“Mr. Giannoni,” I greet him as he walks through Oakmont’s lobby door. “Thank you for meeting with me.” I extend my arm half way to shake his hand. He does the same while also gently caressing my elbow.

Ok…it must be a European thing.

“Mr. Randall, the pleasure is all mine,” he says, a trace of his Italian accent mingling with his words. He eyes me up and down and for a second, I feel objectified. But then, I remember it’s Giovanni Giannoni, a world-renowned designer who’s known for his bedroom sets and headboards, so I don’t fucking care. He can objectify me all he wants, I’m used to it anyway.

That’s the reason why he is here right now. Well, no, not to stare at me—but for his expertise. The last round of this competition is on bedroom sets, especially headboards, and this is the man for the job.

I might know furniture, as my billion-dollar empire suggests, but he’s a highly sought-after and respected designer in the industry.

And, it’s his headboards that made him who he is today. This meeting is a big fucking deal and I’m not about to waste it. With his help, I’ll be able to win this whole fucking competition.

I gotta hand it to Taylor—he hooked me up in a big way.

“Please, come with me. Would you like some tea or coffee?” I ask him, leading him down the hallway to my office.

“No, thank you,” he shakes his head and enters my office when I open the door for him.

“Miranda, please hold all my calls until Mr. Giannoni leaves,” I instruct her.

“Yes, Mr. Randall,” she glances up at me from her computer and then goes back to work.

I could’ve had her, or my receptionist greet him. But I wanted to do it. Sure, for smaller clients I’ll have Miranda offer refreshments, but he is a big deal and I want him to know that I respect his time and willingness to meet with me. You can chalk it up to southern hospitality. I remember where I’m from.

I close the door, and twist around to find him standing in front of my bookcase, looking over the contents.

“Very fascinating material, Mr. Randall,” he says. “I’m impressed.”

“Thank you. Please have a seat,” I pull out the chair for him and walk over to my desk, buttoning my suit jacket as I sit down on my chair.

He walks over it, whipping his palms on his thighs as he slithers down onto the leather seat. He smiles, and his crooked teeth poke out from under his lips. He’s not the most unfortunate looking man, but there are some slimy qualities about him. He also dresses like he sleeps under the Milan runway and wears their castoffs, but then again, it is Giovanni Giannoni. He can do whatever the fuck he wants.

And, I’m also not paying him to look good. I’m paying for his skill and ability to deliver me the $2 billion-dollar contract with the Clarendon Tower with a design that I can manufacture.

“What can I do for you, Mr. Randall?” He asks, reaching for his brown satchel and retracting a worn-leather notepad and pen.

Good, this guy gets right to it.

“A headboard,” I don’t mince words. “I know you’re the man to ask for such a piece. From what I’ve seen, you’re work is impeccable, and the headboards are exquisite—one-of-kind type of designs, and I’d like to discuss commissioning one of them.”

“Ah, a headboard,” the corners of his mouth curl up, but they don’t reach his eyes. Rather there’s a flicker of something in them and it instinctively worries me, but I can’t put my finger on it. “You’re right, that’s one of my specialties.”

Ok…maybe, he just has an odd way of talking about himself?

“Exactly. That’s why I knew you were the man for this job,” I smile, reassuringly.

“That I am.” He nods and looks down at his notepad, scribbling something down aggressively.

“Now, at Oakmont, we specialize in heavier pieces, relying on overstated and rich luxury. For instance, one of our best-sellers and most awarded pieces is our genuine leather chair,” I point to the back corner where I have the first one ever made on display. “We’re known for our sturdiness, and we don’t shy away from showing off our plush pieces.”

“Hmm. I see,” he mumbles and runs his pen over his mouth, overacting his thinking process. Or maybe this is his method? I have no idea. Each person is different with how they approach their work and he might have to sit and mull over a design in silence while rubbing a pen across his mouth. To each their own. But still, it’s a bit uncomfortable to watch.

I clasp my hands in my lap, and lean back, watching him contemplate what I just said.

After a few seconds, the silence weighs on me and I lean my elbows on the desk.

“Thoughts?” I ask, anxiety filling my voice.

“Hmm. Yes, Yes,” He nods, writing some more notes down. “That can be done.”

“Ok?” I ask, and I peak over the desk, hoping to get a glimpse of what he’s writing down.

I continue. “I’d be happy to show you some examples of my work to give you a better idea of what I’m looking for. Better yet, here is my portfolio. Look at it and use it for your reference.”

“Oh, there is no need for that,” he waves his hands in front of him, shooing my folder away.

“No?” I narrow my eyes, confusion and worry knotting my stomach. “Why not?”

“Before any meetings I take with a designer or client, such as yourself, I have my people do their homework. So, I’m already very familiar with your work. I have also followed your career since the humble beginnings of Oakmont Furniture Inc. I commend you for your tenacity and hard-work in making this business what it is today.” A grin as large as my fucking desk spreads across his face.

I don’t know why his compliment rubs me the wrong way, but it does. It seems too…fake. I don’t fucking know. I’ve always been good at reading people and there’s something about this guy that I’m not sure about. But again, it’s also Giovanni Giannoni. This guy is a fucking legend and if something were to be wrong with him, I’m sure someone in the industry would’ve exposed him by now.

“I appreciate that. Thank you. But, please, let me know if there is anything you need during the production stages,” I reiterate.

“There is no need to worry, Mr. Randall,” his tongue slides over my name like he’s licking me, and I squirm, feeling the awkwardness smother me.

“Good to know,” I stand up, signaling to him that it’s time to go. He follows me, tucking his notepad back into his satchel. “Thank you again for taking the time to meet with me. And, I look forward to working with you. I’m truly humbled by your patronage,” I reach out to shake his hand again.

“Again, the pleasure is all mine.” He grabs my hand, cradling it with both of his and shakes it up and down, slowly. I clear my throat and pull my hand out with a quick thrust, reaching for the door and opening it. He smiles at me as he leaves, and I shut the door behind him, feeling both used and excited.

But mostly fucking excited.

I walk over to my bar cart and pour a few finger lengths of whisky to celebrate my inevitable win. They should sign over the Clarendon to me now because Tess will not have a chance in hell.

With my whisky in hand, I stand in front of my floor-to-ceiling window and look out over the skyline. A wave of pure adrenaline rolls through me and I shiver knowing that Oakmont has made it to the fucking top.

The last time you saw me here, baby, I had a redhead between my legs, making me feel like a King. But let me tell you, right now, I feel fucking invincible. This is what it feels like to be a King. To know that the reign is finally and securely in your hands. It’s a feeling I can get fucking use to.

And, really, I should. It’s not every day you win a competition for the most exclusive contract in New York…and $2 billion.

A sliver of remorse loosens my pride when Tess enters my mind, but then again, she’s lost gracefully before. She can do it again.

Maybe I should soften the blow though. I’ve been told I do have that magic touch.