Page 12 of Broken Headboards
Chapter Five
Austin
“I didn’t see that coming,”I say to Taylor. “A competition. Really?”
This Clarendon Tower contract is so much more than I expected.
Like, a competition? What the fuck is that?
But getting a contract with Clarendon Tower would be monumental for my business. It’s a client all designers dream of having and working for. And, I live here so I know exactly who Clarendon Towers is and who they cater to.
I am Clarendon Towers.
And, I fucking own Oakmont Furniture. My furniture is known for being the best of the best, ask any one of my competitorsandmy customers.
Taylor and I stand next to one of the large, ornate pillars in the conference room while the rest of people in the meeting spill out into the lobby. I scan over them as they walk past me, assessing the competitors.
“Like it? Thought it’d be more fun. And, it’ll show us the potential everyone has,” he winks.
“Potential? Do I really need to prove to you that I have potential?” I lean in closer, whispering to him so the others can’t hear me. Though I don’t really care if they hear me or what they think about me. I’ve never cared about my reputation, well, my personal reputation. My professional reputation is a different story.
That’s important to me.
Everyone knows that I’ve worked hard to be where I am now, making my small family company into a multi-billion-dollar corporation. If they’ve done their homework, they know they have nothing to stand on when it comes to me. And, even if they thought they could beat me, they’ll quickly learn how skilled Austin Randall is.
It’s just who I am. I work harder than anyone I know. Regardless of if there’srealcompetition or not here, it doesn’t mean I won’t work my ass off to prove myself worthy.
Just you watch, baby. You’ll be my fangirl before you know it.
But I do appreciate their industriousness and willingness to try. And I always love competition.
“I know who you are. That’s why I wanted you here. I know your shit and it’s good,” Taylor explains. “But it’s also not up to me to make the rules. I had to compromise with the Condo Board. They presented this competition as a way to weed out the designers they don’t want to work with. In all honesty, it’s less time consuming than having to interview each of you individually and then do some sort of showcase.”
I nod my head in agreement. He does have a point there. It’s takes a while to find the right designer and that’s for a regular client, not a client as elite as the Clarendon Tower.
“But, what in the hell are they doing here?” I gesture towards the others lingering around us.
The Willis guy from fuckingFast Furnishing Solutionsleans down to take a picture of the wall molding and floor finishing. I shake my head. This poor guy has no chance in hell. I’ve seen his work, and it amazes me that he’s still in business. Especially here in New York. My fucking Aunt Jane, the one who didn’t follow in the Randall footsteps, could do a better job than him. And, she’s obsessed with paisley and couch covers. Yes, those plastic covers that stick to every part of your ass. That’s them, and they’re everywhere in her house. It’s…a lot. And, I’m sure Willis fucking loves that shit too. Really, there’s no way in hell he’ll be able to live up to the Clarendon Tower, even with all his pictures and notes.
“Seriously, why is he here?” I tilt my head, pointing it towards Willis.
“Willy?” Taylor scoffs with a laugh. “We have to give everyone a chance, that’s one of the main reasons why we’re doing the competition. We’ll see how many rounds he makes.”
“Really? You think he’ll even last the first round?” I ask, watching Willy—Taylor’s clever nickname catches on quickly—take a video of the conference room. Ahh, he’s so rough.
The other guy I recognize is Andrew fromSolidWares. I’m familiar with his work too and it’s not as bad as Willy’s. But that’d be saying a lot, nothing is worse than his. Andrew’s a decent guy and he makes sturdy furniture, ranging from rustic to a more modern aesthetic. I’ve even worked with him on a few jobs. But he’s just a puppy dog, with no backbone and he’ll whimper out before the second contest. I’d bet on it.
And to make matters worse, he’s walking behind Willy acting exactly like a lost puppy dog. He isn’t taking pictures at least, but he’s still writing down a novel’s worth of notes. These men are fucking pathetic.
My gaze stops when I reach the woman standing next to Ashley, dressed in a tight navy blue dress. Her hair cascades down her shoulders in an effortless yet professional wave.
Tess Armstrong.
Now, she’s the only real competition I have. It is fitting to see her here after being my competitor for so long.
I haven’t actually talked to her before, though I know of her—her background, portfolio, and how she runs her business. And, I admit it, her work is good, but it’s the opposite of mine. It’s feminine, delicate and soft where mine exudes masculinity, strength and sturdiness.
It’s really man vs. woman at this point.
