“Damn. This is fucking perfect.” My eyes scan over Giovanni’s headboard.

Personally, I wouldn’t have chosen the decorative ornaments to line the trim, but it’s not my decision, it was Giovanni’s. And, that’s why I hired him—for his expertise, not mine.

I admit, sometimes I am a helicopter CEO. I struggle when I don’t have my hands on every design that leaves my factory doors. But again, I have to remind myself that he knows what he’s doing, and most specifically, he knows headboards. I should trust and value his vision, like everyone else in the industry.

I do hate being a follower, though.

My fingers trace over one of the ornaments and a sense of satisfaction washes over me. I revel in the feel of its touch, knowing that this elegant bastard is going to win me the $2 billion Clarendon Tower contract.

It feels fucking good.

Mostly.

“Mr. Randall, the set is complete,” Miranda announces, taking a few steps back to view the whole display.

It’s still several hours before the competition, but my whole team is in the conference room setting up early. Today is too big to just stroll up in here right on time, I needed to ensure that everything will go smoothly with no bumps or hiccups along the way.

I can’t afford any of that shit at this stage in the competition. I mean, it’s the fucking final round, there’s no coming back from this.

And, honestly, I couldn’t wait to set everything up and see how it fit together. A little part of me was anxious about Giovanni’s design so as soon as his people dropped off the headboard this morning, I had my team rush to the Clarendon conference room to put it together. I wanted to see this masterpiece in all its glory and to display it next to my pieces.

It’s a surreal moment to see one of Giovanni Giannoni’s headboards standing next to your own. And if you know anything by now, baby, you know that I’m not one to get star-struck or tongue-tied, but right now, I am. I’m just so fucking proud of myself.

I meet Miranda a few feet away, taking in her view of the whole set.

It’s fucking perfect. The elegance and sophistication of the headboard perfectly complements the simplicity of the dresser and night stands beside it. The contrast between the soft fabric and the natural, exposed wood highlights each piece’s beauty in both an understated yet overt way. The pieces together suit a wide range of tastes, from elegant to rustic and modern to vintage.

Giovanni has done it again. And, so have I.

I shake my head as my eyes scroll over the completed set one more time. Why did I even question that guy for a second?

Fuck… I know, don’t remind me. I’m trying hard to distract myself. I don’t have time or the patience to think about Tess today.

Even though she is my sole competitor. And the only person I should be thinking about.

Fuck me, right?

I swear, every time I’m reminded of her, the guilt I’ve been carrying since the moment I signed the contract with Giovanni grows stronger. It’s excruciatingly painful. And, it’s gotten to the point where I’ve contemplated forfeiting the competition altogether.

Hell, thinking about it right now makes me question why I’m doing this.

I really don’t need this contract. I have more than enough clients and I make a ridiculous amount of money, more than 10 times Domina Designs makes in a year. She should have this win, not Oakmont.

No, no…what the hell am I saying?

Jesus, see what this woman is doing to me? She’s making me second guess everything, even my own natural instincts. I am a born competitor. I’m the one who thrives off first place trophies, MVP awards and every kind of cash prize. I win, and I always will win.

She never had a chance against me. And, today is no different. This headboard is my piece de resistance. It’s a finisher—It will end this competition.

“I’m about to win this,” I declare, crossing my arms assuredly, glancing over at Miranda. She smiles back with a smug and comforting expression.

“I think you are. How does it feel?” She asks, sliding her clipboard under her arm.

“Good,” I say, faking my calm tone. “I think…” I mumble under my breath.

“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.

It is Clarendon 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.