Page 23 of London's Calling: Part 1
“Sounds like a you problem.”
“Very mature, Roni. You know I have to tell?—”
Spinning around so fast I almost lose my balance and point my finger at him. “Tell my father like a good little soldier, huh? Go ahead. And don’t call me Roni because we are not friends, Carl. Something you continue to prove.”
Carl doesn’t bother talking to me after that, but our journey home is strained with him constantly watching me through the rear-view mirror. I’d think it was creepy if I wasn’t too busy thinking about Mickey.
I’m meant to hate him—I do hate him! So why the fuck is my body alive and craving more of him, his touch, his kisses, his taste?
I need to shut that shit off and focus on doing what my father asked. I can’t afford to fuck this up.
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.”
