“Arrange the pieces according to our blueprint and in our designated area, right in the middle,” I instruct my team of interns and assistants, pointing over to our spot in the Clarendon conference room.

I trail behind my team but stay a few steps back, wanting to assess the other contestants…well, if you can call them that.

I try to stifle the grin spreading across my face as I watch them struggle. They’re all scrambling to do last minute touches on their pieces. Some are hemming fabric together while others are wiping down the material, scrubbing too hard in my opinion.

There’s one motherfucker who is painting a table. I shit you not.

Talk about waiting to the last minute, right?

A loud hammering appears out of nowhere, and I jolt my attention towards the sound.

Fuck, that’s Wally…or Wallis? Whatever the fuck his name is.

Is he just now assembling his chair?

What the fuck, dude?

I cringe watching him jack-rabbit the shit out of his make-shift rocking chair. I can see the sweat beading down his forehead and back, moistening the neckline of his shirt. It’s like watching a trainwreck—you don’t want to watch it, but you can’t fucking look away.

And, why did he think gray would be an appropriate color to wear today? Especially if you know you’re going to be a fucking nervous wreck. I mean, I’m not considering I know I’ll win. And to be honest I’m never nervous. It’s one of the many upsides in knowing you’re a fucking boss at what you do.

But, now that I’ve seen the competition I’m up against, I’m more than confident that those ten points are mine.

I look over at my team, who’s adjusting the two leather couches and my chaise lounge into an award-winning formation. I approach them, assessing the shape of it and directing them to move the chaise lounge closer to the center so that it’ll be more on display than the rest.

The chaise lounge is my winning piece after all. It’s my bread and butter, a chair that radiates strength and poise while also being a bit understated. Yes, it’s a leather chair, I’m aware of that…but the way I weaved the leather together, highlighting the pigment and delicate etched designs brings a subtlety to it.

If you could see it, baby, I know you’d be impressed.

Then, what sounds like a stampede strolls into the room and I do a double-take when I see Tess leading it—it’s her team lugging in all her pieces.

Damn, she knows how to make an entrance.

She nods to acknowledge me as she passes, and I do the same, hoping to remain as cordial as I can during the first round.

I can’t say that I’ll be as gentlemanly in the next few.

I try to gather a sneak peek from under the white sheets covering her furniture but the only thing I can gather is her color scheme, cream and gold—typical Domina.

Oh, and her ass looks fucking delectable in that tight black pencil skirt. Her sky-high stilettos click against the floor and my eyes follow her long, lean legs, trailing down the black line on the back of her stockings.

Jesus Christ, this woman is a fucking temptress. She’s going to give everyone a heart attack, and no, it won’t be from those delicate, soft pieces of hers.

I swallow the saliva pooling in my mouth and re-direct my attention to my team just in time for Taylor to enter the room.

“Hello, all!” Taylor shouts and everybody twists their body towards him. The board members follow with clipboards in hand, and I see Ashley emerge from the small crowd and run over to greet Tess.

My gaze follows her, but it lands on the furniture surrounding them.

In Tess fashion, her couches are bathed in soft colors. There’s also a touch of gold embroidering the cushions. They’re pretty, and they do exude a refined elegance that I’m sure Clarendon Tower residents would appreciate.

But it’s her chaise lounge that makes me fume. She would have the exact same idea as me, wouldn’t she? Although hers mimics mine only subtly in shape and size, the rest is pure Domina.

How did she fucking know?

“Thank you all for joining us today for Round 1,” Taylor says, positioning himself between the vice president and the treasurer of the Condo Board. “We’re very excited to get started with the competition. Please have your pieces ready for us to evaluate. Today the criteria you will be judged by are style, quality and durability. Good luck! May the best design win.” He claps his hands and locks eyes with the first contestant to he’s left—Wally.

He looks petrified, fidgeting with his hands and occasionally wiping his brow with his handkerchief. The judges take only a few minutes to look over he’s pieces before they move onto the next contestant.

Better luck next time, Wally.

I stand there, leaning against a random fake plant I brought for decoration. And, that’s when I feel someone’s eyes on me.

I turn to see Tess staring.

She must like what she sees. I mean, I know that look from a mile away.

She smiles, tightly and mouths, “good luck.”

I mouth back, “no luck needed,” and finish it off with a wink.

She giggles and shakes her head.

The judges finish walking around after a good twenty minutes or so, leaving us reeling in silence to deliberate.

I know I have nothing to be worried about, but I hate having to wait. I am a very impatient man, who has more important things to do than to sit around and wait for them to award me my ten points.

“Before we make our final decision,” The vice president announces, calling everyone’s attention to the back corner. “We have a question to ask our finalists.”

I refrain from rolling my eyes. There’s a fucking question and answer portion? That’s ridiculous.

“Tess Armstrong,” he announces, and I see her straighten her posture when they call her name.

“Yes,” she responds obediently.

“Can you tell me the difference between your chaise lounge and the one Mr. Randall is presenting today?” The vice president purses his lips together in a vague self-satisfied way.

“I’d love to,” she perks up and swivels on her heels, staring at me.

She walks over to my chair and sits on it, leisurely propping her heels up on the leather.

The judges approach her, looking back and forth at each other wonder what the hell she’s doing. I’m thinking the same. This is quite a show to put on just to answer the question.

“This chaise lounge is of high quality, like my own. Though mine is a fine velvet fabric, soft and elegant to the touch while his is more raw and rugged. However, if you notice, there is an apparent glare on the leather material. Here you have a chemical coating that is supposedly used to add to the durability of the leather, yet from my understanding—as I am familiar with this product—this coating actually speeds up the decay of the material, especially if it’s in direct sunlight. And that would be unfortunate in something like the Sun Room. This is in contrast to my chaise lounge, where the material remains the same regardless of any external conflicts.”

What the fuck?

I cross my arms, hiding my clenched fist behind my forearm. I am fucking livid. How does she know what coating I used? This is the first time I’ve ever used it. And, not to mention, she knows it too well. She’s not only familiar with the product, but it sounds like she’s cross-referenced or researched it before she got here.

Who is this woman?

“Is this true?” One of the boards members turns to me in horror.

Oh, calm down.

“I’m not aware of this, no. These accusations are unfounded, and I don’t see how Ms. Armstrong could conceive of this.” I grit my teeth, glaring daggers at her smug expression.

A mischievous smile spreads across her face and she leaves briefly to retrieve her purse. When she returns, she pulls out a stack of papers and hands them to the vice president.

“You can read the reviews for yourself,” she smiles and crosses her arms, cocking her hip to the side.

They look over them, carefully, while my eyes dart from the judges to her.

I try to stay calm, but my knuckles are turning white from the anger boiling my blood.

I’m fucking fuming.

This is why she choose to do a chaise lounge. She knew this would be a fucking question or at least a point of contention. How did I not see this coming?

“Thank you for bringing this up, Ms. Armstrong,” the vice president says to her and then turns towards the rest of the contestants, who all look defeated and rightly so.

“Again, thank you all for your hard work. But we’ve decided our first and second place winners for round 1. Tess Armstrong has been awarded 10 points and because of the questionable durability of Oakmont’s chaise lounge, Austin Randall has received 5. All the rest have zero.”

A few audible gasps and sighs ring through the room, but Tess shrieks in excitement and runs over to Ashley, nearly jumping into her arms.

What. The. Fuck.

Seriously. What just happened here?

I had this shit locked up.

I had it in the bag.

And she came…and snatched it out from right under my nose.

I’m fucking fuming. I want to hit something. It would be one thing if I lost fair and square and they liked her designs.

But no.

She cheated.

She beat me somehow by cheating.

This wasn’t a fair fight.

Ok, fine. She’ll win this one. But at least, I know what to expect now. This little one plays dirty and I have to figure out how dirty she’s willing to get.

I shake hands with the judges, reminding myself to be respectful even though I’d really like to tell them to fuck off. Even Taylor.

I thank my team for all their hard work.

“Pack up and take this back to the studio. I’ll be right behind you,” I tell them.

I head over to Tess, who’s still hugging her entourage, but she turns around when I step behind her.

“Congratulations,” I extend my hand out to shake hers.

“Thank you,” she wraps her fingers in my hand and if I’m not mistaken, I feel a sharp spike run down my spine. It must be the adrenaline.

I grasp her hand, pulling it down and tilting her body towards me. “So, tell me, a chaise lounge?” I hover my mouth over her ear.

“Yes, I see you had same idea. Funny how these things happen,” she snickers, but I see a twinkle in her eyes that suggest something more devious.

“And the coating? How did you find out what I was using?” My eyes narrow.

“I have my ways Mr. Randall. You’re not the only one with connections.”

“Is that so? What kind of connections do you have that I don’t?”

“A lady never tells,” Tess teases me. “Looks like you’ll just have to get used to a woman on top.”

She lets go of my hand, taking a step away from me.

Oh, very nice, you little minx.

“A lady is on top only as long as the man lets her be,” I say to her, clenching my teeth.

She looks at me, with fire in her eyes.

“A man only gets to tell her because the lady lets him,” she says back. “Don’t forget who has the fucking power in that juvenile little analogy of yours, Austin.”

She’s pissed.

Good.

I’m pissed too.

“You started it,” is all I can say back. I mean, I gotta say something. But really?

“Really?” she says, smirking. “That’s the best you can come up with?”

“I’m not used to losing to—”

“A woman?”

“A cheater.”

“I may have my methods, but I’m not cheating,” she says back.

“Then how’d you know?” I ask again.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Tess says with a smile.

“Maybe I can get it out of you over dinner?”

“I doubt it, but you can try,” she coos.

“Tonight. Per Se at 8,” I tell her.

There’s a long silence.

“Fraternize with the enemy?” she asks.

“Maybe use it as a chance to learn about your competition,” I say back to her.

“I doubt you’re any real competition, Mr. Randall,” she teases.

“And I doubt you really believe that,” I say back. “If you’re anything like me you’re dying to find out how I tick so you can figure out ways to beat me.”

“I already did just now,” she reminds me.

“The game has just begun, Tess,” I tell her. “Don’t get out of your training bra just yet.”

“Maybe you should stop waving your dick around all over the place like a dog,” she throws back at me as she turns around.

Jesus. This woman fights tooth and nail. Two days at Oakmont and she’d run the place tighter than me.

Tess turns around.

“I’ll see you at 8. But good luck, Mr. Randall. It looks like you need it more than I do.” She winks, and I know she’s referring to my earlier comment.

“You’d be surprised with what I can accomplish without any luck,” I grab her hand, bring it to my lips and kiss it gently, my eyes never leaving hers.

She withdraws her hand, but I don’t miss how she lingers for just a second.

“I’ll see you then,” I turn around, feeling vindicated.

She might’ve been able to beat me in round one, but that’s the one and only time.

It’s now ten, Tess and five, Austin.

She might’ve won a battle.

What she doesn’t realize is that the war is just beginning.