Emmett Cullen Chugged a beer as the limo took him to his father's office. "This meeting better not take long, the Steelers and the Packers are playing tonight," he tossed the can into a waste bin. "I never miss a game."
The limo driver said nothing. Emmett was content with it, adjusting the bluetooth in the back of the expensive vehicle with mahogany finish and eighteen karat gold trims, he heard the two announcers on the radio giving rundowns of the upcoming game. "It's the first game of the season you know, and not just some bullshit exposition game but a real game that has weight on who makes it to the superbowl."
"I don't watch sports, I prefer ballet," said the Limo driver. "and we're here. Give your father my best."
"Whatever Mike," Emmett chuckled, smoothing out the suit wrapped around his muscular, lithe body. "Have a nice day and enjoy your fucking ballet."
===================
Carlisle Cullen's office was at the very top floor of AdiTech Towers. Carlisle had built a mighty corporate empire from virtually nothing. Riding up the executive elevator, Emmett smiled. It had been a long time since he'd seen the old man.
Exiting the platinum plated elevator, he was regaled by the sound of eating. Definitely his father hadn't changed.
Or he had slightly, his weight had changed.
"Good to see you again, pops," said Emmett casually, like he wasn't talking to one of the richest men in the world.
"Hello Son, I've missed you," Carlisle gulped down a mouthfull of cake. "I've just finished lunch, you look far too thin. I'll have the chef bring you something. What do you think, Chilean seabass? Or something deep fried?"
Striding up to his father's desk, Emmett took in the sight of his father. "So, you're eating well dad. I can't have anything. We just won the college cup at Harvard and I need to keep trim if I want to go pro."
Carlisle grunted. "Why play football when you can own the team? And to answer your question, yes I have been eating well. According to my tailor I'm now fatter than I am tall."
"So it's easier to jump over you than walk around you?" Emmett joked.
Carlisle laughed, his seven chins jigglng. "Come over and give your dad a hug. This may be one of the last times I ever stand up."
Grunting, Carlisle grabbed the overhead hanging bar and labouriously pulled his massive slab of a body up. His large belly, which pooled on the ground when he sat down lifted up and snapped his belt in half. Ignoring it, his impressive man udders wobbled, as they pushed open the button on his shirt. Everything looked fit to burst, as Carlisle was probably not just the fattest man on earth but probably the fattest to ever live . . . so far.
Emmett tried to give his father a hug, but found that his belly was so large he couldn't get his arms all the way around him. "so what're you weighing at, pops?"
Carlisle grunted and fell backwards, as if the act of standing for thirty seconds exhausted him. "According to the livestock scale, I'm at roughly nine hundred and forty seven pounds. My tailor says I gain one pant size every week and my doctor says I won't be able to walk by the end of the week. Which is why I wanted to talk to you."
Carlisle pressed a button on his desk and a tube connecting to a reservoir of chocolate syrup extended. sucking on the straw like a hamster with water, the Elder Cullen explained. "You know I grew up in a strict catholic family. I was expected to marry a woman and have eight babies and eat nothing but gruel. I never wanted that for you. I was pleasantly surprised when I found out you only like men, but i've never pushed you into anything. Which is why I want you to inherit my company."
Emmett sighed. "You know I wanted to go professoinal in football, dad."
Carlisle grunted. "Nonsense, you'll destroy your body that way. You'll live a healthier life at my size than you would as a professional athlete, guzzling steroids and taking brain damage. It's not just because you're my son. You graduated from the Harvard Business School Summa Cum Laude, you ran a successful gambling website while going to school and doing college football. You're ready.
Besides, I want to take the time to live my dream, to be the fattest man on earth. I dreamed all my life of becoming so fat I could never move. At the rate I'm going, I won't even be able to use my arms this time next year. I need you to think about this. Anyway, you can sleep on it. I've set you up with a nice apartment. Or you could join me for lunch."
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