Page 23 of Lies in Promises
The music blares throughout the whole apartment.
If I hadn’t bought the whole damn building last year and soundproofed the top floor, there would have been a slight chance the cops would have been called with a noise complaint—or several noise complaints.
Thank fuck I thought ahead.
I don’t need to have Chicago PD on my ass, or another lecture from a newly appointed police lieutenant. I get enough lectures from Henry; I don’t need them from someone else.
You would think that at twenty-two, I wouldn’t be privy to lectures, but that would be wrong. I get them at least once a week. More so when I decide to drink myself into a stupor and throw parties when I should be doing something else, like working or going to school.
And tonight, I decided to throw a party.
Why? It’s been a shit week.
I was so damn close to sealing a deal with this guy in Sweden for a solar powered car that only needed sunlight five percent of the day, and the fucker went and sold the idea to a company in Japan.
Stupid fucker.
So, because the fucker gave what was supposed to be my deal to someone else, I decide to throw a party at my penthouse to drown my sorrows—emphasis ondrowning.
First, I did it by drinking all the damn vodka I could find, and now, I’m doing it with the pretty redhead who currently has my dick in her mouth like a lollipop.
What’s her name?
Doesn’t matter.
All that matters is that her mouth is making me forget shit.
And fuck, do I have shit to forget.
“Fuck, you suck my cock so damn well.”
One of thebenefits of having money is that you can spend money on stupid shit.
Cars.
Watches.
Random art pieces you find around the world.
And blackout curtains.
The blackout curtains are the best investment one can make.
Well, they are only a good investment if you remember to actually close them the night before.
If you don’t, you will be blinded by the sun as soon as it starts to come up.
I let out a groan as I try to open my eyes. Definitely should have remembered to close the blinds last night, but between the redhead, the vodka, and kicking everyone out of the penthouse at four in the morning, I forgot.
And now, I’m paying for it.
I need to install automated ones I can fucking program, because I can’t keep living like this.
Giving up on getting any more sleep, I push up and get out of bed, sliding on a pair of boxer briefs before heading out to the kitchen.
The second I open the door separating my bedroom from the rest of the place, I let out a groan at the mess.
Cups, bottles of alcohol, and food wrappers are everywhere. If I looked hard enough, I’d probably find more than one pile of puke beneath all the garbage, probably a piss stain or two.
