"Christian this is absurd!" Ros yells at me, throwing the gossip magazine onto the glass coffee table in front of me. I close my eyes tighter and try to ignore the pounding headache, that has gotten worse since Ros entered my apartment and started wailing.

"Can you not scream at me?" I plead and although I can't see her I'm sure she's scowling at me.

"You have crossed the line here Christian. You put yourself, Taylor, and livelihood of the Seattle population in danger! You could have seriously hurt someone."

"I didn't."

"That's not the fucking point!" she exhales.

"I'll make a public apology."

"That's not good enough anymore. Look at the damn magazine Christian!" I open my eyes slowly and peek down at the front cover. A picture of me, drunk and pissed, throwing fists with the security guard at a club last night is staring right back at me.

Taylor had to pull me off the guy last night but he didn't do it in time before the cameras started flashing and videos were being taken of me.

"That's bad publicity Christian. The board is not happy about this."

"It was a mistake. I'll have Jackson fix it. It's why I hired him."

"Mistake or not, nobody is happy about this; especially your family and the board. We had a meeting this morning along with your father. They have decided that kicking you off the board is what's best for business."

My eyes fly up to meet Ros's. My temper is rising and I glare at her. "No fucking way. You can't fire me! I'm the one who started this company. My name is branded on the building!"

"Well you went and fucked it up Christian so the board is kicking you out until you get your shit together. There are terms you have to fulfill before they reconsider giving you your job back."

"I hired them all and I can fire every single one of them. How dare they think they can fire me? And my own father went against me?!"

"Christian! The odds are against you. The board has voted in favor of removing you from your duties till further notice." She takes a deep breath and straightens her jacket. "You've been on this drunken tirade since four months ago. You need to wake up and smell the damn coffee. If you keep this shit up, you're seriously going to lose everything you so desperately love. Your cars, your money, your company. You'll be left with nothing."

I groan and stuff my face into my hands. "The only way out of this is going to therapy and AA." I lift my hands away and look back up at my VP.

"You want to me to go to alcoholic anonymous? No fucking way! I don't have a problem!"

"Your problem is not admitting you have one. This is the only way Christian. I'll have Andrea send over all the information of the terms."

"Whatever." I mutter and walk over to my alcohol cabinet. I open it to reveal nothing but glasses. "Are you fucking kidding me?" I shout.

"I had Gail remove everything that contained alcohol from the penthouse. You don't need any temptations. I'm serious Christian and so is the board of directors. You need to get your shit together and I sure hope you do because that company can't survive without you." Ros states before walking out of my penthouse.

I walk back to the couch and plop myself down. I'm still seething with anger. "Taylor!" I demanded and he appeared seconds later.

"Yes sir?"

"Get Carrick on the phone for me."

"Right away sir."

"Where's Gail?"

"She's out on errands." She's probably disposing of all my expensive alcohols.

"I need coffee."

"I'll get you a cup after I call your father." Taylor states and hands me my iPhone before walking into the kitchen. I can always depend on Taylor. He would never turn his back on me unlike those assholes from GEH.

"You've reached the offices of Judge Carrick Grey, this is Kate, how can I help you?"

"Get me my father."

"Hello Mr. Grey, one moment please." Katherine Kavanagh. Daughter of tech mogul Steven Kavanagh. For some odd reason she wanted to go into art of law and not follow her family footsteps. I don't blame her however. Her father is a self-righteous ass and I don't trust him one bit. She's been working under my father for about a year now and I've grown to learn that she's really good at arguing.

"How's your hangover son?" my father's voice rings through the phone.

"How could you bet against your own son? How dare you agree with the board to kick me off?" I mutter.

"I didn't agree with the board son. They agreed with me."

"What?"

"I came up with the idea of kicking you out on your ass so you can get yourself back into shape."

"Are you fucking with me?"

"Watch your language. You need a swift kick in the derriere to remind yourself of who you truly are. You're the man who became the youngest billionaire at 25. You are the hardworking man who took what he wanted and made a name for himself. You're not the drunk idiot who got into a bar fight because he didn't get his way. Christian, you need to get back to who you were before your mother passed away." I close my eyes at the broken memory.

My mother, Grace Trevelyan Grey, was involved in a hectic car accident that sent her to the hospital with two broken ribs, a ruptured lung, and head trauma. She was on her way home when she was hit by a drunk driver. The best doctors did all their best but they couldn't save her; they couldn't save my mother, my savior. All they could do was make her comfortable for her last few hours on this forsaken earth.

I was in Charlie Tango on the way back from Portland when I received the news. I made a rush to the hospital after I landed. When I saw her lying there in that bed, a ventilator hooked up to her, my family crying in hysteria; I couldn't breathe.

The woman who saved me from my nightmare of a childhood was slipping away and I couldn't do anything to help her. She died the morning after her accident. Mia, Elliot, Carrick, and I surrounded her bed as she let out her last breath. I couldn't feel anything at that moment. I was numb, tears streaming down my face, my heart broken into a million pieces.

After the funeral, I drowned myself in whiskey. Needless to say for the next few months, that was my motto. I drank until I knocked out. And every night ended the same way; a memory of my mother.

"Christian?" I hear my father as I return to my state. I must have zoned out.

"Goodbye Carrick." I hang up and throw my phone on the table next to the offending magazine. I get up and walk into my room. I reek of beer and cigar smoke. I shed off my black button up and step into my bathroom.

The shower turns on to warm up at my touch and lean against the sink. I have fucked up. I stare at my reflection and what I see doesn't remind me of me. The dark bags under my eyes are a result of my sleepless nights. My hair is a mess and my beard was starting to grow in.

All because of my selfishness I am going to lose everything. The man staring back at me angers me to boiling point. Next thing I know, my clenched fist hits the mirror, splitting it into cracked pieces. My hand doesn't feel the pain till minutes later. Blood drench from my knuckles as shreds of glass are embedded in them.

"Fuck!" I yell. Surprisingly the pain feels good. I have refused to feel anything but anger and depression for so long that I forgotten how anything else feels.

"Sir," Taylor walks into the bathroom and his eyes enlarge at the scene in front of him.

"I'm fine." I respond and he shakes his head.

"No you're not! Oh god. Fuck, that's a lot of blood. Hold on." he grabs a white towel from the counter and walks over to me, wrapping my hand in it. "We need to get you to the ER."

I don't say anything as he moves us out of the bathroom and back into my room. He grabs me a shirt and walk me quickly to the elevator. He pushes me into the front seat of the SUV and turns the key in the ignition, bringing it to life.

The pain is starting to set in and it hurts like a fucker. "Hold on sir." He races out of the garage and onto the I-5 to get us to the hospital the fastest way possible.

We make it to the ER entrance in a blur. I hold onto my towel covered hand. It's died the color of a deep red. The blood from my hand seeping through the white towel. As soon as I enter a doctor is racing towards me.

A petite brunette is asking me if I'm okay but I'm momentarily stunned by her that I can't form words.

"Sir are you okay? Can you remove the towel?" she asks and I nod, removing the once white material. "Oh Jesus. Okay follow me sir." She wraps the towel back around my hand and leads me into a sterile room. She sits me down and nurses start rushing into the room.

"Okay, sir sit still alright. We're going to extract those glass shreds before we can give you stitches."

"Stiches?" I ask and she nods. She's calm and pulls on her gloves.

"By the look of those wounds, you'll need a couple stiches." She pulls up a stool and removes the towel from my hand. I look down and I grimace at the sight. Different sides of glass are poking out of my wrist. Geez I'm a royal fuck up.

Next thing I see plyers in the doctor's hands as she rests mine on my leg. "Okay try to relax and think of your happy place. This might hurt."

She starts to pull out the biggest pieces first. I flinch at the agonizing pain. "Fuck, you don't say."

I see a hint of a smile on her lips but she concentrates on pulling out the glasses. About five minutes later, she's done. She grabs the stitch kit from the nurse and starts working on the gaping wounds in my hand. I watch, mesmerized as she works her magic. "This is an anesthetic to help with the pain." She gives me a shot.

"You couldn't have given that to me earlier?"

"Well the pulling things out wasn't the painful part. This part however is." She responds and starts with the needle. I close my eyes. I can't deal with needles. I can feel the anesthetic setting in.

"Okay all done," she whispers and I open my eyes to see her work. I have a stitch right under my knuckles. Another in between my middle and index finger. She's wiped and clean away all the blood.

"Okay don't clench your hand or the stitches will come apart. We don't want that to happen. Now I'm going to go sign you up for an x-ray to make sure nothing is broken and no more glass is still embedded in there."

I nod and finally look up to meet her gaze. She's beautiful. Her hair is flowing down her back and she has a minimal amount of makeup on. She's got a smile on her face that can brighten up a dark room. "Uh thanks," I hold out for her name and she responds with Dr. Steele.

"No problem Mr. Grey," she nods and I'm surprised that she knows me. I don't remember introducing myself. She must have sensed my confusion.

"I remembered you from the news this morning. And you're very popular on social media." Ah, right. "I'm guessing this isn't from your bar fight last night."

I shake my head. "My bathroom mirror was looking at me funny." I joke and she laughs. It's odd how it soothes me.

"Well I think the mirror got the upper hand." I nod and she continues to smile at me. "You're more handsome in real life."

My eyebrows shoot up at her comment and she must have realized that she has let that slip. She starts blushing and fuck me if it wasn't the cutest shit I've ever seen.

"I uh should go, get your x-ray set up." She stutters and walks out of the room. Shit, I should start hitting the mirror more often if it means I get to see her.