“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.
Chapter Seventeen
Mickey
I slot my silver initial cuff links, an M and R, into place and secure them, then unhook my jacket from the hanger and slip it on. I picked out a tie earlier but fuck the tie. I leave the top two buttons of my shirt undone, showcasing my tanned skin, grab the leather logo stamped file folder and head out.
I worked out for an hour in the gym, pounding the fuck out of the punch bag, and when that wasn’t enough, I found a sparring partner. Shame I finished him within ten minutes. But he did manage to get a couple of good hits in, and I can still feel the jab of pain in my ribs every time I breathe.
I told Donald I’d meet him there. Despite my dad’s words earlier, I don’t think I can stomach spending any longer than necessary with the guy. And especially not if Franklin and Roni are here like my dad suspects.
“You look pissed, Mickey. Everything okay?” James asks as he navigates his way out of Mayfair toward Tower Bridge.
“Everything is just fucking dandy, James.”
He doesn’t bother engaging with me after that, and while I know I should apologise for my snarky attitude, I don’t have it in me right now. Because I am indeed pissed off with this whole situation.
When we pull up to the restaurant, conveniently opposite the very hotel tonight is about, my anger stokes higher. But I push it away, knowing I need to focus.
“I’ll call you when I’m done,” I tell James as I exit the car.
Honours is a new restaurant, opened about three months ago, and in that short time it has done well. Donald is standing outside as I approach the entrance.
“Mickey,” he greets.
“Shall we?” I say, gesturing for him to go ahead and enter. I considered calling him Don just to piss him off but change my mind when I think about Dad’s words this afternoon.
The decor inside is slick and elegant, and there is a low hum of conversation as the waitress leads us to our table and explains the rest of our guests are already here.
