There was a round of applause in the boardroom.
The moment marked yet another win for Roth Group. They had just won a project, leaving their closest competitor Slater Group, in the dust.
Men and women were smiling and laughing like they had actually done something. But in truth what the majority of the people in the room had done was sit around and point fingers while the actual battle was being fought. At the head of the table, Deacon Roth, the CEO of the company. And also the only one in there who had actually put in work to make sure that they managed to succeed, had to fight the urge to roll his eyes.
"Congratulations, 'little Roth'. Yet another win under your belt. Those Slaters never stood a chance," Deacon smiled thinly at the old man who had spoken. The use of 'little Roth' was irritating. He had been their CEO for five years now, and still they used the title.
It was their not so subtle way of reminding him that not only was he younger than them. But that they also held more respect for Deacon's father, despite how much more Deacon himself had done to help the company grow since taking charge. As for the win over the Slaters family, the Roth family's sworn enemies. The old man's words of the Slaters not having stood a chance were wishful thinking. The Slaters had put up one heck of a fight.
Until the very last moment, neither of them had been sure which side would come out on top.
The Roths had won by a hair's breadth.
But a win was still a win, so he merely inclined his head towards the old man and listened to the chatter around him. The room's occupants were excited at the thought of more money to be made.
Money, power, success, status..., the list went round and round. And though Deacon was grateful to have all four, he had to admit that it had gotten a bit stale. He felt that he was missing something from his life.
But what was there to miss? He was young, rich, successful in every way. Not only that, having inherited his father's dark brown hair and his mother's steel grey eyes. His chiselled cheek bones highlighted by his five o'clock shadow, and his body in the best shape ever. He had nothing to complain about.
But Deacon was not happy. Something just wasn't right. All the praises that he got now felt hollow. And no matter what he tried, there was just something gnawing at him.
A deep emptiness that he just could not seem to fill no matter how successful he got.
"Are you alright, 'little Roth'?"
The soft question cut through all the chatter and Deacon stiffened, turning to the woman who had asked. He smiled at her, the expression fake but seeming genuine thanks to hours of practice.
"Thank you for asking Isadora. I'm perfectly fine. I've just recalled that there's still a bit more work to do in order to tie up this whole thing,"
"So does that mean you will not be joining us for the celebration later tonight?" Deacon sighed and let his shoulders slump a bit, widening his eyes and making sure to look regretful.
"Unfortunately, I will not. There's still far too much to be done. But do not let that stop any of you from having a good time. Fun had at the expense of the Slaters is always the best kind,"
That last bit had the room's occupants once again laughing and Deacon took his chance to escape. Standing, he nodded at the room once and then he walked out. His PA, Millicent Stone fell into a step beside him the moment the doors closed.
"Millie make sure that I'm not disturbed for the next thirty minutes,"
"Of course, Mr Roth," She agreed. And he could not help but roll his eyes and smile fondly at her. This time, the expression was more genuine than the one that he'd given the board members. He and Millie had gone to the same high school.
When her family had fallen on hard times, she'd reached out to him and he'd offered her a job as his PA. The rest was history. But despite their shared past, Millie still insisted on calling him Mr Roth.
It was something that they constantly argued over, but she was very stubborn. When he finally got to his office, he slumped bonelessly onto his chair, suddenly feeling so very exhausted Letting out a sigh, he stared up at the ceiling. The company had just received a big win. He should have been on a high. But instead, Deacon found himself in a contemplative mood.
As a child, he'd grown up knowing that one day he would rule Roth Group, and he had been so very excited for it. Now that he finally had all of that power in his grasp, it was not as great as he had thought it would be.
As it turned out, being the CEO kind of sucked. He actually enjoyed all of the work that came with his position. But he didn't like dealing with so many people. The only time he had kind of enjoyed interacting with others had been when he had been going against former CEO Haley Slater . But the difficult woman had quit, leaving the job to her younger sister, who was not so fun to spar with. Since her departure, verbal debates were not so interesting.
The networking side of business meant constantly having to have a mask on. A fact made worse by him having to have different masks for whomever he was interacting with. It was exhausting. And the tiredness was weighing on him particularly hard that day.
His decision not to attend the company's latest celebration party would no doubt cause a bit of gossip.
But he knew that if he went, that would cause even more gossip. He was splendid at keeping his masks in place. But he was too tired to do so twenty-four-seven. He did not need to go out and see the same people he often pretended to tolerate, all the while keeping his opinions of them in check.
If alcohol was also involved, then the chances of him saying some ill-advised things. Things that would require him having to do damage control to put out fires would occur. So him staying behind and working was his best option.
Eyes closed, Deacon let himself enjoy the very expensive chair that he'd gotten himself as a gift( after gleefully getting rid of the monstrosity his father had insisted he use-that chair'd had back problems written all over it). His chair felt like being cradled in what he imagined soft clouds and marshmallows felt like...pure bliss. Whenever he sat on it, it sucked him in, each time that he tried to leave it, the chair used its powers on him, and made him relax even more.
Leaving him no choice but to enjoy the simple pleasure. Something that was currently happening at that very moment. Well aware of the fact that he only had half an hour to himself, Deacon allowed himself to slip into a slight doze.
He was just a few minutes into it when his phone buzzed and he blinked, his brow furrowing in irritation.
Thirty minutes, that was all that he'd asked for. Yet somebody had the audacity to call him. Who on earth! He pulled out his phone, stared at the screen, and let out a sigh, the back of his head hitting the chair as he let some of his frustration show. Of course, of course, if there was one person who seemed to have a supernatural ability to know when Deacon was relaxing and ruin it.
It was his father.
Getting to his feet, Deacon walked over to the giant windows and stared out at the buildings of the city. With a resigned huff, he accepted the call.
"Hello, Father,"
"Deacon," That was it? No, hello. No, it is nice to hear from you. No, how are you doing? Just his name. As expected, a few seconds later, his father got down to business.
"I hear that you've put those Slaters in their place. Good. It wouldn't do for them to forget their betters. Be sure to stay on guard though. The next time we clash, no doubt they will be coming after you with everything they have,"
"Of course, Father," A simple 'congratulations you did well,' would have done as well, but his father was not the type for such soft, flattery words. Thinking that that was the reason for his father's call, he was just about to come up with an excuse to hang up when the older man spoke up again.
"Dealing with the Slaters is one thing, but you cannot just be winning in the business world. You need to be well balanced in family life as well,"
Oh not this again! His hand balling into a fist, Deacon readied himself for a now familiar speech, and his father did not disappoint.
"The Roths are the richest family in the city and the Slaters are second," That was a lie. The two of them were actually both vying for first place. It switched up on any given day. But Deacon did not want to remind his father of that.
"It would be in our best interest if we allied ourselves with yet another powerful family. It would give us a greater slice of the city,"
"I have been looking into matters and there are quite a few families that are interested in an alliance with us. Recently I was talking to ..." Nope, not today, Deacon thought to himself. He went over to his desk, put his phone down and walked back over to the window.
In the background he could hear his father still talking, but he wasn't listening. Why should he pay attention when the man himself did not listen to a word that Deacon said? Time and time again, Deacon had told his father that he did not want to get married, but it was always met with...
'When I was your age, I thought I didn't want to get married either. But then I met your mother, we had you, and we had your younger brother. The rest is history. A man needs a spouse, Deacon. You getting married would do wonders for the business and for the family name,'
Deacon already did a whole lot for the business, and for the family name. But if there was one thing that he did not want to do, it was to get married. It just wasn't in him. Nothing about that interested him. But his father would not accept that and kept pushing and pushing. Deacon was certain that at some point he would snap and-
"Deacon, Deacon...," The voice rising in volume startled him, and Deacon realized that he'd been away from the phone too long, he went over to his desk and picked it up.
"Oh, sorry, Father. An urgent message has come through. I have to go now,"
"No, Deacon, don't, we have to..." He hung up on the old man, just knowing that the next time he visited the manor, it would cause some serious tension. But Deacon was tired. He looked over at the paperwork that he'd intended to do until well into the evening. And all of a sudden it wasn't that interesting to him anymore.
Packing his things, he made his way to the door. If he wanted, he could go home, get ready and join the board members in their celebration of their latest victory. But Deacon already knew he would not be doing that. He was definitely going out, but he was going to some place where nobody knew his name.
Were his best friend in town, the two of them would go and get wasted together. But since Paul, a fashion designer, was out scouring the world for the best fabrics, and taking part in fashion shows. Deacon would have to go drinking on his own. One thing was for sure, he was going to make it memorable.
He would drink until he forgot his name, the company, those Slaters who were a constant pain on his side. And most of all his father's demand that he get married. He would never be anyone's husband. Never!