course she recognized him. His face was seared into her mind a year ago when he attempted to chat her up at a gala for underprivileged youth. He was charming and daring. For some odd reason, she hadn’t wanted to reject him. He had been unexpectedly good natured and playful. But he had been raised by Oliver Bolles and undoubtedly had issues with integrity and the truth.
Bridget had had enough of fly-by-night dreamers who only cared about the next big scheme. Even now with her mother gone, she was supporting her father in a crappy little studio flat over a pub. She could barely afford her own living expenses in London while trying to save her father. She had Oliver Bolles to thank for the years and years of hardship and struggle.
She held out her hand. “Mr. Bolles, I’m Bridget North. I believe we met last year at a gala in London.”
He rose to his full height and firmly grasped her hand while saying, “Will, please. It seems we will be spending the next couple of days together in a discovery process.”
She removed her hand and grudgingly said, “Will.”
“Mr. Bolles is a tad formal for someone who shredded my offer of a meal a year ago.”
Her gaze shot up and she met blue eyes full of curiosity. “I’m not sure I remember it quite that way.”
“Your exact words were I’m not wrong about your father. He was a deceitful and horrible man. ” His gaze narrowed. “It is curious that you work for my sister Olivia Grey Bolles. Obviously your condemnation of the Bolles family doesn’t extend to her.”
She had expected him to pretend that the conversation never happened, not address it word for word. She had been too harsh. But her resentment lingered around the edges of her subconscious, no matter how hard she tried to forget the past. Her father was a destroyed man because of Oliver Bolles. And now by some twist of fate, she was pushed into working with his son. She couldn’t easily say no to Olivia, but she hoped that William Bolles would refuse to be bothered with a hat company. She doubted he was interested in fashion.
“Working for your sister in the fashion industry is far different than the financial services your father was involved in.”
***
He watched her explain herself and disdain fell over him like a cloak. She had sexy curves that would tempt any man, but her razor sharp tongue would cause any mere mortal to bleed.
He had too many skeletons in his closet. Most, if not all of them, were his beloved father’s misdeeds or lies, but he didn’t need to invite in a righteous marketing executive that had no idea of how difficult it was to carry the Bolles name. Taking on the family business and inheritance had made him a target for all those who hadn’t dared to challenge his father when he was alive but, now that he was gone, had no remorse when attempting to tarnish his reputation. Bridget North was no different.
William stepped back as she raked her gaze over him. She readjusted her overnight bag on her shoulder and waited for him to lead the way. He liked the look of her. She dressed in high fashion, but it was understated and polished instead of outrageous. Her face held a trace of cosmetics, but it was subtle. He couldn’t allow her physical attributes to sway him though. She would be too much trouble.
He met her gaze and lowered his voice. “Before we start off I must warn you that you can keep your opinions about my father to yourself. If you are not able to do so, I’ll send you home.”
She gasped in surprise. “I can’t imagine a discussion about Oliver Bolles will come up. But you should know that I always tell the truth. Even if it is difficult to hear.”
He ran a hand through his short hair. “The ability to tell the truth is an asset, but giving unsolicited and unfounded opinions about something you know nothing about is not.” He walked away from her and expected her to follow.
He led her to his metallic Porsche and stood back as she tried to fit her