Page 4 of Broken Headboards
Chapter Two
Tess
“I saidI want to talk to the owner,capisce?” the loud grating voice says to me.
Sigh.
Twenty-nine years old and I still have to deal with this bullshit.
“Do you how to read, Mr. Capello?” I point to the golden name plate hanging right behind me, the one with my name on it. “Do you know what CEO stands for?”
“Yes, yes,” he waves, brushing me off with his thick Italian accent. “And I want to talk to this Tess you speak off.”
“Nice to meet you then.” Leaning toward him, I offer him my hand. With a suspicious expression on his face, he takes the seat on the other side of my desk and grabs my hand. I actually have to force a smile. “My name’s Tess, and I’m the Chief Executive Officer ofDominaDesigns.”
Jesus. Is it that surprising that a woman can become CEO of her own company in the 21st century? Judging by the look of surprise on this asshole’s face, you’d say I’ve just told him that CEO stands for Cranky Evil Ogre.
“Very interesting,” he laughs, grabbing both ends of his mustache and twirling them upward. “Una donna, huh? Fascinating. I thought you were the, huh,segretaria?”
“Does this look like a secretary’s office?” I ask, showing him the palm of my hands as I invite him to look around him. The floor-to-ceiling windows offer an expansive view of Queens downtown. Not exactly Fifth Avenue or Central Park, but it’s still New York City we’re talking about in here. On the right wall hangs an original Pollock which I bought on auction for a cool $1.7 million. The hand knotted rug under my desk has been shipped straight from Morocco.
That’s right, ladies. I’m every inch the fucking CEO that any other alpha male asshole will be in a romance novel.
I mean, think about it. Who’s fucking stronger? Men?
Or Woman?
Yeah, I capitalized the W. Because at the end of the day, we’re the stronger of the two.
Sure, a man might be able to open jars for you and lift heavy objects. But guess who’s in bed when they get a scrape or a cold? Guess whose world collapses and they become little boys the moment they get the sniffles?
That’s right. The alpha male hero.
Now women, we’re a stronger lot for sure. Every month we’re in excruciating pain for several days. But if we want that pain to stop, we have to get pregnant. And then give birth. Six pounds coming out of you? Imagine that alpha male doing that? He’d shit himself—but this isn’t mpreg so it doesn’t count.
After everything we have to put up with, after everything we’ve accomplished, the fact that there are unattractive asshole slobs like this sitting across from my desk thinking they know more than me pisses me off so much.
“Well, huh.” Scratching his chin, he looks deep in thought as his eyes find the Pollock. “Did your kid paint that?”
“That’s a Pollock.”
“Ah,sì, I agree. It’s bollocks. But he’ll get better, don’t you worry.”
Patting the front of his purple shirt, his belly stretching the fabric thin, he lets out a raucous laugh.
I seriously hope this book turns into an action novel, because I’m about to kiss this guy’s ass. Twirling his mustache like a second-grade villain from a B-movie, he slaps his free hand down on my desk, making my laptop jump in place.
“Very well,” he says finally as I try to not roll my eyes. “As you Americans say, let’s get down to brass tacks, shall we?”
Finally.
“Well, Mr. Capello, I assume your associates have already informed you about the deal in place. You’ll be providing us enough furniture from your top-of-the-shelves brands, enough to float our stock for six months, and then we’ll negotiate later in the year. As per the terms I discussed with your associates, $5.7 million should be enough to cover it, and give you a nice profit margin for you to show your stockholders.”
“Oh, but there must be a mistake.” Tapping his fingers against my desk, he purses his lips before offering me a wide smile. In his eyes I can see a glint I’ve seen countless times during my life as a business woman—it saysI have a cock, you don’t.“I thought those were just opening terms. They are unacceptable, of course. My best brands are all designer pieces, and I believe you can agree with me when I say that $5.7 million doesn’t even begin to cover it.”
I wonder if my letter opener would be enough to chop this idiot’s balls off.
“Then what would be a fair number?” I ask.
