2
Wes
I'm awoken by a loud, obnoxious rapid knocking that sounds at my bedroom door. I can feel the hangover before I even open my eyes. My head is foggy, and my throat is dry due to a night of drinking and no sleep. I manage to pry one eye open and the aftermath of last night hits me like a ton of bricks. I try to move my arm, but something weighs it down and I'm too tired and hungover to give a shit.
The pounding stops and I eagerly close my eye and proceed to fall back into my drunk induced coma. Except the loud knock sounds again, followed by my fathers annoyed soaked voice.
"Wes! Wesley, Wake Up!" He shouts, followed by another few knocks and then the door handle twists, causing me to shoot upright in bed. I immediately cower over as a sharp pain hits me right between the eyes. My left arm is tucked underneath a woman, whose name I can't remember and quite frankly don't know if I would've known her name in a sober state either. My right leg is held in place as another nameless women's thigh is draped across it. At the foot of the bed, a third woman lays stretched across the edge in a deep sleep.
I vaguely remember how the four of us ended up here but by the looks of the empty condom wrappers that are thrown on the floor, the half empty bottle of tequila and my worn dick, it's easy to piece together that last night, I'd been up to my usual.
The door quickly opens, pulling me back to the present as my father steps inside. The usual disgust and disappointment etched across his face. He takes a quick look around and I can only imagine what is going on in his mind. Clearing his throat, he looks to me, folding his arms across his broad chest.
"Get dressed, get rid of them and meet me in the dining room." He orders, turning away from the X-rated sight, my father leaves me to my mess, slamming the door behind him. I scrub my hand across my face. My head is throbbing, and I can feel the bile starting to pool in my throat. I need water, a few aspirin, and a hearty meal if I'm going to make it through another hangover. It's what I'd been doing for years, however as I grew older it's become obvious that my usual go-to hangover cure was starting to do nothing to pull me out of the black hole.
I groan as I reach over and begin to shake all three women awake. Just like me, they're all hungover, dazed and confused. I stare at their faces, still having a hard time of remembering last night's events.
It wouldn't be the first time.
As I begin to climb from the bed, the three women begin to stir.
"Ready for another round?" One of the women asks groggily.
"NO! I need you all to leave." I answer her, as I stand to my feet, barely keeping my body from rocking side to side. Her eyes fall to my bare dick and a sly grin spreads across her face. Her lipstick is smeared, and her mascara is now coated underneath her eyes resembling a raccoon. Neither of the women begin to move, as they all stretch across the king size mattress. The women with the raccoon eyes disregard's my rejection as the other two begin to follow her lead. Raccoon eyes, sits upright in bed, exposing her hard nipples. On any other occasion, I wouldn't bat an eye for another round. It would be a great start to my morning, or afternoon or whatever fucking time it was, and I never turned down the opportunity to partake in an orgy. But with my father just a few feet away, and my head now throbbing so hard that I felt as if I were going to faint from the pain, the idea of fucking all three of them was unfortunately, off the table.
"NOW!" I shout and they all jump from the bed and scatter towards the pile of clothes that were in a ball on the floor. They begin to pull on small pieces of clothing as I begin to walk towards my adjoining bathroom.
"When I come out you three had better be gone." I ordered before stepping inside the bathroom and closing the door behind me. I turn on the shower and step underneath the stream of hot water. If I'm going to get through a conversation with my father on what could be an hour or two of sleep, then I was going to need a shower in order to wake me up.
Conversations with my father had always been tiresome. He was all business while I... well, wasn't. He hadn't agreed with my not wanting to go into the family business after college. While advertising was in my blood, it wasn't something I was passionate about, and I didn't want to spend the next twenty or so years stuck in a suit, stuck behind a desk, running a business that my grandfather and Father started many years ago.
The Wesley Connor Group, also known as: The WCG, was a successful advertising company that many small and large businesses wanted the marketing and advertising expertise that my fathers' company was able to provide them. The business afforded my family luxuries that most couldn't even begin to imagine. Prestigious educations, luxury vacations, cars, homes, custom made clothing and even the expensive penthouse that I've called home for the past six years located on Madison Avenue. Some would say that I took my families wealth for granted, but I'd say kiss my ass.
While, I hadn't accomplished much of anything since college graduation, I enjoyed not being held down by something that didn't spark my interests in the least bit. I didn't see the point in joining a world where people worked to lived and lived to work. The thought alone made my stomach churn. Maybe one day, when my current lifestyle begins to tire me, I'll take a spot on my father board and run the company when he's in his golden years, but for now, the only thing that I gave a shit about was the aspirin that I so desperately needed and a large pile of hot, crispy bacon in order to subdue this hangover.
Stepping out of the shower, I wrapped a white cotton towel around my waist and begin to brush my teeth. The spearmint taste of the toothpaste had me running towards the toilet, ridding my insides of tequila and God knows what else.
After I practically threw up both my small and large intestines, I shoved my legs into a pair of black sweatpants and a vintage New York Giants T-shirt and exit the bathroom. As requested, the women are gone, and I take a deep breath as I join my father in the dining room.
The smell of fresh brewed coffee fills my nose, along with bacon, eggs, and something sweet that I couldn't quite make out. My father sits at the dining room table eating a breakfast fit for a king and reading the newspaper. I believe that my father is the only person on the whole damn planet who still reads the newspaper. I couldn't remember the last time I gave a damn about current events. If it hadn't come up on my Google feed, then I knew nothing about what took place outside of my world.
The smell of lemon scented cleaner also fills my nose and it's then that I realize that my penthouse had been scrubbed cleaned. My housekeeper wasn't scheduled to come until tomorrow and my personal chef had the weekends off. Which could only mean my father brought along his own chef and housekeeper. Which also meant that before his unannounced visit he'd had a pretty good idea of what he was going to walk into. Without looking up from his newspaper my father speaks.
"Have a seat son." Even at thirty-four-old, the authority in his tone made me feel like a kid again. I take a seat at the other end of the eight-seating dining table just as Lo, my fathers' chef, sits a plate of bacon, eggs, and English pancakes with a lemon-sugar glaze in front of me, along with a cup of freshly brewed Italian coffee.
"Thanks, Lo" I say, she winks turning to refill my father's coffee mug and exits the dining room without another word. I lift my coffee mug and begin to drink the liquid gold. Its hot perfection slides down my throat and I moan, not realizing that I needed this more than I thought I did. My father begins to fold his newspaper and places it to the side. He still hasn't looked up at me, and I can no longer stand the silence. I lift a few forkfuls of scrambled eggs into my mouth along with a piece of bacon. I swallow and clear my throat.
"So, what do I owe the pleasure of this visit Father?" I ask mockingly, my attempt to cut the awkward silence. My father finally looks up at me, he steeples his fingers together and sits up taller.
"I received a call from Hamilton Neal, about the outrageous parties and questionable guests that have been entering and exiting this building on more nights than I care to say. Many of the other tenants have complained about your disrespect to this prominent building and to the others that live here. They were all willing to sign a petition to have you removed from the residence." He says, as my fork slides from my hand and hits the plate with a loud clink.
"WHAT? They can't do that. I own this penthouse." I spit but my father quickly raises a hand cutting me off.
"WRONG! I own this penthouse and quite frankly Son, I agree with the tenants. You have been a disgrace to the family's name and for years your mother and I have put up with it, in hopes that you'll grow the fuck up and one day come to your senses. You are now thirty-four-years old and it's clear that you have absolutely no intentions on becoming anything more than spoiled rich mooch, and your mother and I have had enough." He screams. I take a deep breath, mulling over my response. I know that in order to get out of this fucked up situation that I'm going to have to be calculated. I'd never seen my father this upset with me, and quite frankly I don't even know how to proceed without pissing him off further.
"Dad, they're all overreacting. I'm very careful with who I invite here, and my guests have never, nor will they ever put any of the other tenants here at risk." I plead.
"Oh yeah! The three women that were here earlier, tell me what their names are?" He asks. I open my mouth to throw out three random names but decide that lying to him will only make things worse. My eyes fall to the plate of food in front of me, as I shift through my brain trying to find anything to tell my father that would be good enough to get him off my back, but I come up empty. With a deep breathe, he pushes his chair away from the table, throwing his cloth napkin onto his plate. He walks towards me, straightening his tie before he continues.
"On Monday you are to report to the firm at 8:00am, where you will work as an entry level advertising associate for the next six months." He says and I quickly whip my head up staring at him confused by his orders.
"What! I shout, hoping like hell that the hangover was making me hear things.
"For the six months you will report to work and act as an advertising associate. You will do all that you can to maintain that job for the remainder of the six months on good terms." He adds.
"Dad, you can't be serious. I told you that I'm not ready to take over the family business." I protest, now standing and pleading with him.
"You're nowhere near close to running a business that I've worked my entire life to build. You will start in an entry level position, and I do not care about your pleas of not wanting to work in the corporate world. This pathetic lifestyle of yours has gone on for too long. If you do not report to work on Monday, then you will be cut off. No more penthouse, no more investment payouts, no more unlimited spending accounts, no trust fund; you will be on your own. You have twenty-four hours to think about how you want your life to go. I advise you to make the right decision." He states and with that he exits through the gallery and out of the private elevator, leaving me to contemplate what the fuck just happened and what Monday morning would look like for me, along with the rest of my life.