Morningstar: Father's Reckoning
Nov. 17th, 2018 05:53 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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xp_logsWarren is summoned to his father's office. It does not go well either.
The summons was not good.
It'd been a while since Warren was paraded into his father's office, and the whole ordeal made him feel like he was 21 again, fighting for the right to work at Worthington Industries, trying desperately to have his father notice him.
Well, Daddy Dear sure had noticed him now. The whole fucking world had. How could one stupid conversation go viral like that? In the past, he'd just laughed at social media, laughed at how people could get themselves into those messes but now that it was him? He saw how pathetically easy it was to have his world come crashing down. Warren was just thankful that he hadn't somehow managed to out himself either. Being a misogynistic mutant seemed slightly worse than just misogynistic. And then there was the fact that his nose hurt , he had a black eye, and he was pretty sure he hadn't picked the right foundation to cover it all up. Fuck.
Trying to look as bored as possible, belying the pounding of his heart, he walked into his father's office with his head held high. "You wanted to see me, Father?"
Warren Worthington, Jr. sat at his desk, a marvelous piece of craftsmanship that cost more than the annual salary of his office's cleaning crew. His fingers tapped along the keyboard, deliberately hunting and pecking each letter to compose the latest in a long stream of emails to lawyers, publicists, and spokespeople. In general, not so different from his typical day, but the topic of these letters was something he had thought long passed.
He kept his son waiting for a minute as he finished composing his missive, and then closed his laptop after hitting send. A steely blue gaze caught the younger Warren, holding him in place like a tractor beam. "Any comment on your latest headlines?"
Warren, for once, wisely kept his tongue. "It's a simple misunderstanding," he said, meeting his father's eyes. "I bet it will blow over in a few days, and no one will remember this."
Walking into the room, he tried to give a blase smile before sitting down comfortably in the chair across from his father, his foot coming up to rest on his knee. "I mean, it's no worse than what I've done before. Remember how about 10 years ago, I got hit with so many paternity suits?" He laughed. "And they were all false. I'm not stupid, you know."
"Ten years ago you were 28, and we could explain away such behavior as childish indiscretions." Though the elder Worthington kept his expression even in the way only an experienced businessman and negotiator could, his ire at his son and heir's foolishness and flippancy went beyond what even he could tolerate and threatened to tear down that carefully constructed exterior. "And no one had you on tape telling the whole world how you feel about women. Paternity suits are one thing. But you've just invited a class-action sexual harassment claim by every woman, transgender, and God knows what else they call themselves these days who reports to you. Do you have any idea how much that will cost us?"
The younger Warren tried not to react at his father's words. "Do you have any idea how much money I've made this company? Don't start with this -- I know you have an insurance fund for scandals, and this can't possibly cost that much. Besides, I don't treat people like that at work. I'm not stupid." The minute the words left his mouth, he regretted it. His father would jump on that for sure. Quickly, he added. "I'll just apologize. Some big formal apology, hang my head in shame, whatever. Find some woman who can vouch that I'm not an asshole -- or at least that much of one. There. Done. Can I go now? I have work to do."
"No, actually, you don't." Worthington opened his laptop again, and pulled up several emails to show Warren. Shady condolences from associates, wishing him the best in these troubled times while being grateful their own children were not such embarrassments. Charitable causes expressing reluctance to accept anything from them. Threats to withdraw invitations to social functions. "The cost went well past financial. Our reputation is on the line now. My reputation."
With a sigh, Warren walked over to his father's desk, and glanced at the emails. It made his blood run cold to see how quickly everyone assumed the worst of him. Was this really who he was? Someone that everyone knew was a closet misogynist, a womanizer who hated women? Again though, he couldn't allow his father to see this. It was bad enough they had to have this conversation. "Fine. What now then?" Warren returned to his seat, the bored looked starting to crack to show a slightly desperate look in his eyes. He'd fucked up good this time. "If they won't accept our charity, then let's start our own. We could use the tax breaks."
"No," his father repeated sternly. "You are taking a leave of absence until you get your head out of your ass and prove you're not a complete embarrassment and liability. You will stay quiet and keep your head down. After I clean up your mess, we can decide whether or not you will return."
Warren blinked a few times and tilted his head at his father, trying to understand exactly what he was saying. "Excuse me?" He straightened up in his chair and cleared his throat. "Are you....actually debating firing me? I'm your heir . All this? It'll be mine one day. A leave of absence, fine, whatever, I don't care but let me get this straight: I AM coming back."
Passionate though his speech was, it did nothing to move his father. He remained in his seat, totally still, his gaze never leaving his son's face. "That is not your decision to make. This is my company. I make the decisions. You report to me. And you will do what I say, boy. Now get out, get this whatever it is out of your system, and don't come back until you can be a man. Am I understood?"
Yes, he was understood. Perfectly. Warren had fucked up again, and his father wasn't going to stand by him. Not that Warren had really expected it at all, but it still hurt. Almost as much as his nose. Clenching his jaw, he gave back the same cold stare. "Yes. Do I have the luxury of escorting myself out, or do you have a cardboard box and a security guard waiting in the wings?"
"Will you make that necessary?" his father shot back at him. With nothing further to add, he returned to his computer. He had an industry to run, whether his son would be his heir or just a burden to bear. "Oh, and consider making an appointment with Doctor Zlatan about your nose. He did wonders for your Aunt Mary's. You can't even tell it's not her real one."
There was clearly nothing more to say, even though Warren was dying to make some sort of quip, say something to just destroy his father, maybe announce his mutation -- anything to show Warren Sr. how much his son was hurting...but no. Unlike his actions with everyone else, something managed to keep Warren in check. Standing up, he gave his father a curt nod, unbuttoned his suit jacket, and strode out of the office. He would not let this ruin him. Not yet.
Besides -- the penthouse was close, Bobbi had finally left him (he was fairly certain she'd actually moved some things out) and the bar was fully stocked. It wouldn't be the first time he drank himself stupid, but it was the first time he had a plan: he had to figure out what the hell was in him, and how he could fix it. After his next hangover, he'd throw himself into that. It wasn't like he had work to do anyways.
The summons was not good.
It'd been a while since Warren was paraded into his father's office, and the whole ordeal made him feel like he was 21 again, fighting for the right to work at Worthington Industries, trying desperately to have his father notice him.
Well, Daddy Dear sure had noticed him now. The whole fucking world had. How could one stupid conversation go viral like that? In the past, he'd just laughed at social media, laughed at how people could get themselves into those messes but now that it was him? He saw how pathetically easy it was to have his world come crashing down. Warren was just thankful that he hadn't somehow managed to out himself either. Being a misogynistic mutant seemed slightly worse than just misogynistic. And then there was the fact that his nose hurt , he had a black eye, and he was pretty sure he hadn't picked the right foundation to cover it all up. Fuck.
Trying to look as bored as possible, belying the pounding of his heart, he walked into his father's office with his head held high. "You wanted to see me, Father?"
Warren Worthington, Jr. sat at his desk, a marvelous piece of craftsmanship that cost more than the annual salary of his office's cleaning crew. His fingers tapped along the keyboard, deliberately hunting and pecking each letter to compose the latest in a long stream of emails to lawyers, publicists, and spokespeople. In general, not so different from his typical day, but the topic of these letters was something he had thought long passed.
He kept his son waiting for a minute as he finished composing his missive, and then closed his laptop after hitting send. A steely blue gaze caught the younger Warren, holding him in place like a tractor beam. "Any comment on your latest headlines?"
Warren, for once, wisely kept his tongue. "It's a simple misunderstanding," he said, meeting his father's eyes. "I bet it will blow over in a few days, and no one will remember this."
Walking into the room, he tried to give a blase smile before sitting down comfortably in the chair across from his father, his foot coming up to rest on his knee. "I mean, it's no worse than what I've done before. Remember how about 10 years ago, I got hit with so many paternity suits?" He laughed. "And they were all false. I'm not stupid, you know."
"Ten years ago you were 28, and we could explain away such behavior as childish indiscretions." Though the elder Worthington kept his expression even in the way only an experienced businessman and negotiator could, his ire at his son and heir's foolishness and flippancy went beyond what even he could tolerate and threatened to tear down that carefully constructed exterior. "And no one had you on tape telling the whole world how you feel about women. Paternity suits are one thing. But you've just invited a class-action sexual harassment claim by every woman, transgender, and God knows what else they call themselves these days who reports to you. Do you have any idea how much that will cost us?"
The younger Warren tried not to react at his father's words. "Do you have any idea how much money I've made this company? Don't start with this -- I know you have an insurance fund for scandals, and this can't possibly cost that much. Besides, I don't treat people like that at work. I'm not stupid." The minute the words left his mouth, he regretted it. His father would jump on that for sure. Quickly, he added. "I'll just apologize. Some big formal apology, hang my head in shame, whatever. Find some woman who can vouch that I'm not an asshole -- or at least that much of one. There. Done. Can I go now? I have work to do."
"No, actually, you don't." Worthington opened his laptop again, and pulled up several emails to show Warren. Shady condolences from associates, wishing him the best in these troubled times while being grateful their own children were not such embarrassments. Charitable causes expressing reluctance to accept anything from them. Threats to withdraw invitations to social functions. "The cost went well past financial. Our reputation is on the line now. My reputation."
With a sigh, Warren walked over to his father's desk, and glanced at the emails. It made his blood run cold to see how quickly everyone assumed the worst of him. Was this really who he was? Someone that everyone knew was a closet misogynist, a womanizer who hated women? Again though, he couldn't allow his father to see this. It was bad enough they had to have this conversation. "Fine. What now then?" Warren returned to his seat, the bored looked starting to crack to show a slightly desperate look in his eyes. He'd fucked up good this time. "If they won't accept our charity, then let's start our own. We could use the tax breaks."
"No," his father repeated sternly. "You are taking a leave of absence until you get your head out of your ass and prove you're not a complete embarrassment and liability. You will stay quiet and keep your head down. After I clean up your mess, we can decide whether or not you will return."
Warren blinked a few times and tilted his head at his father, trying to understand exactly what he was saying. "Excuse me?" He straightened up in his chair and cleared his throat. "Are you....actually debating firing me? I'm your heir . All this? It'll be mine one day. A leave of absence, fine, whatever, I don't care but let me get this straight: I AM coming back."
Passionate though his speech was, it did nothing to move his father. He remained in his seat, totally still, his gaze never leaving his son's face. "That is not your decision to make. This is my company. I make the decisions. You report to me. And you will do what I say, boy. Now get out, get this whatever it is out of your system, and don't come back until you can be a man. Am I understood?"
Yes, he was understood. Perfectly. Warren had fucked up again, and his father wasn't going to stand by him. Not that Warren had really expected it at all, but it still hurt. Almost as much as his nose. Clenching his jaw, he gave back the same cold stare. "Yes. Do I have the luxury of escorting myself out, or do you have a cardboard box and a security guard waiting in the wings?"
"Will you make that necessary?" his father shot back at him. With nothing further to add, he returned to his computer. He had an industry to run, whether his son would be his heir or just a burden to bear. "Oh, and consider making an appointment with Doctor Zlatan about your nose. He did wonders for your Aunt Mary's. You can't even tell it's not her real one."
There was clearly nothing more to say, even though Warren was dying to make some sort of quip, say something to just destroy his father, maybe announce his mutation -- anything to show Warren Sr. how much his son was hurting...but no. Unlike his actions with everyone else, something managed to keep Warren in check. Standing up, he gave his father a curt nod, unbuttoned his suit jacket, and strode out of the office. He would not let this ruin him. Not yet.
Besides -- the penthouse was close, Bobbi had finally left him (he was fairly certain she'd actually moved some things out) and the bar was fully stocked. It wouldn't be the first time he drank himself stupid, but it was the first time he had a plan: he had to figure out what the hell was in him, and how he could fix it. After his next hangover, he'd throw himself into that. It wasn't like he had work to do anyways.
