Nathan's POV
"Carla over there are more people you can bother, why don't you leave my guest and me alone?" I ask, and my words make her laugh.
"Your guest? This girl looks like she was brought by Mike" Carla exclaims looking the young lady up and down in a rather dismissive manner. Quite intimidating: "If she's such a guest of yours, why don't you tell me what her name is?"
Throw out the question and my mind goes blank. While there weren't many of us inside Mike's apartment, I was sure I had paid zero or no attention when the girls had introduced themselves. I had my mind elsewhere and now that would play a bad trick on my thanks to Carla.
The red-haired girl looks at me intensely expectant for a response. Seeing my extended silence she recoils letting go of my grip very disappointed.
"I knew it" Carla smiles triumphantly. She turns once again to the girl ready to finish her off at the cost of words: "Look pretty girl, Nathan is not looking for anything serious with you, hopefully, he will take you to a hotel and they will sleep together and the next day he will leave you flowers out of decency. I'm being supportive beautiful I'm saving you a broken heart. Now make yourself scarce."
She venomously huffs, forcing my guest to give in to the pressure, so she finally leaves. But not before grabbing a drink from the kitchen counter and throwing it down my shirt in a fury.
"Pretty girl, isn't she? With this shirt, how many drinks have you had thrown on you, 8?" Carla wrinkles her nose and smiles sarcastically at me. I sigh fed up with her presence and ruffle my hair trying to calm some of my tension.
If I didn't, I'd end up screaming at the devil.
"What are you doing here, Carla? Why do you have to ruin everything for me?" I question with obvious annoyance, planting myself firmly in front while my shirt is dripping with alcohol.
I see the pain in her gaze at the tone in which I speak to her, but taking into consideration all the history that existed between Carla and me, speaking harshly to her was less than she deserved.
"I wouldn't be here fucking up your life Nathan, if you had the decency to answer your family instead of looking for some creep to suck your dick" She puts her phone in front of my face and I see the numerous notifications she has from my mother: "Answer your phone Nathan, I know you're going to need me here when you see him."
Skeptically and a little intrigued seeing my mother and Carla's eagerness, I pull my phone out of my pocket again.
- Nathan damn it I need you to pick up the phone for me as soon as possible - From Harry.
- Son, come home. I need to get the family together – From: Mom Elizabeth.
- I don't find it strange that you are so lost on a Friday night, but we needed you today Nathan – From: Dad Chris.
- Fuck you, Nathan, you can never be responsible. By the time you feel like fucking reading this message, I want you to know that Grandpa passed away, ok? Come home when you feel like it – From: Harry.
The blood in my veins freezes. I look at Carla stunned speechless. And without expecting it, she pulls me into a hug.
***
I wake up and I know it's morning because the apartment doorbell has rung through all the rooms a few times. With the last ring, I try to get up to answer the door but I feel too heavy, my head is throbbing and an unbeatable urge to stay home and never open my eyes ever overcomes me.
Yes, sir, I have a hangover.
Maybe I should have controlled myself a little last night, I know I drank the water out of the vase and then some. But those two girls in such tiny dresses wouldn't let me stop drinking.
I laugh at the memory of them.
Lovely women.
Without any warning, someone abruptly opens the door to my room. Mike bursts in with the subdued silence of the room and with total boldness open the automatic blinds on the windows allowing the sun's rays to hit me relentlessly right in the face.
"Mike, bro…" In my mind I reproach him more aggressively, but the punctures in my head were drilling hard: "What the hell are you doing here?"
The blond-haired man walks over to me, sets a glass of water on the table next to my bed, and sits on the edge of the mattress.
"Where did you go last night, Nathan?" He puts one of his hands behind the back of my neck lifting my head, while with the other he starts checking my pupils: "How are you are you feeling from 1 to 10?"
With difficulty my vision starts to become clearer, I get used to the light and finally, I can see the freckled face of my best friend Michael. Who to my surprise was dressed very formally in a black suit and the huge gold glasses he said he wore to see "better".
"11" I answer and take his hand off the back of my neck and pushed him away, taking back some personal space. "I just went out to a little bar, met some friends, and drank a little."
He raises one of his eyebrows in disbelief. That version even I didn't believe.
"A little, Nathan? You look like you made a mask out of manure" He gets up from the bed curb and points to the glass of water: "Drink that, take an aspirin or something. In twenty minutes I want you out of that bed, man."
I lean my elbow on the mattress and stand up looking at him confused, I didn't understand the reason for his presence or his eagerness.
"What do you mean twenty minutes? What's wrong Michael? Are you feeling okay?" I ask, and he stares at me for a few seconds, then laughs and exhales frustrated as if something was obvious.
"You forgot, didn't you?" He asks me but gets no response: "As much as I love seeing your employer pissed off at you Nathan, today is not the day to piss them off. They're having the reading of your grandfather's will today."
Shit, the will.
I look at the clock on the nightstand and for the first time I am aware of the time, 9:36 am.
"Shit… Oh no…" I say to myself.
Leaving my aches and pains on the mattress I get up like a spring without even drinking the water Mike had brought me. I rush into the bathroom and turn the shower on full blast while I piss out all the alcohol from the night before.
After the bad news that night at Michael's house, all family matters had become at the top of my list. The death of my grandfather Blaz meant only one thing: The chair of the company's presidency would be vacant.