Page 51 of Broken Headboards

Chapter Twenty

Austin

I press the link.

And, it navigates me back to her page.

Tess Armstrong of Domina Designs.

I scroll down, passing over the photos I’ve seen for the umpteenth time. They’re all pictures of her posing with her clients, next to her designs, but I stop on her headshot.

The fullness of her lips are coated with her signature red lipstick and they sparkle against her crystal blue eyes. Her hair is pulled back, showing every flawless inch of her face.

Uhh… what the fuck am I doing?

Who am I?

This is not Austin Randall. I do not fucking creep on women, let alone daydream about them. Fuck that. Remember, baby, it was only a few chapters ago I was jerking off to these pictures. Why am I so fucking caught up in her?

Fuck. Fine, I’ll admit it. This isn’t the first time I’ve gone to her website today and it’s not even noon yet. It’s getting fucking ridiculous, I know, but it’s all in the name of preparation. Right? I have to know my competitors bothinsideand out.

So far, I’m doing a damn good job at both.

I exit out of her site in frustration.

I’m really never like this.Ever.I’m a man who needs no woman. They have their purpose in my life, of course, but like I said before, it’s temporary. I cast them aside as soon as they stop screaming my name in utter appreciation. I’ve never thought about any of them after that.

One and done. Always.

But fucking Tess.

It has to be because she’s my competitor and she knows how to put me in my place. And, that’s occasionally below her. I will always loathe being second place, all I want to do is stand behind Tess and look at her perfect ass. Grab it. Squeeze it.

Fuck.

I need to get my head back in the fucking game.

I slam my computer shut and push it to the end of my desk. Grabbing the blueprints for my sofa, I look over the dimensions to ensure their accuracy and go over the specifications of the leather material I’m using. I also triple-check my invoices, making sure the materials will be here on time.

Everything looks ready to go, which is not a surprise.

I grab my desk phone and hit my assistant’s button.

“Mr. Randall,” she answers almost immediately and in an upbeat tone.

“Miranda, when did the team say they’re going to have the sofa completed?” I ask, a sudden ball of anxiety forming in my gut.

I need to win this round. I can’t let Tess take this from me again. Regardless of what IthinkI might be feeling for her, she is still my motherfucking competition.

“Tonight. However, I have something you might be interested in. Do you need any more coffee before I come in?” I hear her rummaging around her desk, rifling through some papers and what not.

“Sure, that’d be great. Thanks.”

Momentarily, the door opens. Miranda enters with a folder tucked under one arm and a steaming hot mug of coffee in the other hand.

“What’s that?” I take the coffee out of her hands and take a sip, nodding towards the folder she’s holding.

She pulls the folder out from under her arm and props it open in front her. A small smile curves her mouth when she looks inside.