Page 28 of London's Calling: Part 1
“What the fuck happened? What the fuck happened is your pal Hart screwed us. Again! That’s what happened.” I watch my father pace my office, wondering… “When did you know that Franklin was using his fucking daughter as a bargaining chip?”
He halts, turning his head and levelling me with a look that tells me he knows exactly what I’m asking.
“You think I knew he was going to sell his daughter just to fuck me over? You think I fucking set you up to fail?” He scoffs. “How little you think of me if you believe that, Mickey.”
While I continue to seethe at being played, my father takes a seat opposite me.
“Tell me about last night. What happened?”
I close my eyes momentarily before pinning them on my father. “They were there when I arrived, Franklin and Roni with Clayton. Just like you thought. It was a done deal, Dad. Last night was just for show, and for Franklin to wave his victory in our faces.” I scrub a hand across my face. I’m ashamed to admit that in all this my thoughts are of Roni and how she fares in all this.
“Hmm,” Dad hums, resting back in his chair. “Okay, well, there is more than one way to skin a cat. I have some calls to make. In the meantime, get working on the Whitechapel property. I want it refurbed and up and running asap.” He rises from his chair, pausing a moment. “Be careful with her, Mickey. The apple never falls far from the tree, son.”
I shake my head as he leaves. I’ve never understood how he seems to know everything, but I intend to fucking learn and quick. Business isn’t truly about how much money you have or even about investing. No, this business runs on information. If you know jack shit, then you’re going nowhere fast.
An hour later, once I’ve calmed down, I call a meeting with Donald to go over the plans for the Whitechapel property. The old, dilapidated hotel is about to receive a glorious makeover and open its doors for the first time in twenty years. The politics and historical nature of Whitechapel make it incredibly difficult to get anything passed by the council. But my father has managed to convince the council this hotel will align with their future development plans. And of course, anything that plays on the history of Jack the Ripper is going to be a winner.
The afternoon passes in a migraine inducing mass of blueprints, designs and contract tenders. By the time I leave the office, I’m about ready to fall into my bed and sleep the night away. But that’s not going to happen because I still have a bone to pick with the Ice Queen since she didn’t show last night. That bone has grown from a single metatarsal to the spine running the length of her body. Let’s hope her backbone is as strong as her fucking father’s.
Back at my temporary home, I shower and eat, then I take my beer and head to her apartment to wait.
Again.
It’s two hours before I watch Carl’s car pull up outside. He exits the car and opens the rear door for her. She looks beautiful when she steps out despite being dressed down in a pair of tracksuit bottoms and a sweater. Her hair is loose, falling over her face as she dips her head to Carl before slowly, gingerly making her way to the front entrance. There’s something about her movements that hit my gut like a bullet from a gun.
Something is wrong.
There’s a slight limp to her walk, and each movement seems to cause her pain. I’m out of my seat before I can think better of it and waiting as the lift door opens.
Chapter Twenty
Roni
I slept like shit last night and having stayed at my father’s house all day, hiding out in my room, I needed to get out of the house and away from him. If I thought he was furious before Carl interrupted him last night, it was nothing compared to his mood after meeting with Marvin Kerr.
Another of my father’s associates, Marvin owns a small collection of sister hotels to my father’s. They went into business after Dad and Kurt parted ways. From what I overheard when I snuck downstairs to grab some water, Kurt managed to secure another property Marvin and Dad were hoping to add to their portfolio, some property in Whitechapel.
Carl wasn’t happy when I asked him to drive me here, telling me my father had expressly told him I was to remain in the house. But when he left, informing me he’d be away for the weekend, I told Carl my father would never know.
Of course, I know that’s bullshit. Carl isn’t the only loyal man my father has on his payroll. Every member of staff in that house has something to lose if they cross my father, so it’s a sure thing someone will tell him. Regardless, Carl drove me here, so I guess he does have a conscience after all.
I can’t decide what hurts more as I enter the lift to my apartment. My ankle protests with every step I take, and my backside smarts with each brush of the joggers I’m wearing. Then there’s my ribcage which screams with each breathe. My ribs aren’t broken, just bruised, but it doesn’t lessen the pain any.
I lean against the railing as the lift climbs to the third floor, my head hanging down as I prepare to walk once I arrive. The lift jolts as it stops on the third floor, and I close my eyes, taking a deep, painful breath as the door whooshes open.
I gently push up from the railing and step forward only to be hit with a familiar scent that has my body locking up.
Shit!
Ignoring the pain as my muscles tense, I raise my head and open my eyes. I’m ready for him—not really but… But when my eyes meet his, expecting to see the raging bull I know Mickey to be, I wasn’t expecting to see concern or worry. Oh, there’s anger there, but I get the sense it’s not aimed at me—not directly anyway.
“What the fuck happened? Who did this, Roni?” he demands, stepping into the lift and throwing an arm around my waist.
I cry out as his hand grips my side. “Argh! Fuck!”
He releases me immediately and begins tugging at my sweater, lifting it to just below my bra.
“Fucking hell, Roni,” he exclaims as he gets a look at the bruise marring my ribcage. “You better fucking tell me you fell down some stairs or some shit before I lose my fucking head and murder someone.”
