Warren Kenneth Worthington III || AU Bio
Officially employed with his fatherâs real estate holdings company, which owns half the property in Deerfield. When asked his answers vary from public relations, to image cultivation, to client satisfaction liaison. Whatever it is he does, his father pays him well for it
Unofficially, heâs a charming, charismatic, gloriously handsome and stupidly arrogant playboy, and Deerfield is his sandbox. executive slut
   Warren Kenneth Worthingtonâs parents doted on their only childâa boy with angelic blue eyes and golden hairâfrom the instant he was born. From his home on the 52nd floor of their New York City apartment, he wanted for nothing. Toys, clothes, video games: they were all his. He was a boy king, and one day he would rule this city.
   That is, if they would have stayed. Warrenâs mother, a dazzling but frail beauty, had faced health difficulties since before the birth of their child, but his birth had weakened her. Her already fragile lungs, combined with years spent in the smog and pollution of the  city, developed chronic obstructive pulmonary disease. To protect his wifeâs healthâWarren Kenneth the elder ticked through his real estate portfolio, and discovered a little town just an hour north of the famed UChicago medical center, which specialized in COPD. Outside the bustle and smog of yet another city, he hoped his beloved wife would recover.
   Five phone calls, seven hours, and an untold amount of money later, and Warren the elder had purchased a vacant estate in the town to suit his familyâs needsâof course, it will require many renovationsÂÂâ sent one of his associates on to Deerfield to physically turn in the paperwork for the Worthington Listings satellite office, which he had also purchased that morning. Young Warrenâs papers were submitted to the local schoolâhe refused to send his son anywhere that was not within 20 minutes of his mother. If the school was inadequate, Warren would just have to change that, or hire a tutorâand Mrs. Starla Worthington was scheduled to begin treatment at UChicago the next Monday. In two more days, the Family Worthington departed New York City in a private flight, and arrived in a sleek, valeted fleet of Town Cars to their new home in Deerfield, Illinois.
   Of course, Warren was furious. Livid. He stomped his feet, and told his mother and father he wouldnât go, he refused. But of course, he was only eight. And of course, he would go. His wishes ignored for the very first time in his life, the next few days of being packed up, flown out, and moved in went in a snitty little blur.
   Warrenâs progress through Deerfieldâs social circle and school system was painless. In fact, he was such a natural he may have been born there. Even if he was not already astronomically popular, his start at the high school would vault him into the stuff of Deerfield legend. By the end of Warrenâs freshman year, he was a double-letter athlete. His natural agility lent him well to lacrosse and basketball, and heâd continue to dabble in other athletics through his time in the school. When he graduated, he held multiple records, and many pictures, plaques and trophies with his name on it still adorn the halls of the Deerfield High School.
   He went off to college, in pursuit of a business degree (what else did he know how to do?) in the hopes of returning to his fatherâs New York offices. Finally returning to the city of his childhood, the boy king grown into a man. And his father might have let him, too.
   If his motherâs health hadnât taken a turn for the worst.
  The day before Warrenâs graduation, he received a call from his father: flurried, fearful words all coming out at once. Mother. Sick. Hospital. Get here now.
  Warren flew home the second his diploma was in his hand: burst out the back doors, into the car he knew was for him, and took off. When he saw his mother there, in the hospital bed: her soft creamy skin sagged against her bone- sheâd lost so much weight. Her golden blonde hair, limp and dull. Her face was almost gray. Lips colorless and dryâwhat he could see of them under the oxygen mask. But when he touched her hand, her brilliant blue eyesâhis eyesâbeamed in recognition, and her hand tightened against his.
  And he knewâ in a profound, to the bones, unselfish kind of wayâthat he had to stay.
