Chapter 4

Damian POV

The following morning, I had a hangover. The hangover headache made me remember what happened the night before all of a sudden.

The champagne bottles were poured out on the espresso table.

A line of sequined dresses was in the main guest bedroom.

This is my normal morning.

I rolled my eyes. I ran a hand down my face.

I looked for my phone and put my hand forward to unlock my phone.

I could see the messages, the alerts, the hundreds of phone calls and texts coming across the screen. That put me right back on the front page every week in the tabloids.

Above all, these headlines were the most important.

"Golden Playboy Damian Hayes Leaves Exclusive Club in a Drunken Rage, Almost Runs Over Paparazzi."

"Hayes Heir Spotted with Two Women, Again."

Despite experiencing the most severe headache I have ever faced, I found myself smiling at the headlines

They consistently portray it as more severe than it is, as if I've truly killed someone

But the reality is, I simply had a late night Thursday at a bar.

For me, it's giving an excessive amount of credence to brightly flashing bulbs, rumors, and overexaggerated reviews of drunken stupidity. Every headline makes me popular, untouchable, and unforgettable.

My cell phone buzzed again, and I reluctantly looked back at it.

Vanessa.

"Seriously, Damian?" she hissed, 

"You left me waiting outside the club like I was some cheap date. You have no idea how degrading that was!"

I lay on my back and laughed at the ceiling.

"Take it easy, Nessa. You know the deal. Then they started to swarm me and dragged me into the damn car. Besides, I thought you enjoyed the attention."

"Attention? You had two models wrapped around your arms, and the whole city watched it!"

I grinned, knowing she was still watching. Still keeping score. Still addicted. "What can I say? I'm irresistible."

There was a pause. Then her voice lowered to that familiar, shrill pitch. "We're done, Damian. For real this time."

"Right, Nessa," I said lazily, already swiping open I*******m. "I'll see you next week."

The line deadened, and I laughed. Vanessa was nothing but theatrical, but she'd be back. She always came back. They all did.

The whiskey haze started to wear off of me by mid-afternoon. The leather couch held me as I scrolled through the endless reposts during my latest debacle when the butler walked into the room.

Oh, Mr. Hayes," he said, in that way he used when something was not up for discussion.

Your grandfather requests your presence at the mansion.

I groaned. "Let me guess, he saw the papers again?"

The butler's silence was enough to get the hint.

I dressed up. I put on my best clothes. I put on my favorite watch. I took the keys to the Lamborghini. I drove off.

I hate my family's treatment of me like a child.

I entered the study. Old money, leather, mahogany, and cigar smoke made up the study's smell. It smelled of all the discipline and legacy in which it was steeped, from the cracked leather rows of books to the heavy portraits of serious-faced men that had carried the Hayes name before me into the future.

Those painted eyes ripped into me like nails, silently questioning me for the headlines I wore like medals.

Grandpa sat by the table, a ramrod in his back. He wasn't yelling yet. The rules had been set. The silence turned out to be more piercing than any shout.

In front of him was an orderly pile of newspapers and an unlocked iPad, displaying the front page, in black ink, of my actions.

"Tell me, Damian," he started out, his voice low and constant.

"Is this the legacy you want tied to your name?"

I leaned against the doorframe. I managed a smirk I didn't feel.

Come on, Grandfather. Bad press is still press. People love an earful of this stuff. It keeps me relevant.

His eyes were steely grey without blinking.

"Relevance is an inadequate replacement when it comes to respect."

 

"Each drunken night, every headline, and each wasted evening destroys what your father and I have constructed over many years. Our family name once meant something. Now it’s a circus.”

I shrugged and smiled. It cut deeper than I was willing to let on regarding my actions.

“With respect, this world has moved on. No one is interested in boardrooms or suits and ties anymore. They are interested in flash, and they are interested in brands. And I am the brand. Clubs, parties, women—the world wants to see me live the life they wish they could live. That is power.”

His face went hard. “That is a weakness. Don't forget that this lifestyle you are living is because of the money and hard work that we have built in. Without this, you are nothing, Damien."

The word landed like a slap.

For a fleeting second he appeared every inch the titan who had built the Hayes empire from the ground up. He rose from the chair slowly, hands on the edge of the desk, and for

“You will show that you can be responsible, Damian. You will prove to me that you are capable of carrying, with honor, this family, or you will lose it all. The inheritance. The company. The power you think gives you this name and fame. Everything.”

I barked a laugh, but it was more disbelief than amusement. “You can’t be serious. You wouldn’t cut me out for a couple of parties. If not me, then who is going to carry the empire?”

“I would, and don’t forget I can hire people for that as well.” His tone was iron. “I would rather see the Hayes name come crashing down with honor than prosper in infamy.”

My chest tightened, but I forced it down with bravado. “You are out of touch. You do not understand what modern success looks like.”

Edward's gaze became sharp. “Then figure it out and prove me wrong. you have 6 months in your hand now.”

He slid a folder across the desk towards me. I didn’t reach for it.

“Beginning Monday,” he said low and steady, “you will be coming to the office and learning all the work. After 6 months, I will decide if you are capable enough to be the CEO or not. You will work on the office project and be directed by someone who reports to me, not you. You will learn responsibility, humility, and what hard work really looks like. You will stay there until I think you have.”

I looked at him, astonished. “Manual labor? With… with common people? You can’t be serious.”

“This is not punishment, Damian; you will still have the authority to be working as a boss in the office,” he said calmly.

“It is opportunity. Make no mistake, refuse and you will say goodbye to the Hayes wealth forever.”

For once, I had no sassy remark.

We were quiet, and the silence bubbled and sank heavily among us until I stood up and left. My toes clacked in opposition to the marble flooring as I stormed out of the manor; the rage was combined with humiliation burning hot in my blood.

He turned extreme. I knew it. Edward Hayes did not bluff.

In the driveway, my knuckles turned white on the steering wheel of my Lamborghini.

Manual labor. Office. I could hardly stand the thought. But the inheritance, my inheritance—my empire—was too valuable to risk.

Okay. I would play the game. I would arrive, win over whoever needed winning over, do the bare minimum, laugh about it afterward, and then demonstrate that Grandpa was mistaken on my terms.

I gunned the engine and sped away from Hayes Manor. Knowingly angry. The engine hummed louder than me.