Page 77 of Broken Headboards
“You deserve this, Mr. Randall,” she assures me. “No one works harder than you do. And Giovanni Giannoni was a great choice.”
I do deserve this.
Right?
Jesus Christ.
“Miranda, get me a whisky.”
“Uh…sure.” She side-eyes me, narrowing them into a questionable glare as she walks away.
Don’t be judge me, baby. I know it’s not in good form to have a drink before the competition, or to have a drink this early, but I need something to keep my head in the game.
Apparently, my competitive streak isn’t doing the job well enough, so I need reinforcement.
She leaves the conference room, and I stand there, arms crossed, observing my set over again. My eyes fixed on the headboard, examining the smooth lines and soft edges.
It is the clear winner. There’s no fucking doubt in my mind. The board would be out of their mind to choose anything else. Seriously, if they didn’t pick me, I’d assume the whole thing was rigged. Hell, I wouldn’t put it past the board, considering its history.
But, this headboard—no, this whole damn set, is too perfect not to pick. It screams Clarendon Tower.
ItisClarendon Tower.
However, as much as I love this fucking piece, I know it’s going to destroy Tess. It kills me knowing that, it really does. It’s so fucking frustrating to love and hate something so much.
She did sign up for this, though. She knows what’s coming and she’s been able to hold her own the whole time. If I were to throw the contest, she’d probably be pissed at me. I’m sure she’d think of it as me handing her the contract and not fighting fair.
And, trust me, that wouldn’t be the case. I want what’s best for her, almost as much as I want to win this competition—that’s saying a fuck ton.
“Here you go. Whisky to drown your nerves,” Miranda reappears behind me, handing me the shot glass. I throw it back, feeling the warmth spread through my muscles.
I turn to Miranda, handing her the glass.
“Miranda, I have to tell you something. This competition…what if I—” I stop mid-sentence when Tess enters the conference room.
She looks radiant, wearing a dress made for a Queen.
But, a Queen with her ass and legs…I’m not sure any exist.
Well, other than her.
I’m enamored by her, like always. But today, there’s an aura around her and it creates almost a halo effect and I blink twice, thinking there’s something wrong with my eyes.
Or, I don’t know, it’s my fucking head. I am thinking all sorts of ridiculous thoughts lately. One of them being giving up and letting her win.
But, as I look closer at the headboard she’s grasping, I notice something vaguely familiar.
Are those ornaments?
The same fucking decorative ornaments?
“What if you…what?” Miranda asks, looking between my bedroom set, me and Tess.
“Is that…?” I ask, ignoring her question. My initial assumption ignites a flash of anger in me, but I steady myself, giving her the benefit of the doubt. “Is that what I think it is?”
My head shots back to my headboard and then to hers, and then, I do another double-take.
No. No.
No.
“That’s my fucking headboard,” I shout.
Looking at Miranda, I repeat the words I never thought I’d say again. “She stole my fucking design.” I clench my fist. “My fucking headboard.”
And now, I only see red.
