Chương 36: CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

Laurent grabbed his third glass of beer from a tray, his fingers drumming nervously against the bar. It was D-day and he was actually nervous. The party would start in the next 3 hours and Mr. Blackwell was already dressed and standing by the window. He'd been discharged in a wheelchair but the old man insisted on abandoning the chair as soon as they'd darkened the door of his house.

Half the reason why Laurent was as nervous as he was was the man's co-operation. If he'd thought being discharged would at least put the fight back in him, he was sorely disappointed. From what Rose had said that night, he'd alienated his real family—or at least as real as their relationship the last 25 years had been—and clung to the cause of his problems with a grip that was obsessive. Now that the man no longer had any fight, Laurent was beginning to pity him. Not enough to allow him not to go to prison, but enough to respond to every cue in the man's eyes.

He closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead. He'd been awake for the last 48 hours and at the moment, he was mentally stressed. He picked up his phone and searched for Max's number. This was probably the 20th time he was doing it today and the 100th time since the ordeal had begun but this time he made himself press the dial. Almost immediately, his friend picked up, the bass of drums piercing his ears through the phone speaker.

He walked out the back. "Max, get the hell out of there!" he shouted.

Max shouted something back that probably sounded as gibberish as what he'd just said to him.

They both tried their best to communicate until Max said something and hung up the phone.

Laurent fought the urge to fling the phone away. Max didn't really know much about him, but they'd both made a few drunken confessions while under the influence of alcohol.

Max was the only one who knew all he'd had to do to get entry into the company two years ago.

After he'd found him going through Rose's picture on the internet, he'd assumed Laurent had an unhealthy crush but had still helped him get in. His friend owned a club thanks to a sizable trust fund and spent his time drinking and partying to drown his past and trauma. Laurent had never asked him for details, but picking up your drunk friend from the floor day after day brought some things to attention.

He was headed back inside when the phone rang again. This time, his friend had found a relatively quiet place.

"Hey," Max greeted, and Laurent grunted out an 'hey' in response.

"What's up, man? It's been ages. You're not dying, are you?"

"Of course not," he gritted out.

Max just laughed. "Had to ask. I didn't even know you had my number saved on your phone."

"Well, I do," he responded, offended. But he could understand the sentiment. In their friendship, Laurent was the pillar. He never needed the occasional help and he kept everyone at a distance.

His heart pricked him. He'd let one person in, though, Rose. He'd let her in and then yanked her back out, damaging both of them in the process.

"Where are you?" he quickly asked before the conversation crossed from weird to awkward.

"Vanity," his friend responded heartily.

Laurent nodded to himself. His friend was just in the mood to have fun, not seek pain.

"Come over,' he said, swallowing the nerves. "There's a party."

There was a tense silence before,

"Are you going to kill me at this party of yours?"

He massaged his forehead, "No."

"Kidnap me and dump me in those AA meetings you keep telling me about?"

"No, Max."

"Then …"

"You know what? Never mind. Keep drinking in vanity then," he said angrily.

"Wait," Max laughed. "Where's the party? And I hope there's lots of drink there?"

"The finest," he promised, swallowing his sigh of relief.

"I'm on my way then." He heard his friend flag down a taxi. "Send me the address via text."

They hung up.

The party had started before Max got there. Guests socialized together, no one wanting to stay too close to the food or drink. Laurent didn't care; he remained at the bar, refilling his cup and watching the crowd. He changed the poison to non-alcohol after the fourth glass, but he remained there nonetheless.

The celebrant wasn't around yet, and neither was Rose. He didn't know what to think about that. He'd assumed she'd at least come over with her friend to try to stab him again, but so far, nothing.

"Woo!" a voice startled him from behind and he turned around in shock.

"Max," he scolded. "I could have injured you."

"Who cares?" his friend asked, his loud voice, courtesy of his drunken state, making people turn to them. He dragged him outside.

"Wait, where are we going? You said there was food."

"You'll eat later," he assured, dragging him away from where they could be overheard.

When they got to the fountain that gave the event center its name, he leaned against the water and twirled his fingers through it.

"Whatever this is, I have a feeling I'm not sober enough for it," his friend moaned. "You promised not to kidnap me, Laurent."

He covered his mouth with a palm, looking around. In the enclosure they were in, the only way people in other enclosures wouldn't hear them was if they were quiet.

"Shut up, Max."

He waited for a nod before he removed a palm, handing him a bottle of water.

His friend obediently guzzled it down.

"So, what's up?" he asked, blinking his eyes and trying to pretend he was more sober than he was. With the amount of alcohol Laurent was sure his friend had taken that night alone, he was sure a bottle of water was just scratching the surface. But that's why he had called Max. If he wanted someone completely reasonable, he'd have had to call someone else.

"That party is mine," he said all of a sudden.

Max stared at him for a full minute before his jaw dropped open. "Wait, you mean today is your birthday?"

"No, not birthday. But..." he sighed. "Let me start at the beginning."

His friend nodded eagerly, "Wise decision."

"You know of Blackwell industries?"

"Who doesn't?" His friend retorted immediately. It was my family's dream." A soft smile crossed his friend's lips. "They always said when they became as big as Blackwell, they'd rest." He snapped himself out of the memory and Laurent gave him a minute.

"So, what about it? Is it the man celebrating today?"

"Yeah. But, along with the celebration, the man is going to be giving an announcement today recognizing me as the heir to his properties."

Max laughed for several seconds before he frowned and touched Laurent's forehead with the back of his palm. "Did you by chance drink more than I did?"

He slapped the hands away. "I'm serious."

Max nodded slowly, "Okay, that's good, right?"

He groaned. Wasn't that the million-dollar question?

"I think so. I had to do one or two things, though, so...

"Wait," Max suddenly said. "Didn't the man already have an heir?"

"Yes."

Max shook his head. "The girl? Laurent! What did you do?"

He scratched his head. Why had he thought talking was his magical cure.

"You know what? Never mind," he said, turning back but Max caught his hand, surprisingly alert.

"Oh, no. I want to hear everything."

"Max," he warned but his friend didn't release him. Instead, he stepped closer, threateningly.

"You called me; I'm here. So you're going to talk. That's what friends are for, right?" he said with an edge in his smile.

They had never gone through with it, but both Laurent and Max were evenly matched. Where Laurent had learned fighting from the streets, Max had had teachers teach him the different skills. So, his friend's posturing didn't scare him.

"What do you want to know?" he asked at last, and Max took a step back, his easy, friendly smile back in place.

"Where is the man's daughter?"

He shrugged, "No idea."

Max narrowed his eyes, "Weren't you together for a while? Where is she, Laurent?"

"Wait," he said, finally understanding. "You think I did something to her?"

"Did you?"

Laurent's jaw dropped. "Why would you...? What in blazes brought about that idea?"

"I remember the day you kept asking about inheritance, trust funds and all... Do you remember what you said when we were done?"

He didn't, so he shook his head.

"You said that as long as the legal heir is done away with, the smartest person can get it. Ring a bell?"

He cocked his head. He really couldn't remember that exact conversation. Maybe it had been one of his drunken moments.

He opened his mouth to refute the claim but a black limousine pulled in. The journalists, vultures that they were, instantly surrounded the car, wanting to know who it was. He and his friend also came out of where they were, curious.

The door opened, and an angel emerged from the car, pulling up her shades.

His lips curled in a satisfied smile.

"Wow," Max said, his eyes as wide as saucers. "Who is that and where's she from?"

"That's her."

"Her who?" Max asked absently before turning around to face him. "Wait, that's the Blackwell heir? Duuuude," he whistled.

Laurent smiled at the reaction, and before he could say something else, his friend was rushing away from him, moving towards the throng of reporters trying to crush her with their weight and their questions.

"Max!" he shouted, but the idiot was already gone.