I can’t believe I’m nervous.

Sitting on my office, I tap my foot against the floor nervously, checking my wristwatch every ten seconds or so. I take a few deep breaths, trying to calm myself, and then decide to go for the whisky decanter I keep on the corner table and pour myself a glass.

That should help ease my nerves.

It’s kinda funny, in a way.

I’ve never been this nervous before, at least when it comes to meeting people in the industry. But this is Giovanni Giannoni we’re talking about in here! He is the Steve Jobs of bedroom sets, the Michelangelo of headboards. You might think that I’m more excited about this than I should be, but that’s because you don’t know the industry. I do, so you can trust me when I tell you that this guy is a God.

And it’s all thanks to Ashley.

“He’s arrived,” my assistant buzzes me through the intercom, and I instantly sit straight in my chair, hiding the whisky in one of drawers.

“Send him in,” I reply, my gaze drawn to the door. A few seconds later and a spindly man with short white hair steps in. He’s wearing a black turtleneck that’s frayed and gray trousers that are too short, and the shoes in his feet seem to be worn. He might not be a part of the fashion industry but he still makes a great headboard.

“Mr. Giannoni,” I greet him, jumping up to my feet and walking around my desk. I shake his hand as he looks around my office, probably analyzing all the stupid mistakes I did with its furnishing, and I can’t help but feel self-conscious.

If I wasn’t feeling so self-conscious, I’d reflect on how awkward he seems as he shakes my hand.

“Nice décor.” Smiling, he turns to me and nods.

I dunno.

It feels almost…forced. As if he’s being very plastic about me.

But I’m going to stop being paranoid.

“So, you said you needed my help?” He asks me, a slight twang of an Italian accent hiding behind his words. “Here I am.”

“Thank you! I know you must be awfully busy, so I’m really thankful you took the time.”

“Don’t you worry, Ms. Armstrong. I was in the city anyway,” he says. “For work, of course.”

Something about this guy seems a bit…slippery.

Like he’s too willing to work with me.

“Of course,” I repeat. Clearing my throat, I motion for him to sit down and then take my seat behind the desk. “So, what I need is something that’ll be right up your alley. I know you made your name with headboard designs, and that’s exactly what I’m looking for.”

“Ah, a headboard,” he smiles, and there’s something in the way he looks at me that’s slightly disconcerting. Almost as if he was already expecting my request. Odd, but I just push all that to the back of my mind. I gotta keep focused on the task at hand.

“I don’t want it to be too bold,” I tell Giovanni, who just nods patiently. “It needs to have a kind of understated elegance, but tasteful at the same time. We can visit our manufacturing floor afterwards, just so you can see exactly what I mean.”

“Hmm. I see,” he merely replies, jotting what I’m saying on his notepad. I feel so anxious about bringing him aboard—after all he’s one of the best designers in the industry—that I actually have to resist the urge to snag his notebook and read every word he’s noting down.

I want this to be perfect, you know?

This is the final showdown, and everything’s on the line now. If I screw this up, I won’t have another chance like this in my lifetime. Sure, getting to know Austin was already worth the price of admission, but it’d be a shame if I stopped there.

I mean, we’re talking about almost $2 billion. Do you even know how much money that is? Enough for me to sleep on a mattress made of 100 dollar bills, that’s for sure.

But those billions are going to sit in Austin’s bank account soon enough if I don’t crush him. I actually feel bad that I’ll have to face him again—and this time it’ll be to the death—but there’s no way around it. The Clarendon Tower job could be my masterpiece, and I’m not willing to let go of the opportunity.

“Well, Ms. Armstrong, I think I have everything I need from you.” Smiling quizzically, he gets up from his seat. “I’ll design this headboard of yours.”

“Don’t you want to visit the manufacturing floor?” I ask. “Or see some of the work Domina has done throughout the years? Just so you can see our brand philosophy.”

“I don’t need to do that. Whenever I have a potential new client, I review all of their prior work to see if we are a good fit. So I’m already very familiar with the work your company has done since its first day in business, Ms. Armstrong. And I must commend you, truly. You’ve done a spectacular job. I see a many great things in your future, if I’m allowed to say so.”

For a second, I say nothing. What do you even say to something like that?

It just feels so fake.

As if its rehearsed.

Or as if he says this to everyone he meets.

Whatever. Just as long as he gives me a headboard design that’s a showstopper.

“Thank you so much, Mr. Giannoni. I’m definitely excited about this opportunity to work with someone like you,” I tell him as he heads out, and then I return to my seat.

Grinning—and smugly at that—I open my drawer once more and grab my glass of whisky. Leaning back, I take a sip out of it and prop my feet on top of the desk. My gaze drifts outside, to the lovely street in Queens where my building is, and I start to imagine how the view must be from a high-rise office in the middle of New York.

I figure I’m going to find out soon enough, won’t I? Once I sign my name on the dotted line, a few things are going to change in this town. And I’ll start by knocking Oakmont out of their pedestal.

There’s a new Queen in town, baby.

With my hands wrapped behind my head, I let a wave of excitement wash over me. This has been a hard war, but we’re already close to the finish line. Of course, there’s still a lot of work to be done—even though the centerpiece of my presentation will be the headboard, I still need to design the rest of the bedroom set.

Not that I’m worried about any of that.

I gaze down at my desk as my phone starts buzzing on top of it, and I smile as I see Austin’s name on the screen. He has quite the timing, no doubt.

“Mr. Randall, how are you this morning?” I tease him right away, unable to hide my excitement.

“Someone’s in a good mood,” he laughs from the other side of the line. “Anything you’d like to share?”

“Not particularly.” I bite the inside of my cheek to stop myself from revealing my plans. Although I want nothing more than to share this moment with him, I have to keep my head in the game—when it comes to business, he remains the enemy. “But it seems like you’re a good mood too.”

“I am. I have quite the surprise come competition day.”

“Makes two of us,” I say with a laugh.

“Well, I guess we’ll have to keep it under wraps. But that doesn’t mean we can’t celebrate. What do you say about dinner today?”

Austin’s right—I definitely need a celebration.

“Dinner it is, then.”