Page 2 of Soul of Discretion

His tone grew serious as he moved away and observed Simon. “I can’t believe it’s come to this. Breakforce Canada should be one of the strongest companies you’ve got, making a mint. Instead, from what I’ve gleaned from the new reports, profits are down and there appears to be a rather large gap in shareholder funds.”

Simon stared at Peter. “Large gap? There’s almost three million dollars missing from the bottom line. How could Jack let it get that bad? Moreover, why am I only finding out about this now? That bastard’s been hiding this from me for months.”

Simon moved around his spacious bedroom, picking up his wallet and mobile phone. He tucked his tablet under his arm, then turned and asked, “That accounting firm managing the company over there—have you given them notice yet? The bastards deserve to see the arse end of my business the way they haven’t picked up on this sooner.”

Peter nodded. “I’ve sent their CFO the requisite letter.” His lips curled in a toothy snarl. “I told her it was with immediate effect, and if the firm tried pushing for the full three months’ severance period, I’d release the picture we have of their CEO with his ladyboy lover in Bangkok. I doubt they’ll give us any resistance.”

Simon nodded and grinned wryly. “Thanks. God knows what I’d do without you.” He smiled at the pale, red-haired thirty-year-old in front of him.

Peter cocked his head. “That’s what you pay me the big bucks for, m’lord.” He chuckled again, evading the slap Simon levied at him. “Oi. That’s employee abuse, guv’nor.”

Simon grinned at the faint nasal twang of the East London boy somewhere within the artfully dressed businessman in front of him. Peter had been with him for five years, and Simon was thankful for every minute.

“I was about to ring Coll. Do you know whether the overseas board delegation has arrived downstairs yet?” Simon’s temper flared at the thought of the two men despatched to meet him and explain the accounting deficit situation.

Jack didn’t even have the guts to come himself. Instead, I get his Chief Financial Officer and some other lackey.

Peter nodded. “I spoke to her a few minutes ago. She’s put the two of them in the Chestnut Room, has given them coffee and pastries while they wait for you.” He snickered. “She says they look bloody terrified.”

Simon felt a sense of grim satisfaction. “They should. They’ll both be going home without jobs after this and they may even feel the loss of their balls if I can get close enough to rip them off.”

Peter grimaced. “Ouch.” He cocked an eyebrow. “Well, I won’t be enjoying that visual with you. I have housekeeping duties to attend and a boot to kick up someone’s arsehole for not making sure they rotated the pantry goods.”

Simon stifled a grin. Coming from a hospitality background where Peter had been a top-class chef at a prestigious Sydney restaurant in his mid-twenties, Simon’s personal assistant had real OCD issues in keeping his cupboards stocked and in date.

Peter was also his general factotum in running the penthouse of an English earl, a title Simon had inherited at thirty-two when his father, the Earl of Stoneham, had passed away.

His mother, Sarah, Countess of Stoneham, had employed Peter to manage Simon’s affairs, citing a desperate need to keep her executive son in check. The laconic yet amusing and efficient East-ender, together with his wife, had become part of the Bridgeworths’ extended family.

“I’m guessing a trip to Toronto to confront Jack is on the cards soon?” Peter slid away to straighten what Simon thought was already straight—a vase of flowers to the exact centre of the burnished side table.

Simon held back a chuckle. “Absolutely. I’m planning on flying out as soon as Coll can get me a plane. She’s already working on it. I’m going to go over and surprise the bastard. Let him face me himself without having some cock-and-bull story pre-prepared to trundle out.”

Simon took one last glance in the mirror, satisfied with what he saw. “Right. I’m off to hear the duo of Parkin and Taylor make their limp fucking excuses, much like their dicks, no doubt.”

Peter sniggered. “At least it’ll make it easier to rip them off.”

Both men regarded each other in amusement then Simon wheeled around and strode to the door. “I’ll try keeping their blood off the new wallpaper. I’m not promising, mind you.”

He pressed the button for the lift that would take him two stories down to his boardroom. He enjoyed the perk of living where he worked in his own self-contained empire of four floors. Bridgeworth Towers, Breakforce’s head office set in Royal William Yard, might not have been the tallest building in Plymouth, but it sure as fuck was the classiest.

Simon reached the door to the conference room before his secretary Collette arrived, bearing a tray filled with delicate teacups, a sugar bowl, and a plate of Simon’s all-time favourite biscuits. He frowned down at the chocolaty goodness of the McVities Digestives.

“Coll, these guys don’t deserve those. Take them away. They can starve to death for all I care.”

Collette chuckled, her dark skin wrinkling into laugh lines. “Boss, don’t be so mean.” The melodic tones of her West Indian heritage were balm to Simon’s fierce soul. “Do you really expect me to take these away, knowing you probably haven’t eaten anything this morning? You know how you enjoy your biscuits.” She grinned. “Don’t let them have any if that’s how you feel.” Simon held the door open for her as she entered the room.

“I thought I was the boss here,” he muttered, and then his ire was redirected to the two pale, sweating men sat at his boardroom table. As they stood to greet him, notepads fell to the polished surface and their hands adjusted ties that were already twisted and creased.

Simon noted with satisfaction the bobbing Adam’s apples and the sheen of sweat on their faces.

“Mi’lord—” one of them stuttered, and then stepped back, eyes wide, as Simon slammed a large hand down upon the table.

“I do not use any of my titles in business matters,” he snapped. “You should know that by now. You may call me Mr Bridgeworth for the purposes of today’s fiasco.” He waved a hand. “Now please, be seated. We have a lot to go through.”

The men sat down, visibly shaken. Collette placed the tray on the table and made to pour their tea and Simon scowled.

“That’ll be all, Coll, thank you. I’m sure these two gentlemen can get their own damn tea. It’ll be all they’re good for after I’ve finished with them.” He strode over to the window, and stared out, shoulders tense.