The Chosen Heir (The Bolles Dynasty Book 3) (13 page)

But he would not be played that easily. Bridget may be enticing, but he would resist her charm. Life was to be lived and he had no interest in settling down too early. He had every intention of continuing to seek out adventures and push himself to new levels. He was not about to invite someone into his life that would want to rein him in.

 
***

Bridget was wrung out emotionally and wanted to retreat to her flat. The Breen employees held so much worry and anxiety about the future of the company that the weight of it sat heavily on her shoulders.

“Let’s go to Temple Bar tonight.”

“Without reservations, I doubt we would get in.”

William pressed a button and with a voice command, dialed the restaurant. Within moments, it was arranged and he navigated heavy traffic through the city.

Temple Bar drew tourists and those with deep pockets. The neighborhood was charming with cobblestone streets, art galleries, and architectural splendor.

“Did you want to stop by your flat to change?”

“Do you mind?”

“I’ll make a few calls while you cleanse away the tension.”

“It was a stressful day. The fear and worry is palpable throughout the place.”

He double-parked so she could climb out. “If that doesn’t shift then I doubt Breen will survive the year.”

“Twenty minutes?” She was pushing her luck, but she wanted to shower and dress in something less work related.

“I’ll wait.” He was getting Alex on the phone when she closed the door.

Running up the flight of stairs to her flat, she tried to let go of the worry. She had the entire evening to ask him about his plans for Breen and to try and get information out of him. She wanted to help resurrect the company. More than fifty employees were depending on the outcome. Some had been with Breen for years and years and knew little else.
 

Bridget stepped into a hot shower and lathered with lavender soap. She could already see a path forward for Breen. With a reimagining of their marketing materials and presence, she should be able to help them gain market share. They were a known quantity with a superior product. The issue was the cost. It was a reality of doing business that most products could be made cheaper in faraway places.

Drying off, she brushed out her hair and only lightly blow dried it. William was waiting. She found a short black couture dress that she had picked up at a sample sale a year ago but had only worn once or twice. Finding patterned silk stockings, she quickly dressed and then put on four-inch heels. She had never been to Temple Bar and hoped that William didn’t think she was too dressed, but it was a welcome distraction.

She picked up her clutch, added her keys and then touched up her makeup before heading downstairs. It had been just over twenty minutes and she saw his metallic gray car across the street.

Waiting a moment for the traffic to stop, Bridget ignored two college-age men that called out to her. They were obviously harmless and on their way to a pub, but she didn’t want to offer any encouragement.

Climbing into the car a moment later, she had the impression that William was irritated. Was it waiting or his phone conversation?

He gripped the steering wheel tightly and jammed the gear lever accidently.
 

“Did I take too long?”

“No. I spoke with Alex.” His tone was unconvincing.

Why didn’t he want to tell her? “You are irritated for some reason.”

He met her gaze. “It’s the dress.”
 

“I don’t understand.”

Why would her dress bother him? It was appropriate for going out. It was fitted and had a satin band at the waist and a deep-V illusion neckline with a lace bodice and tulle inset.

 
“You wore it the night we met.” She thought back to the gala and tried to visualize herself speaking with him. She couldn’t remember the particular dress that she wore that evening. The night was so blurry in her mind that she barely remembered getting home afterward. She had had too much to drink and woke up the next day with a horrible hangover, but the practical part of her had hung up the dress and climbed into bed wearing an old shirt.

Could it mean that he’d thought about her after their exchange? “Should I change?”

He started the powerful car and pulled out into traffic. “No. It’s not important.”
 

It was odd that he remembered what she wore a year ago. Men didn’t usually. Her father never had a clue about her wardrobe or the importance of a particular dress. She remembered coming downstairs for breakfast in a nightgown and her father saying she looked nice.
 

“Have you forgiven me for being rude that night?”

“There is nothing to forgive. You were merely expressing your opinion.”

“I was worried about my father and for some reason put tons of meaning into a throwaway comment. In the end, my father was responsible for his decisions, not yours.”

“Why do you call him Tom and not papa or dad?”

“It started when I was a teenager. My mother worked all the time and I looked after him. Sometimes I would have to fetch him from the pub and I hated the way bystanders would look at me when they realized that he was my father. I started calling him Tom and he didn’t object.”

***

Bridget surprised him at each turn. When they first met, he had assumed she was a beautiful party girl without any real responsibilities. She had seemed confident and unreachable. He was beginning to figure out that it was a façade she cultivated to keep others out.
 

“That must have been hard for you.” He reminded himself that he needed her involvement in the business and not to make the mistake of getting involved with her personally. Unfortunately, she had a way of getting under his skin. He was fascinated by her. The way she walked into a room, or the things she decided to question or even the empathy she showed to others. But he needed to block out her beautiful body, her kind nature and her inquisitiveness.

 
“It wasn’t perfect, but I had parents who loved me. I’m grateful for that.”

“My parents split up often and the ups and downs were tough to manage.”

She gave him a heartfelt look. “Have you been able to connect with your brother?”

How could she ask him that? What if the stories were wrong? “I have a private investigator working on it, and so far it seems to be a truthful account. I’ve seen a picture of the teenager and he is the spitting image of my father and Olivia.”

“What is his name?”

He resisted telling her, then realized everyone would soon know. “Oliver William Mancini.”
 

She sounded perplexed. “His mother called him Oliver? I don’t know that I would have done that.”
 

“It’s loaded, but she must have thought he was going to acknowledge his son, but within months he died in the motorcycle accident.” He slowed the car and looked for parking on the street.
 

“Have you met his mother?”

He didn’t want to continue discussing the issue. It was going to be difficult to contain the press coverage around it and it had the potential to hurt his business. Once again his investors would be reminded that the Bolles name wasn’t associated with a strong moral compass or even loyalty. Why would the wealthy want to continue working with him? “I met her briefly. She works as a librarian about four hours from here.”

“Will she allow you to see Oliver?”

“Actual proof is needed. She had a paternity test conducted when Oliver was born and my father was refusing to acknowledge him. I’m trying to determine the authenticity of the testing. Apparently, she decided not to pursue legal action against the estate when he died tragically.”

“But you and your sisters have missed out on getting to know him.”

“She said when my father died tragically, she decided to raise the child on her own. But it has had a downside. He is not keen on meeting me or my sisters.”

He shouldn’t be telling her all of this. He doubted that she would disclose the information, but it was muddying the waters. He was allowing the relationship to veer into a more personal connection.

He parked on the street and turned the engine off. “Can you walk a few blocks?”

“On bricks or cement.” She met his gaze and he remembered walking with her through the park. He had never been drawn to high fashion, but she was slowly changing his mind. The exquisiteness of her sexy stockings and dress heated his blood and made him want to explore her body.

He leapt out of the car and walked around to guide her onto the sidewalk. In her heels, she reached his jawline. It would be so easy to pull her into his arms and lose himself in her embrace. Did she want the same or did she want to keep him at arm’s length?

Placing his hand on her lower back, he drew her slightly closer as they passed a group of people on the cobblestone.

“Have you been to Temple Bar before?”

He opened the door to the restaurant for her. “No. I’m excited to visit such an iconic place.”

They were guided to a secluded table and he noticed several patrons who watched her every move. She looked happy and ready to enjoy the evening. The problems at Breen today were pushed to the background. He resisted bringing up the failing company.

***

Bridget opened the elaborate menu the waiter handed to her. She tried to distance herself from the desire she was feeling. Nothing good would come from giving in to the attraction building between them. She had blocked out her first meeting with him. It had been so embarrassing, she wanted to crawl under the table thinking about it. He had brought out the worst in her. She’d wanted to challenge his beliefs about his family and elicit a response from him. But she had been unfair, using a throwaway comment his father had made to assign blame for the slow destruction of her family. It had been the milestone of her mother’s death that had triggered the response, but she found it difficult to forgive her emotional outburst.

“Are you thinking about a strategy for Breen?”

She looked up at him. “Not exactly. But I should be. It will take some new thinking, but it can be turned around.”

“Do you think Patrick Breen is too set in his ways to change?”

She contemplated her response. She didn’t want to rush to take action without fully understanding all of the elements. “We may need to take a longer term view and see how he responds to requests for change. He has been in survival mode for a number of years, trying to hold on until the economy improves.”

“As the leader, he needs to be able to predict the future.”

“That is a little unrealistic.”

His eyes narrowed on her and her body began to heat. “Running a company and keeping it profitable takes many strengths. Strengths he may not have.”

It was nearly impossible to concentrate with his gaze piercing into her soul. “Don’t expect too much at the start. Removing him would only worry the clients and employees further. If he can become part of the solution then the company will be better off.”

Their waiter appeared with the bottle of wine and went through the ritual of offering William a taste. The young man poured them each a glass of the expensive vintage and retreated quietly from the table.

William raised his glass to her. “To success, Bridget. May this project provide enough challenge to keep you interested but not so much that you give up.”

She took a sip of the delicious wine and thought about his words. She wouldn’t give up, even if it was tough.
 
“What happens if Breen can’t be turned around?”

William glanced over the menu. “I’ll sell the rights to manufacture the product to an overseas venture and recoup as much of my investment as I can.”

“How could you start this process with a plan for giving up? Don’t you care what happens to the employees?”

He looked almost bored. “Not particularly. The world is constantly changing and they need to be ready for that and not insulated from the risk. If Breen can’t turn a profit within the year, then it should be closed.”

She tried to keep her voice even and controlled. “So you are saying that you might fail?” How could he sit there and accept that Breen might fail?