Page 32 of The Exposed Heiress

Lifting her chin, she said, “There’s a gigantic photograph of you at Tyler’s flat at the beach. You aren’t wearing a shirt. Beyond the tattoos, you have a sculpted chest and not an ounce of fat. Obviously, you must workout constantly.”

He hadn’t been to Tyler’s flat in a while. “I ride forty miles every morning. Mainly to offset stress, but also to allow my thoughts to settle.”

He tasted the lemon sole. The meal was delicious and served flawlessly, but he couldn’t wait to leave the confines of the restaurant. If he was being truthful, that was why he sought out the open bike trails and paths every morning. He needed to escape the responsibilities that pressed down on him.

Emma continued eating in silence.

He glanced at her. “Do you want to settle down and have a family?”

She shrugged. “Maybe.”

He watched her take a bite of asparagus. “That’s not much of an answer.”

She finished her bite of food and then said, “Francis Bolles takes every waking moment of every day. I wouldn’t have time to balance a child and the business.”

He leaned back in his chair. “Your cousins seem to manage the fashion world and having a family. Olivia has three children?”

She nodded. “Her husband is supportive.”

He held her gaze. “So marry someone supportive.”

Her expression turned serious. “It’s not that easy.”

He should let the conversation go, but found himself saying, “You just have to decide that you can have it.”

The waiter cleared their plates and presented a dessert menu.

He looked at Emma. “I’m not interested in dessert, but please order whatever you’d like.”

“I’d rather skip dessert.”

She had a faraway look and he signaled for the check.

They had an early morning. He had thought about rehearsing what they would say, but decided against it. It would be a tough meeting, but being straightforward about the challenges the business faced would be the way to go.

After handling the check, he stood and waited for her to collect her handbag. He nodded to an acquaintance and walked out of the restaurant with Emma.

There weren’t any paparazzi hanging about and they headed in the direction of the parking garage without speaking. She looked worn out. He slowed his steps to not rush her.

The last few days had been difficult for everyone involved with Francis Bolles. With the seriousness of the accident and the looming financial troubles, his focus had been solely on saving the business. He hadn’t been surprised when Peter Lake admitted to him earlier in the evening that he’d heard people were expecting it to collapse.

With James not yet able to weigh in on crucial decisions, it fell to him and Emma to take action. He glanced over at Emma walking next to him. She looked lost. She hadn’t been particularly concerned about her father’s reaction to selling the building or laying off employees. But then, James had been unable to deal with the coming issues when he was in good health.

He owed James. Helping the business restructure would repay that obligation and he could move on. But he’d need to keep his growing awareness of Emma in check. The more time he spent with her, the more he wanted to draw her close. He wasn’t that man. He didn’t want to become responsible for someone else.

Chapter 7

Emma got out of bed before sunrise and went for a long run in Hyde Park. Following her usual route, she considered what she should say to her employees. Her father had insisted on a culture of formality and unquestioning loyalty. Clenching her hands into tight fists, she stopped running and tried to make sense of her muddled thoughts.

She stepped off the stone path that zigzagged through the park, and stood in the grass, attempting to get her breath under control.

The unfairness of it hit her in the gut. Everyone at Francis Bolles sacrificed their own needs and worked long hours, but it hadn’t been enough. They were still failing. Now these same people who worked tirelessly with endless capacity for patience and loyalty would be let go.

A sob escaped from deep within her. Pressing her hand onto her mouth, she held back another moan. She wasn’t alone in her flat; she stood in the center of a public park. An ache formed in the back of her throat and then silent tears fell down her cheeks.

Stepping back onto the path, she wiped away the tears with the edge of her shirt and made herself take in a deep breath. She continued the run. She wouldn’t allow this dark moment to defeat her. She needed to tell the truth to everyone involved with Francis Bolles and then move forward and rebuild.

She arrived at work an hour later, wearing a fitted grey sheath that she designed five years before. Her father had scoffed at the design at the time, insisting the cap sleeves and pockets diminished the look. He hadn’t cared that she wanted a dress that a professional could wear to a meeting or a full day of work. She loved the refined stretch wool from one of Italy's oldest mills, and the design had sold well.

---