Page 16 of London’s Calling, Part 1 (London’s Calling)

Chapter Sixteen

Mickey

I’m sitting at my desk reading and rereading the damn bid for the Simmonds hotels when there’s a knock at my door.

“Come in,” I call out, closing the folder.

Don enters carrying a folder. “Mickey,” he greets and holds out the folder for me. “He signed. I’ve updated the figures since the last meeting.”

I take the file. “About time. What’s the time frame for us to gut the place and refurb?” I open the file and flip through the pages, pausing on the updated figures. I raise an eyebrow as I look up at him.

“Mr Rawlins wants it done in three months.” He pauses, shuffling his feet.

I smother a smirk at Don’s obvious discomfort. “Okay, thanks.” I look back at the file, then back at Don. “Something else?” I ask.

He straightens like he’s preparing to go to war.

“Actually, yes. I’d like for you stop calling me Don.

My name is Donald.” My eyes widen and that smirk becomes harder to hide, so I place a hand at my mouth as he continues.

“And I’d like to attend the meeting this evening with Mr Simmonds”—my smirk vanishes instantly, morphing into a look of confusion—“Mr Rawlins asked me to take a look at the figures, and I believe I can make them a better offer.”

“Is that so.” I hum as I rub a hand over my stubble covered chin.

Keeping my fury locked down, because I’ll aim that exactly where it should be directed—at my father—I say, “Very well, Donald. I assume my father gave you the details for the meeting this evening?” He nods. “Good, then I’ll see you there.”

Looking as pleased as a pig in shit, he marches from the office. Five minutes later, I’m marching to my father’s office.

“Mickey, you—” Ignoring Prudence as she calls out to me, I barge into Dad’s office.

“What the—Fuck!” I turnaround as a shocked squeal comes from behind me and wishing to god I’d listened to Prudence, who is standing behind her desk, hands cupping her mouth, as she tries not to laugh.

I slam the office door shut and shake off the image of my father screwing someone over his desk.

Prudence lowers her hands from her mouth. “I did try to warn you,” she says.

I close my eyes and shake my head again. “Please tell him I need to speak to him when he’s…” I let my words trail off and march back to my office.

Thirty minutes later, my father arrives, knocking on my door in a clear dig at my rude and abrupt interruption earlier.

“You wanted to see me?” he says casually, taking a seat across from me.

“Not that much of you,” I mutter and he laughs. “What’s with Donald? Why the fuck would you allow him in on my deal?”

“Ah,” he says, crossing his legs. “You’re aware that Clayton plans to reject your offer, correct?” I nod. “Because of a better one…from Franklin Hart.”

“You’re fucking kidding me? That son of a bitch!”

“Indeed,” my father agrees. “So, before you go in with a hostile takeover, which I know is what you were planning, I let Donald have a look over your figures.” He holds up a hand as I open my mouth.

“I know what you’re thinking, Mickey, but there was nothing wrong with your initial offer.

If I thought there was, I would have told you to look again. ”

“Okay, so why not just tell me to revise them? I know how to play the numbers, Dad. And Donald? Of all fucking people. That guy has a major hard-on for my job.”

My father laughs. “There might be some truth in that, but you’re my son.

I know your worth, and while Donald is good at his job, he’s not as good as you.

” He taps his forefinger on the arm of his chair as he thinks about his next words.

“Your role in this business is not dependent on this one acquisition, Mickey. But when I hand control over to you, you’re going to need someone like Donald.

The best way to ensure his loyalty is to get him on side early. He’s young, but he will learn.”

“Fair point. But at least give me permission to knock him out if he fucks this up for me.”

“No. We have much bigger arseholes who need reminding of the Rawlins name.”

“Hart?” I question.

“Exactly. Now, Franklin as an ace in his pocket. Something he can offer Clayton that we can’t, and I’m not talking about his bank balance.”

“You’re not serious?” I baulk, unsure if I’m pissed off or hurt at the idea of Roni married to that arsehole.

“’Fraid so. It’s possible that Franklin and Roni will be there tonight, another reason why I brought Donald in.”

“Fuck’s sake! It’s unethical to bring the opposing bidder to a meeting like this, Dad.”

He holds up his hand, halting my rant. “It is, but this is Hart, and you and I both know unethical isn’t in his vocabulary when it comes to business, or his daughter if the rumours are to be believed.”

I’m reminded of the exact same words coming from Roni about me.

I push out of my chair, needing to pace at the biting burn of Roni’s deceit.

And I can’t afford for my father to see anything other than anger at this revelation.

I’m not a fucking fool. I know men like Franklin Hart will use anything to land a big deal, but…

“Mickey, is there something you need to tell me?”

“What? No, fuck no!” I sit back down before he really gets suspicious of my reaction. “But Clayton Simmonds? The guy is a fucking spousal murder stat waiting to happen.”

My father is many things, a ruthless businessman, a shark, if you like, a womaniser and a murderer when needed, but he’s never laid a finger on a woman.

My father rises from his chair. “Just remember to play nice until nice doesn’t work.”

I nod, scared to say anything more for fear I’ll give myself away.

Although I’m not entirely sure what I’d be giving away.

I don’t, or I shouldn’t, care if Roni marries that cunt Clayton.

She’s a Hart. The reason my father lost his brother, although we’ve never been able to prove he was involved.

And he’s responsible for Dad having to start over again after losing most of his portfolio to Franklin when he shafted him.

He leaves me to my thoughts. Thoughts that resemble an angry scribble on the page of my mind. Something tells me tonight’s meeting is nothing more than a showboating exercise.

Having gone over Donald’s new proposal, I leave the office and head to the gym. I need to hit something, and fucking hard, before tonight. Beating Franklin or Clayton to a fucking bloody pulp is not conducive to securing Clayton’s signature.