands everywhere.

  Walking toward Oakmont’s corner in the room, where all of Austin’s furniture has been stashed, he reaches for the white sheets sheltering his pieces from view. As he pulls it back, all the lights in the room go off, and a huge glaring spotlight focus on his nightstand.

  What a fucking show off.

  Leaning back, I fold both my legs and arms, putting as many layers of limbs as possible between me and that idiot. The only reason I don’t cover my ears is because I don’t want to appear like a drama queen. But, seriously, just listen to what he’s saying!

  LCD screens that rise from the bed stand’s upper surface, USB chargers, and so many plug points that it almost seems like he’s trying to pitch something for an MFM novel. Jesus, that damn thing is so supercharged I wouldn’t be surprised if it had some sort of AI system that could pick the groceries up for you.

  And, despite the damn thing having so many electronics I wouldn’t call it a piece of furniture, its lines still remain as minimalistic as they are impressive. Crap, I have no chance against this cyborg nightstand bullshit.

  “Well, seems like we have a clear winner,” Taylor cries out, trying to raise his voice above the crowd’s noise. People have lost their goddamn minds with Austin’s nightstand, some of the residents even asking Austin if he will sell them one.

  Looking around, Taylor eventually shrugs and gives up. No one seems to care about the points anymore—Austin has clearly stolen the show.

  “Tess, you get second place,” he tells me, offering to shake my hand. Sighing, I take it in mine.

  15 to 10, and Austin’s leading.

  Fuck me.

  Oh wait.

  Austin already did.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Austin

  “Well, well, well, look who the cat dragged in,” I stand up to greet Taylor, who’s being ushered into my office by Miranda.

  “There he is! The reigning champ,” Taylor says and we give each other a quick hug. Well, one of those chest bumps, jabs on the back-type hugs. We’re not the emotional, touchy-feely type of guys, if you haven’t figured that out yet, baby. So, this is as close as we’ll get to emotional expression.

  “What brings you here?” I ask, buttoning my suit jacket as I walk over to my desk chair.

  “Thought I’d congratulate you on your last win. That was a tough call,” he settles himself in the one of the leather chairs across from me. It’s one of the first chairs I’ve ever made, and I made it with my dad. It’s sentimental, sure, but it also motivates me to get my ass up and working. I need to keep proving to him that I’m worthy of my position in the family company.

  Even though I know I’ve proven my worth ten times over.

  “Thanks, you didn’t have to come all the way out here to tell me that, though. Did you?” I lean back and clasps my hands together.

  “I wa
s in the area anyway. So, how do you feel about the competition? And Tess?” He raises his eyebrows in a cheesy, suggestive way. For having such a powerful position at Draper Pierce, he acts like such a fucking man-child sometimes.

  It’s no wonder he can’t figure out what the fuck to do with Ashley.

  “Trust me, losing to Tess in the first round pissed me the fuck off. She’s been a minor annoyance here and there but now that I’m back on top, I see no more diversions in my way,” I boast. “I got this competition by the balls, Taylor.”

  “You’re a cocky motherfucker, aren’t you?” He laughs. “But that’s all? With Tess, I mean.” He presses his lips together and leans in closer to my desk.

  “I mean, she’s fucking hot. Is that what you want me to say? By no means is she a distraction. I’ll be winning this competition with that fine ass of hers waving around at me or not.”

  “Well, jeez. Don’t get your panties in a twist, lovebird,” he chides. “I was just asking. I know you got this, but just be careful. She’s a tricky minx, and she’s damn good at what she does.”

  “What do you mean, Taylor?” I ask.

  “Oh, nothing. Calm your tits. All I’m saying is she’s good, so you might have more competition than you think.”

  “Ok, ok. Fine. Thanks for the pep talk, pal,” I say, annoyance lining my tone. He’s my best friend and all but I’m getting irritated just by thinking about Tess beating me.

  I hear his phone buzz and he slides it out of his pants pocket, doing a double-take when he sees the screen.

  “Shit,” he mumbles under his breath. He shakes his head and re-directs his attention to me. “Right, so I figured while I’m here I’d remind you about the next round.” He plops his phone on the desk between us and it vibrates again.

  I roll my eyes, hard. “You don’t have to check up on me, Taylor. I’m fine. I know it’s in five days from now,” I lean my elbows on the desk.

  “Yeah, good. It’s also going to be dedicated to dining room sets.”

  “Ok, that can be done easily,” I say with every strain of confidence in me. Dining room sets are fucking pieces of a cake. I can make them in my sleep.

  “Mr. Randall!” Miranda shouts from the other side of the door and then bursts through it, dramatically.

  “What?” I push my chair back, surprised by her sudden change in demeanor.

  Miranda never acts like this. She’s always so cool, calm, and collected. That’s one of the reasons why I hired her. I need someone to balance out my hot-blooded temper, especially when shit hits the fan.

  Which I have a feeling might be happening right now.

  “Our main supplier just quit!” she says, frantically breathing and clasping her chest.

  Taylor’s face jerks back and forth between us, but I ignore his reaction.

  “What do you mean?” I grip the arms rest, needing to ease the sudden ball of anxiety forming in my chest.

  “Arnold from A&S Woodworking and Leather just called,” she takes a deep breath in. “They said they’re out.”

  “They can’t just fucking do that!” I shout and rise to my feet. The random trinkets on my bookshelf vibrate from the volume of my voice and sudden weight change, but I don’t fucking care.

  What can I say, baby? I’m a fucking man with too much testosterone running through my veins.

  “Did they say why? Any details as to why they fucking left us in the fucking dust like this? Right in the middle of our fucking competition?” I pound my fist onto the desk.

  Miranda jolts up and wraps her arms around herself. I glance down to see Taylor on his phone, ignoring the whole thing, despite him listening intently I’m sure. He’s heard me scream before, so I doubt this is any surprise to him.

  “No, sir. They didn’t. All the man said was that they we’re out and send Mr. Randall their best regards,” Miranda says softly.

  “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!” I run my hands through my hair, fighting the urge to punch something or throw my computer across the room.

  This is fucking bullshit.

  “Get me Arnold’s direct phone number now, Miranda,” I instruct, and she scurries out of the room to her desk, diligently.

  “Listen to my warnings next time, bitch,” Taylor adds sardonically.

  “Fuck you,” I snarl. But I especially hate when people double-cross me and fuck me over. “First, I need to figure out why these assholes quit.”

  Tess.

  She’s the first thing that comes to mind. Tess has to be behind this somehow.

  What the fuck did she do now?

  Miranda runs back into my office, holding a sticky note with a phone number scribbled on it.

  “Thanks,” I swipe it away from her and instantly start dialing the numbers on my keypad.

  With every ring that passes, my anger rises. I am fuming and seeing nothing but red.

  Five days until the next competition, five fucking days. And, this shit has to happen. My main fucking supplier bails on me last minute with nothing to show from it.

  “A&S Woodworking and Leather, this is Arnold. How can I help you?” Arnold greets me, too pleasantly.

  “Arnold, what the fuck?” I skip the bullshit and head right for the jugular. Why act professional when he doesn’t know the first thing about professionalism?

  “Pardon me?” He says in his thick southern accent.

  “Why did you just quit? You know who this is, don’t play stupid,” I yell at him.

  “Austin? Is this Austin from Oakmont Furniture?” he asks, innocently.

  “Yes, dumbass. Now, tell me. What the fuck happened, man?” I have no patience now. If I was with this weasel in person I would’ve fucking slapped him across the face for acting like the bitch that he is.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Randall. We’re not usually one to do such a thing on short notice. But we had a better offer on the table,” he admits, stumbling out a few of his words.

  “A better offer? From who? How could you get a better offer than us? We’re paying you more than a five hundred thousand for your material.”

  “Mr. Randall—”

  I interrupt him. “And who the fuck is better than Oakmont?”

  “I never said anyone is better than Oakmont. We appreciate having the opportunity to work with you. However, we received an offer we couldn’t refuse. You understand business, dontcha?” he pleads.

  This is just fucking crazy.

  “Who is this better offer from?” The words taste like bile of on my tongue.

  “I can’t say. We signed an NDA. However, I can tell you they’re based in New York State.”

  It is fucking Tess. He didn’t even have to say more. My gut instincts know that it’s her.

  Wow.

  Bold fucking move, Ms. Armstrong.

  I hang up on the bastard and slam my phone down on the desk.

  Fuck.

  She just messed with the wrong motherfucker on the wrong day.

  I’m going to steamroll her little boutique business back to the Stone Age.

  “Looks like you got your hands full bro,” Taylor says getting up from his chair.

  “Don’t worry about me,” I say grimly, meeting his gaze.

  That’s right. I’ll be fine.

  He should worry about Tess once I find her.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Tess

  All work and no play makes Tess a dull girl, right?

  Wrong.

  Swear to God, next time Ashley drags me to another one of these galas, she’ll be the one coughing up my $50k entry.

  Hello again.

  Did you miss me? Why, thank you, I missed you too. I still wonder why you choose to spend half your time with Austin, but tonight I don’t care. I’m just happy you were there to see the expression on his face when Arnold from A&S pulled the rug from under him.

  Must’ve been amazing, right?

  Anyway, enough about Austin. I’m happy I landed a straight right, but he still hasn’t hit the mat.
Of course, that doesn’t mean I can’t take a break from work and celebrate this little victory.

  That’s exactly why tonight I’m at the Ritz-Carlton ballroom, a nice and tight dark gown caressing each one of my curves. Usually, I don’t have the time—or even the patience—to come to these charity galas, but Ashley insisted. A lot. See, when I have to pay $50K for a seat, I usually require a lot of convincing.

  But it’s for a good cause. We’re helping the poor orphans in Sudan, after all. Or is this the one about the ozone layer? Crap, why can’t I keep all these charity events straight? I hope no one asks me to make for a speech. Although I could say that what the orphans in Sudan really need is for someone to fix the ozone layer.

  That could work.

  Okay, crap, sorry. I’m not that callous. I just work very long hours and devote all of my brain’s processing power to everything furniture.

  So, yeah.

  Ouch!

  Jesus Christ.

  I eye my dance partner warily as he stomps on my foot.

  “I thought you knew how to tango?” I ask archly.

  I can’t believe I said yes to him.

  It all started with Ashley.

  “That guy is eyeing you,” Ashley said, nudging me with her elbow when she found me, pointing toward a dork standing by himself in the corner. Probably one of the tech billionaires, he had horn-rimmed glasses on and seemed to be nursing what looked like a fruity cocktail.

  “Are you kidding me?” I whispered. “What do I care if he’s eyeing me? The guy looks like he just stepped out of virgin-land.”

  “So?” She insisted grabbing me by the elbow and pushing me toward him. “That’s Howard Mills. The guy invented some sort of software that can do...well, I have no idea what it can do, but it has an important sounding name. Besides, he’s known for donating a lot of money when he comes to these events...as long as he has fun. So you go there and make sure he has some fun.”

  “Jesus, what do you care how much money he donates?” I asked. “Are you part of the organization or something?”