No amount of Tractors could equate to the pounding ache that reverberated within Justin's skull. Reluctantly, he pried his eyes open as the early morning sunlight breached the light curtain, assaulting his senses. "By the heavens, Virgin Lauren, grant me respite," he groaned, his fingers kneading his temple in an attempt to disperse the pain.
"Virgin Lauren shall come to your aid, if you beseech her kindly," a woman's voice purred in his ear with a seductive undertone. "Good Lord!" he exclaimed, jolting upright in bed, startled by the unfamiliar woman draped in bed sheets beside him. "You're Virgin Lauren?"
Amused, she giggled and gave him a playful wink. "Not entirely virginal, but Lauren is indeed my name." She winked once more, licked her lips, and propositioned, "Care for a rematch?" Justin regarded her as though she had sprouted horns on her head. Someone ought to kick me in the posterior. Could my taste have plummeted so drastically?
The woman reclining next to him certainly did not align with his preferences. Too statuesque, too towering, and overly robust – decidedly not his style. What madness had possessed him to entertain her advances? Suddenly, the memories of the previous night surged back.
The dainty lady perched on the stool! Ah, yes. The petite enchantress who had ensnared him the moment their eyes met, that sprite who had gifted him roses just a week before. The same woman who had spat at him, demanding he purchase her a drink.
Curse that woman. What possessed her to drench him in saliva like that? And why did it have to land on his pristine baby-blue shirt? In that instant, his hands itched to either throttle her or perhaps kiss her, depending on his mood.
Hellfire! No woman had ever dared treat him with such disdain. It dealt a bruising blow to his ego. Fueled by anger, he had impulsively seized the first offer that came his way last night. Hence, he found himself now entangled with this non-virginal Lauren and nursing this throbbing headache.
"Well, darling, shall we indulge once more?" Lauren inquired, her limbs wrapped around him like an octopus, its tentacles ensnaring its favored prey.
Justin was on the brink of refusing when his cellphone interrupted. He gestured for the woman to hold her thoughts momentarily, gently extricating her octopus-like grasp. Seated once more, he retrieved his cellphone from the bedside table and flicked it open. "Bloody hell," he sighed in exasperation. It was his incessant cousin, Kyle.
WHAT THE HECK!
Since the previous night, Kyle had doggedly dialed him without reprieve. He'd need to silence his phone before he risked his sanity and voluntarily committed himself to Cherry Farm, colloquially known as the haven for the unhinged. Kyle, as ever, was pestering him about the impending merger meeting between his father's company, Queen Enterprises, and The Bass Ltd. scheduled for later that morning.
Frustration knitted Justin's brow as his fingers absently rubbed his jaw. What role did he truly occupy? He wasn't a pivotal figure in the company's decision-making; his existence seemed confined to entertaining and revelry. The actual machinations of mergers were Kyle's responsibility.
Kyle's incessant pestering regarding work had escalated with the onset of merger discussions. Were he not intimately acquainted with Kyle, he might have mistaken him for an insistent woman. Justin had attempted to elude these conversations several times, yearning for tranquility—though his version of calm often involved nocturnal escapades, engaging in vigorous activities between the sheets with his companions. Yet, Kyle's persistence always caught up with him.
Snapping his phone shut again, he rose from bed, donned his disheveled attire from the previous night, and exited his abode, murmuring, "Apologies, Maisy, got to run."
"It's Lauren!" her indignant voice shrieked as the door swung closed. A chuckle escaped Justin's lips. One-night affairs held an irresistible allure for him. Even if these women left in a huff, he need not face them again. Such was the allure of ephemeral encounters, free from heartbreak, melancholy, or midnight solitude.
A single rule governed Justin's affairs: women were akin to bedsheets—best swapped each night. With the world as his oyster, he could sample any woman he chose. It was akin to having an assortment of partners arrayed on a silver platter. Amused by the notion, he slid behind the wheel of his scarlet Ferrari, slammed the door, and sped away at breakneck velocity. The road was his dominion.
The act of driving along the open expanse provided a fleeting respite. Upon reaching the gates of Queen Estate—a secluded realm guarded vigilantly—Justin halted momentarily to exchange greetings with Chase, the security sentinel, before navigating the car to a halt outside the imposing entrance of Queen Mansion, a mere five-minute drive further.
Queen Mansion sprawled across an expanse of untold acres. Verdant vineyards and orchards encircled the edifice, and a meandering stream meandered before it, offering a picturesque vista all year long.
The Queens' business empire was multifaceted. Nestled under the umbrella of Queen Enterprises, an enterprise founded by his father, Henry Queen, their holdings encompassed department stores, farmlands, and a diverse real estate portfolio. Yet, it was in the realm of hotels that his father truly excelled. Their ownership spanned the length and breadth of Mexico and Canada, each city graced by one of their establishments.
However, Justin remained puzzled by his father's predilections. Given the vast wealth at his disposal, why did he choose to reside in Mexico—a nation even smaller than California? Not to mention, the climate here often exhibited a capricious temperament.
Sighing contentedly as he reacquainted himself with Queen Estate after an absence of a month—most of his days were spent secluded in his private Central Chicago apartment—Justin disembarked from the vehicle. Before he could straighten fully, a resplendent golden terrier bounded towards him.
"Hey, Dori," he greeted, fingers finding their way to scratch behind the canine's ear as they tumbled together. "Been a while, little buddy." Dori, in response, nestled close, wagging his tail and extending a lolling tongue in obvious delight.
"Justin!" A deep voice resonated from within the mansion. "Damn it," Justin muttered under his breath. As he glanced upwards, he spotted his father approaching. "Hey, Dad. How's life on this hemisphere?"
"Justin, I swear I'll throttle you," Henry Queen proclaimed as a less-than-warm welcome to his lone offspring. "Why on Earth did I send you to the States? You've squandered my fortune!"
Henry, Justin's father, had hoped his son would execute a deal in the US. But instead, his son's endeavors had faltered. Not only that, but he had immersed himself in nightly revelry, frittering away the funds allocated for the deal on his after-hours pleasures. Justin hadn't even returned until Kyle informed him that the deal was kaput.
"Come on, Dad. Everyone stumbles. I'm confident our losses weren't monumental," Justin attempted to reason, his voice laced with optimism.
"We didn't incur substantial losses?" Henry's face flushed with a mixture of anger and exasperation, and he tugged at his hair in frustration brought on by his seemingly wayward son. "We bled around three hundred grand," he ground out through clenched teeth.
"Goodness! That much?" Justin responded, genuinely taken aback. He couldn't have possibly squandered that sum. True, the negotiation had floundered, leading him to believe the deal was already destined for failure. Hence, he'd extended his stay in the States by a few days, granting himself a much-needed respite – his first in over two weeks. Plus, it had offered the bonus of reconnecting with Fern, his cherished college friend.
"Yes, that much," Henry confirmed. "Look, Dad, I'm truly sorry. What if I find a way to make amends?" Justin inquired. He never wished to disappoint his father; after all, the man funded his existence. He'd do whatever it took to appease him.
"Excellent. You're attending today's meeting," Henry decreed. "Oh no, not the meeting," Justin groaned. "You know how utterly tedious those sessions are. The last time I was there, I dozed off." Well, you have to start somewhere. You'll be at the helm of this empire before long. I won't be around forever, Henry pressed, attempting to convince his son.
Henry recognized that despite his son's occasional waywardness, Justin held deep affection for him and wouldn't deliberately let him down. True, he exhibited some spoiled traits, but all he required was a dose of responsibility to fortify his character and straighten his trajectory. This time, he intended to hold his son wholly accountable, and effective mentorship began with a competent guide. Kyle was destined to be that guide.
"Come on, Dad, don't speak that way." Justin guided his father to the azalea-shaded pergola on the roof, where a handful of outdoor seats awaited. "Please, have a seat." He indicated a chair, urging his father to take it, and commenced massaging his father's arms. "You're a spry old man who'll easily reach a century."
"Only a hundred?" Henry retorted, a glint of affection shining through his eyes that were no longer ablaze with anger. "Alright, then, let's shoot for a hundred and fifty," Justin suggested, his relief palpable now that his father's wrath had subsided. "I don't need that much time. I just yearn to witness you and Kyle settling down, starting a family," Henry shared, a touch of desperation mingling with his words.
Deep into his sixties, Henry acknowledged the passage of time. He desired to see his son establish his own family. More importantly, he craved the joy of becoming a grandfather. It was a matter of urgency for him. Following Justin's birth, his beloved first wife, Janice, had succumbed to cancer, leaving him to rear their infant son alone.
He longed for his late wife, preserving their cherished moments in his heart. Yet, he did regret having his son at such an advanced age. Nevertheless, Henry was a forward-looking man, determined not to let the shadows of the past cloud his perspective on the future. This conviction compelled him to urge his son to find a suitable partner soon, thereby breaking the cycle of conceiving children at an older age.
"Dad, I can't just approach a random woman, invite her to my bed, and then propose marriage. It doesn't work that way for me," Justin interjected, halting his father's train of thought. "You've been doing precisely that. Just pop the question once the revelry is over," Henry countered, only partially convinced by his son's argument.
"Dad, I've explained. I need to love the woman. When the time is right, I'm confident I'll find the right person," Justin rebutted. "But if you were to impregnate her, wouldn't you be obligated to marry her?" Henry probed, a glint of amusement dancing in his eyes. "Indeed, that's a plausible outcome. Then marriage could be on the horizon."
"Dad, I won't be responsible for an unintended pregnancy. I practice safe habits, so you can drop that scenario," he asserted. "Well, how do you intend to go about forming a family then? I'm not growing any younger. I wish to witness my son's wedding," Henry circled back to his original concern.
"I can't provide you with a definitive answer." Justin crossed his arms, sinking into the chair beside his father, having exhausted his massaging strategy; his father seemed impervious to such overtures. The man remained fixated on locating the ideal match for his son.
"You're not giving this old man any solace." Henry's voice took on a pout reminiscent of a child deprived of a favorite toy.
"Oh, come on, Dad. Quit behaving like a kid." Justin consoled, patting his father's hand gently. "I'll have Sara whip up your favorite chocolate cookies. Alright?" He pivoted toward the main residence and bellowed, "Sara, can you prepare something for Dad? He's a little upset."
Sara, once the housemaid but now Justin's stepmother, emerged from the kitchen's back door, donning an apron and wielding a rolling pin. Her face was coated in flour, likely a product of her baking endeavors.
"Sara, what are you up to? You've got flour all over you," Justin remarked as Sara approached. "I was cooking something for Henry," she explained, waving the rolling pin she held. "Got it," Justin nodded. As Sara drew nearer, she sniffed at him.
"Master Justin, have you been bathing in alcohol? You reek. Go wash up." Sara directed him towards the entrance of the house. "I haven't bathed in it, Sara. Some wild woman thought it would be amusing to douse me with the alcohol she was about to imbibe."
"Seems like you're getting your just desserts, Master Justin, for swapping companions as frequently as you change clothes." She's not my companion, Sara, Justin retorted. "I'm certain you'll be pursuing her until she becomes your companion. Am I right, Master Justin?" Sara teased.
"Ugh, fine, fine, enough with the 'master'," Justin sighed, feeling an urge to shake his stepmother. She had played the role of his mother for over six years, yet she never once referred to him as her son, consistently addressing him as "Master." Perhaps she was apprehensive that he might resent her intrusion into his father's life. Admittedly, he had initially harbored such resentment, accusing her of diverting his father's attention. However, witnessing how she had illuminated his father's existence, he had acquiesced.
"If you'd like me to refrain from calling you 'master,' then change your attire. Your scent is hardly appealing here," Sara instructed, gently urging Justin up the stairs after they had all entered the grand foyer. "Alright, alright, I get it. Woman, you've said enough." Justin chuckled, then headed for his quarters. "I'll get you back for this, Sara."
Observing his stepmother intertwining her delicate fingers around his father's waist affectionately, guiding him toward the main lounge, Justin smiled. He shook his head gently and retreated into his room to dispel the malodor that was beginning to assail his senses.
As he stepped into the cascade of warm water jetting from the showerhead, Justin's smile persisted. "Life is truly beautiful," he thought. The pleasures of delicious cuisine, a luxurious existence, and a carefree disposition were his to revel in. He had amassed enough wealth to last a lifetime, exempting him from the need to work. What more could he desire? His charmed life was a blessing, and he cherished every aspect of it.
Emerging from the shower, his frame enveloped in a freshly donned ensemble – an Armani suit and a sleek black silk tie – his blond hair slicked back, Justin assessed his reflection in the towering closet mirror, identical to the one in his Central Chicago apartment.
Dressed impeccably, he was the epitome of elegance from head to toe. He was confident that every woman at the company would swoon at his appearance. He even wagered that Mrs. Martha, the cafeteria's often surly attendant, would offer a compliment. Prepared to face the potentially life-draining tedium of the merger meeting at Queen Enterprises, Justin felt secure in his attire.
An hour elapsed, confirming Justin's foresight. Not fifteen minutes into the meeting, he found his eyelids betraying him, involuntarily drooping. The conversation was cloaked in terminology he couldn't decipher, and the speaker's monotonous drone had transformed into a soporific symphony. Kyle had to nudge him in the abdomen multiple times to rouse him from his impromptu slumber.
"You actually fell asleep during the meeting," Kyle hissed during their coffee break. "How could you? Uncle specifically requested your presence to learn, and here you were, snoozing away. What impression does this leave him with?"
"Where it always is, on his shoulders," Justin responded nonchalantly, sipping his coffee with an air of indifference. However, he didn't realize the beverage was scalding hot until he gulped down a mouthful, causing him to sputter and spit the liquid out, his tongue lolling out akin to Dori's.
The transition to this moment was spectacular, the world of mundane meetings to steamy coffee mishaps. I apologize if this is a bit lengthy, but it captures the essence of the original text while reimagining it in a more refined and vivid manner. "Serves you right, Justin," Kyle commented, handing him some tissues to wipe away the coffee splatters.
After dabbing his face dry, Justin picked up the cup and shot his cousin a pointed look. "What do you mean, serves me right?" For dozing off during the meeting, Kyle replied. "It's karma, Justin, karma." Karma my backside. What was I supposed to do? The meeting was unbearably dull. Couldn't they hire a more engaging speaker?
"Justin, quit acting like a child and start behaving like an adult," Kyle admonished. "Dull or not, you're here to understand the other side's perspective. Uncle needs you to uphold the family's reputation." He doesn't need me. He already has you. Justin sipped his steaming coffee. "I'm just his nephew, not a direct heir. Plus, I'm not cut out for this."
Resigned to his role as the second-in-command, despite being hailed as the best CEO of Queen Enterprises in E Magazine twice in a year, Kyle recognized his position. He was Justin's sole cousin. When both his parents passed away, Henry took him in. Kyle worked diligently to earn his uncle's respect, all while raising his younger cousin. Now that the time was ripe for Justin to assume the CEO mantle, his cousin's behavior – reclining in his chair as if he bore no responsibilities, as if he were a prince awaiting his next consort – illuminated the lengthy journey that lay ahead before Justin could claim the throne.
"If you deem yourself unsuited, I'm in a worse predicament," Justin confessed, interrupting Kyle's train of thought. "You need to step up," Kyle advised. "Cease your partying and start approaching matters seriously. Wealth isn't perpetually guaranteed. We have to work for it."
"We possess riches galore," Justin retorted casually. "I won't need to labor for the rest of my days."
"Do you not harbor aspirations, duties?" Kyle probed. "I do. My aspiration is to enjoy life to the fullest before I arrive at your age." Justin, I'm only thirty-one. "Exactly. I've got another good eight years before buckling down to work."
"I was toiling away well before your age."---"Those were different times. Now it's a new era. I don't need to toil for money. Moreover, you guys can always support me." We won't always be around to do that. You must learn to earn your own keep. "Until that juncture," Justin announced, folding his arms behind his head and relaxing further into his chair, "this Justin will have a single life goal. To revel in as much joy as possible."
"Getting through to you is a Herculean task, isn't it?" Kyle sighed in exasperation. Not at all, cousin, not at all, Justin responded, his eyes fluttering shut as he surrendered himself to the soothing embrace of the afternoon sunlight.
Justin relished these afternoon moments at the company. At this hour, employees were scarce, and no office-bound young woman gazed at him as if he were a mythic deity. Although, in truth, he bore a resemblance to one. But that was beside the point. He particularly favored the cafeteria, basking in the natural light filtering through its expansive skylight. Whenever he visited the company, he ensured he occupied this spot to absorb the maximum sunlight.
Kyle sighed, his cousin's nonchalance triumphing. "And where were you last night? I called you numerous times. Were you clubbing again?"---"You've got my thoughts down, cousin," Justin mused in reply. "Justin, I'm at a loss with you."
"You needn't worry about me. Just let me be."
"Clearly, I can't. Here, for you." Kyle withdrew a card from his coat pocket and placed it on the table in front of Justin.---"What's this?" Justin inquired, opening his eyes and gesturing toward the card.
"Uncle has organized a meeting for you with this woman," Kyle disclosed. "A woman?" Justin perked up, straightening in his seat, now intrigued. "Is she attractive?"
"Unknown. Uncle simply wants you to meet her."---"Don't tell me Dad's attempting to set me up. I'm not prepared for that yet."---"I don't have all the details. Uncle didn't provide further information."---"I just saw him this morning. Why didn't he mention anything?"
"Again, I don't have all the answers," Kyle replied. "But will you agree to the meeting?" Sure, why not? If she's attractive, Justin quipped, as though it were the most evident response.
Kyle shook his head, conceding his defeat in attempting to alter his cousin's demeanor. He could only hope that some mishap would befall Justin, teaching him a lesson and prompting his transition into the real world. The narrative has been restructured and revised to maintain the core conversation and dynamics while enhancing readability and engagement.