One hundred.

There are one hundred clients under the Oakmont name. Meaning, I work directly with one hundred businesses and cater to their various furnishing needs. Some date back to the early days, when my great grandfather was around, while others have been recently attained by yours truly.

And, honestly, it’s probably more than a hundred at any given time. Some people argue that one company can’t handle it all and do it well, but, baby, would I be here if we couldn’t? That’s what Oakmont is known for, we know how to handle any client and can deliver any project—it’s one of our specialties.

Sure, there’ve been some complaints, but to be successful in any industry, you’re going to ruffle a few feathers. I know I’ve definitely ruffled more than my share. But they always come crawling back, one way or another.

And, I know, my reputation precedes me. But the only reputation I truly care about is the one attached to Oakmont. People can think whatever they want about me, like that I have a constant parade of women spreading their legs for me every morning, noon, and night—rumors always have a bit of truth in them after all—but as long as their satisfied with my work, then that’s all that matters.

Although recently, my parade is gradually dwindling down into a one woman show.

Two.

Oakmont has had two competitors in its lifetime. Both of which have the power to uproot the life of everyone who gets an Oakmont Furniture Inc. paycheck every month.

You know me, I don’t take competition lightly.

When everyone and their damn brother moved their factories over to China to cut overhead costs, it almost tanked us—because we never wanted to take our jobs or our company out of America. We’re born and raised in the US and our furniture is too and always will be. We never had any intention of leaving our home. But because of that we scraped by, which meant cutting costs wherever we could. Yeah we owned our own business but our lives were never glamorous. Nothing like what my life is today. The moment I took over, everything changed. I revamped our business model and made some hard calls—ones that my father and grandfather never approved of—but it worked out for the best. If it wasn’t for me we’d still be the mom and pop shop barely making it.

And now, that I’ve had a taste of this life and how it feels like to be the fucking King with his own empire, there’s no way in hell I’m going back.

Then there’s Domina Designs and its headmistress Tess Armstrong. They’re—well—she is our only serious competitor. And not just in the competition for Clarendon Tower—Domina is a serious contender in the industry. Another few years and they’ll be as big as Oakmont. They’ve impacted a few of my sales in the past by steering a few clients over to them or low-balling us in other business venues. I told you she’s always been a thorn in my side.

In the Clarendon Tower competition she’s making me fucking work for it. I never thought this contest would be as close as it is. We’re going into the last round fucking tied—30 to 30.

But I have a feeling, even after this, she’ll have an effect on me. Tess is already doing shit to my head no one has ever done before.

Ten.

We’ve officially been out on seven dates, but I count all the little times too. The drinks after the first Board meeting in the lounge, a random encounter at the gym, and a glance in the hallway. I count everything when it comes to her.

See… she’s fucking with my head.

That’s what makes this so hard. Any other competition and I would be guns-a-blazing, not thinking twice about destroying anyone. I would leave them in the dust and stand Rocky-style on their ashes. Ok, I’m not that maniacal, but I do fucking love winning.

But don’t get me wrong, I’m also not saying that I’m going easy on her and letting her win. Fuck that. I didn’t lose my mind completely. But with every round, a twinge of guilt nags at me and it keeps growing with every step I take forward. It’s not a feeling I’m used to because I live to win but I don’t fucking like it one bit.

Why did I have to fall for my competition?

Fifty.

That’s how many times Tess has said my name. And, I’m that fucking sap who loves hearing it roll off her tongue. I never in my wildest fucking dreams would’ve thought that I’d be saying these types of things, but here the fuck I am, confessing my feelings. Jesus Christ have the tides changed. It still doesn’t sit well me.

But my favorite moment of Tess saying “Austin” is when she moans it. It’s mid-orgasm and her body shudders in bliss around me—on top or underneath me—and she sighs against my skin. I’m telling you it’s become a starring feature in my highlight reel. Tess is so much better than a fucking half-baked sex montage in my head. I can’t get enough of everything about her.

Or even when she just announces my presence in a room, greeting me in the lobby or at a restaurant. I only want to hear my name fall from her lips. I need to commission her to make my own theme song really.

Two.

I’ve watched two friends of mine change their ways. Almost three, if you count Taylor and his fling with Ashley.

I’ve stood next to two of my boys on their wedding days watching them devote and commit their life to a one woman. There fucking batshit crazy…that’s what I thought at least. I never understood it. Yeah Serena and Sonia are smoking hot with slick tongues—but it’s still fucking forever.

How can you just give up your life for woman?

I’ve asked them when I’m trying to figure out how they changed so dramatically from being my wingmen jizzing all over New York—sometimes, literally—to fucking one woman and expecting a child. It’s mind-boggling.

But what they’ve said is beginning to make sense. A woman you can spar with. Your equal. A woman who keeps you on your toes.

For me that’s definitely Tess.

And I’ve thought about it. Maybe this competition is the only reason why I find her so attractive. She’s been able to beat me when no one has before, and she holds her own—in and out of the bedroom.

But even outside of the competition I’m captivated by her. I can’t stop thinking about her and I fucking hate it.

This is not me.

I like women for what they have to offer temporarily not multiple times over. The only thing I like doing again and again is furniture.

And now apparently Tess too.

Twenty.

Speaking of Tess, she’s grabbed my arm and held onto me like nothing else in the world mattered.

Fuck. I want her hands on me. I want her wild like she gets when we fuck. I want Tess to scratch me, dig her fingers nails into my back, press her heels against my ass…I like it when she’s rough. I fight back. God, our sex is fucking electric. If I’m not thinking about her ass bouncing away from me, then I’m thinking about it bobbing up and down on my cock.

It hasn’t been good for business but at least I’m keeping my eye on the competition. Even if it’s not in the way I should be eyeing it, but everyone’s diversion and tactics are different. I didn’t become the Austin Randall of Oakmont by doing what I should do. Listening to what other people did. I became the fucking King because I paved my own path.

And I think I’ve found someone else who’s done the same.

One.

There’s one thing that’s getting in my way though. And there’s also only one thing I need to focus on.

The Clarendon Tower Contract.

The fucking competition.

It’s the one thing that’s getting in between Tess and me. The one thing we both want and the one thing that’ll keep us apart. I want this, and I will do whatever it takes to win the competition. Which means I have to forget about Tess. To push all my thoughts, feelings, whatever the fuck aside and focus on the prize. I can’t let her distract me.

And when I win—which will happen—it’ll be the one thing that has the potential to end us forever.

Even if we’re in some alternate universe where she wins I will always remember it. She’ll represent a blow to my ego and I can’t say I’d be able to get over that regardless of how secure in my manhood I am.

I love her—Jesus Christ—but unfortunately for this book, love isn’t as powerful as we thought. It won’t get rid of the fact that there’ll always be one thing—a $2 billion wedge between us—that separates us.

It brought us together but it’ll always keep us apart.

Even after the competition ends.