♡ H E A T H ♡
"Shut up, Issac. I'm in no mood right now." I grumble, my eyes fixed on the amber liquid in my crystal tumbler of single malt.
He laughs. Asshole. "What's the matter, gentlemen? The esteemed billionaires can't handle a bit of revelry?" he sneers, his voice dripping with condescension.
I clench my jaw in frustration and take a sip, my eyes briefly flick over to the third person in the group. Calix, begrudgingly nursing a drink with an air of indifference, who cares? I summoned him after my meeting with Issac; a deliberate move, calling him here, though, but misery loves company. And why must I suffer alone when he despises the guy just as much?
"Your notion of revelry is as superficial as your conversation," he responds with a voice flat and devoid of emotion. "I derive no joy from these frivolous distractions."
Amen.
I can't help but smirk, taking another sip with a hint of satisfaction, watching his facade showing cracks, his lips twitching, clearly not accustomed to being dismissed so casually.
As a workaholic, I really have no time for such petty distractions. My days have always been a symphony of precision and productivity, rising at dawn- or foregoing sleep altogether-sweating through a workout, then strategizing over breakfast while Edmond briefs me on my schedule, and by noon, I've had navigated a storm of negotiations, axed any dead weight from my team, and sealed a lucrative deal with Belleza Boutique. Tonight could've been more productive, wrapping up with three more conference strategic calls.
Yet here I am in this pulsating neon jungle, not by choice but by obligation. The bass thumps a relentless rhythm, the club's lights dance across the sea of bodies, the air is thick with the scent of sweat, sweet perfumes, money... and desperation and a heartbeat echoes the annoyance pulses in my veins.
All because of this incessant prattling primate. Issac Rothschild, the scion to one of the city's old money dynasties and currently the bane of my existence, the pompous fool who spews nonsense and struts with an arrogance and entitlement that grates on my nerves. Why must I be subjected to putting up with a bratty heir and his drivel outside the confines of the boardroom?
I swear my patience wears thin, crumbling like a house of cards.
Then he forces a strained laugh, regaining his composure. "Oh, come now," he chides, swirling the wine in his glass with a flourish. "Surely, men of your stature can appreciate the finer things in life." He takes a deliberate sip, the wine barely touching his lips as he savors the moment with an air of false sophistication. "Like this vintage, reserved only for the likes of you. It's more than just exquisite. Testament to power and privilege that wealth affords. The finest wines, the most beautiful women, the world at our fingertips... it's all within the reach for those of us who know how to grasp it," he adds, his voice oozing arrogance.
I fix him a steely gaze, resisting the overwhelming urge to silence him. "Yeah, it's one of the perks of being the owner," I say dryly, yet watch his smile falter once again.
Not for long, oblivious to my disinterest, his voice, a ceaseless drone, continues to ramble. "Woah, man! Look at them," he gestures broadly, his eyes gleaming with a predatory delight. "A bevy of beauties ripe for the picking. I'm sure you two won't have no trouble attracting attention."
I take a deep breath, trying to calm my nerves, but his voice only seems to agitate me more. However, as if on cue, a tall woman saunters by in a Dolce and Gabbana ensemble, her scent a heady cloud. Yet, she might as well be a shadow for all the notice I give her. She's not the one who haunts my slumber, the one whose laughter is etched into my memory.
