Simon, the Zealot, was feeling good. No. Scratch that. He was feeling fantastic. Looking down on the world from his corner office in the City always made him feel powerful. His reflection in the glass floor-to-ceiling window agreed with him, he did look amazing, and tonight, as a bit of a reward for being so brilliant at his job, he was going to head on over to Balthazar in Covent Garden and have a well-earned blow-out. Steak, fine wines, a couple of cocktails and then maybe he’d call one of the girls from the Escort Agency and have her rub his back for him.
Simon turned from his love interest and sat back down in his incredibly expensive antique German leather chair and swung both of his legs up, and landed the heels of his hand-made Monk Strap shoes on the table with a thud. The chrome
