Free Bold by Nicola Marsh Page B

lipstick, zipped up a sunflower yellow halter mini, slipped her feet into matching towering stilettos and twisted her hair into a high ponytail. Glancing in the mirror, she looked like an exotic go-go dancer from the fifties. But she’d achieved what she’d set out to do: look bright and cheerful when inside she felt limp and washed out.
    There were a few post-lunch stragglers in the bar as she entered and no sign of Zane. But there was a familiar face at a table near the door. A face most of America had come to associate with anything sporty.
    Christopher Harrison.
    The last thing she felt like doing was making small talk with Zane’s dad, especially after Zane had told her the old man had reneged on their first meeting, but if she didn’t introduce herself now, it would be mighty awkward when Zane did show.
    Damn, why didn’t Zane tell her they’d be meeting his father today? She would’ve spent another day in bed recuperating.
    Then again, she could be working alongside him if she secured the sponsorship deal, so she’d have to get her game face on and do what she did best: smile, charm and ensure her business made money.
    Christopher frowned as she neared his table, his steely blue-eyed gaze sweeping her from head to foot. With his shock of white hair and craggy face, he should’ve appeared old. But Christopher radiated a vitality that wrinkles and thinning hair couldn’t hide. Powerful men had an aura that couldn’t be emulated. She’d been around enough of them in her dancing days to know.
    “Hi, I’m Chantal Kramer, a friend of Zane’s.” She held out her hand. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Harrison.”
    For a horrifying second, Chantal thought Christopher would snub her. He stared at her hand like she’d handled dog shit before offering it to him. His brief clasp lasted a second, barely long enough to classify as a shake before he released her hand.
    “Zane mentioned you might be here,” he said, his deep voice filled with disdain. “What I want to know is why the hell are you? I’m meeting my son for the first time and he drags along some…” He shook his head, disgust contorting his face.
    Shocked to her core by his instantaneous dislike, Chantal took a few calming breaths. Wouldn’t bode well if she told the old man to shove it before they’d begun.
    “I’m here because my business is being considered for the sponsorship of the new Australian football competition in Nevada. And you’re supplying all the equipment, so Zane thought this might be a good opportunity for us to—”
    “No frigging way,” he spat out, eyeing her like she’d proposed she do a lap dance for him here and now. “I’m not doing business with you.”
    Shaken by his vehemence, and putting it down to a cantankerous old guy having a bad day, Chantal tried again. “I think it’s great that Australian football is expanding into the States and we could be at the forefront of—”
    “I said no!”
    Chantal jumped at his almost-yell, and oblivious to the bar patrons glancing his way, Christopher leaned forward and jabbed a finger almost in her face. “I’m not one of your clients you can dance for and expect a reward,” he hissed, eyes narrowed.
    Chantal recoiled, stunned by his vitriol.
    “Yeah, that’s right, missy. I researched you. Looked into your past. Discovered you used to take your clothes off and dance, before taking over that sleazy dive.” He glowered, his mouth twisting into an ugly sneer. “If you seriously think I’d allow Harrison Sporting Goods to be associated with anything remotely resembling your business , you’re more stupid than you look.”
    Speechless, Chantal absorbed the implications of Christopher’s tirade.
    He thought she was a trumped-up tart.
    He didn’t want his business associated with hers.
    He’d never approve of her.
    And just like that, she was transported back to her teen years in Craye Canyon, feeling cheap and judged, growing up in her hometown. Misunderstood. Wrongly