by Dani Wade
He twisted, marching down on her like a bull, forcing her to retreat. “You don’t get to ask questions, got it?”
He turned to Vivian, facing her with a mixture of anger and despair like nothing Ziara had ever seen. “You got what you wanted, Vivian. Now get out. If I see you again, I might just change my mind.”
Vivian’s voice rumbled in the background, but Ziara couldn’t make out the actual words. It didn’t matter. Only Sloan mattered. The sound of the office door shutting with harsh finality shook her composure.
She was left in the room with someone she didn’t know, didn’t recognize underneath the stone cold facade. Oh, she should recognize him, remembering Sloan’s first confrontation with Vivian. But that harsh strength had never been used against her.
Never.
With the numbness slowly creeping over every part of her body, she remained frozen as he approached once more.
“I hope this is all worth it for you, Ziara.”
She shook her head. “What?”
“All the lies and deception. Why would you pretend to be something you’re not? Why would you present yourself as this—” his hand gestured down her body, encased in a conservative black suit “—professional, moral woman, when deep down, that’s not who you really are at all?”
Ziara felt her head start to spin. The words coming from his mouth had an eerie similarity to thoughts that had whirled through her brain for ten years. She’d told herself that she was a better person, a stronger person, than the trash heap she’d crawled out of— But sometimes it seemed she hadn’t shaken it at all.
How had he learned her secret?
Her voice a little shaky, she said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Sloan.”
Reaching out, he pulled a thick strand of hair from her loose updo, twisting it around his fingers like he had hundreds of times before today. Only this time, his touch had an edge to it, a slight pull on the roots that communicated his anger. “Really? Are you sure, Ziara? Didn’t you know this would get to me a lot quicker than dressing like a tramp?” he asked, stepping close enough for her to feel his breath across her forehead. Those icy blue eyes gave no mercy, showed no love. In light of her own recent revelation, his lack of emotion hurt all the more.
Why was he doing this?
“I met someone yesterday,” he murmured, the usually seductive tone now hard as a rock. “I met your mother, Ziara. Are you sure you have nothing to tell me?”
She almost choked, but forced out, “My mother?”
“Oh, I understand why you wouldn’t volunteer the information. After all, this is a rockin’ body you’ve got going on. Wouldn’t want me to get a clue too soon.”
He thought she’d used him for—what? Sex? Hadn’t all those late nights and intimate conversations, all the hard work she’d put into building her reputation and work ethic, meant anything? “It is not what you think.”
“Oh, she spelled it out pretty plain for me...unless you have a different explanation?”
“My mother is—” In that moment, under his hard stare, years of shame and fear kept her from saying the word prostitute. His obvious disgust told her he’d already come to his own conclusions. Knowing her mother, she’d given him every reason to believe Ziara had followed in her footsteps. And living in a small town had taught her that most people enjoyed believing the worst about others. She’d hoped he’d see her differently than other men.
But he hadn’t.
“Sloan, please understand—”
“Oh, I understand. I understand that you used me to get what you wanted.”
What?
“Or should I say what you and Vivian wanted? I guess I can live with the fact that no matter what happens, I’m the one who actually lifted this place back onto its feet.” He turned back to the drafting table, running a hand along its edge. “The only person whose recognition I’ve ever wanted is long gone. So why should I bother seeing this through? After all, I’ve gotten everything I wanted from you. And plenty of it.”
“Sloan,” she moaned. How could this be happening? How could her worst nightmares be coming true?
“Get. Out.”
Hardly able to breathe, she backed slowly toward the outer door.
Sloan turned slightly to glance at her over his shoulder. “And don’t worry. You won’t have to prostitute yourself to me ever again. I’m long gone.”
The words hurt, but what she saw in his eyes cemented the numbness spreading through her limbs.
She’d told herself all along, from the moment he’d seen her in the designer dress in Las Vegas, that she could do this as long as he looked at her a certain way—or any way except how men used to look at her mother. A mixture of lust, disgust and superiority. As long as that didn’t show up on Sloan’s face, she could put away all her insecurities and just be with him.
But now his eyes, those pale, electric blue eyes, were icy and cold, free of any emotion. His blank stare sliced through her, but she felt no pain.
She realized in that split second that as much as she wanted respectability and stability, had pushed herself to win Vivian’s regard and respect, she couldn’t care less about it in this moment. She didn’t care that she’d lost everything.
All she cared about was Sloan.
But he didn’t care about her. His willingness to walk away without a word, without listening to an explanation, told her everything she needed to know. That it had all been a lie.
Tears pushed into her eyes and she lowered her lids. She would not show vulnerability here, in this room that had seen the most sensual loving in her life. Now it was just a room. Cold and distant. She’d stay strong and protect herself, just as she’d been doing since she was a teenager.
The boxes once again caught her eye. Watching him pack up and leave, knowing he’d leave her behind without a twinge of regret, might just strip her of the stupor dulling everything—inside and out.
Ignoring him, she turned back to her own office. Luckily she hadn’t put her purse away. The straps remained tightly clasped in one of her hands.
She wandered down the hallway as if in a trance. Nearing the turn, she heard Patrick’s voice behind her. “Ziara, are you all right?”
She didn’t acknowledge him, didn’t even glance his way. For once she didn’t care if it was her job to make things as easy as possible for her boss. Instinct said run, so she did—stepping into the elevator that opened before her like the doors to a haven.
* * *
Two days later Ziara lay motionless on her couch, staring up at the ceiling. The lights remained off, but she knew she would look a mess if anyone saw her. She’d managed to enter her bedroom only once and that had been to change out of her work clothes. She’d avoided it—and the memories of hours spent in her colorful bed with Sloan—since then.
She hadn’t moved except to blink for two hours. Her mind whirled, reexamining the same questions over and over again. The one image that rose repeatedly was the look in Sloan’s eyes when he’d glanced over his shoulder at her.
The blankness, so reminiscent of her life now.
She hurt too deeply to cry, to even move. So she held still and prayed it would all go away. She’d always been a doer, the type of person to take charge in a crisis, capable of handling most anything from her teen years on.
Now she simply endured.
Unable to face the office, she’d called the next day and spoken with Abigail, whose gentle voice had almost been her undoing. But then Vivian had come on the line.
“Though I’m disappointed, I completely understand how you could find yourself in this situation, Ziara,” her mentor had said, her attitude far more subdued than in previous conversations. “Take a couple of days, but then we need you back in the office. The show is only seven days away and we can’t afford for you to
be absent longer than that. After the show, we’ll talk.”
Which probably meant: I need you to get me through this event, but then you are fired. Good or bad, she’d meet her obligations for the same reason she’d started working with Sloan—because she cared enough about Eternity Designs to see it succeed.
What she’d do after that, she didn’t know.
Eighteen
Sloan stared at the blueprints for his newest reconstruction of an historic office building, but his thoughts turned again and again to the sketch of an imperial-style nightgown he knew was hiding underneath.
He should have moved on by now, but he couldn’t. The show was tomorrow and he should be there, making sure everything ran smoothly, damn it.
His mind kept replaying Ziara’s stiff back and shattered expression before she’d walked out of his office. Had he made a huge mistake? Had he let his pride mislead him from the truth?
She’d felt something for him. If he’d doubted it before that moment, he hadn’t since. He didn’t blame her for not saying it, for holding back. Not after seeing what she’d endured as a child.
He couldn’t stop himself—he’d dug into Ziara’s past the minute he’d returned to his old office. She’d come from a less than reputable family. Her mother had gotten pregnant with her very young—at seventeen. The same age at which Ziara had left home.
The father seemed to have been in the picture enough to sign the birth certificate, but records indicated he’d left Macon not long after Ziara was born. His name hinted that he was the source of Ziara’s exotic beauty—an Indian who had moved back to India five years ago after failing to make much of himself here in the U.S.
Vera’s police record for prostitution started when Ziara was eight, with only a few arrests, but a quick conversation with an officer in Macon indicated she was well-known for her trade and generally left alone until some wife made a fuss. That same officer had told him Ziara left town as soon as she’d earned her GED, after years of being tormented by schoolmates who were well aware of her mother’s profession.
But the information had only reinforced his decision to walk away. He didn’t know where Vera Divan had gotten her information, or why she had confronted him that day—at least, not for sure. Suspicions lurked at the back of his mind, but honestly, the problem with Ziara meant more to him now than the business. He would not make Ziara pay any more than she already had for her upbringing. His physical relationship with her had given Vera the ammunition she’d needed to interfere in her daughter’s life. What would stop her from doing it again? What if his suspicions were wrong?
Sloan sighed, running rough hands through his hair. It sucked when you realized you were in love with someone as you walked away from them.
Looking back, he could see that Ziara was ashamed, not just of her past, but of the things her mother did for money. So she’d run as far in the other direction as she could.
The buzz of the doorbell pulled Sloan’s thoughts away from the scenarios swirling through his brain. Striding the length of the house, he jerked the door open. “Yes?”
“Don’t have to be so short about it, Sloan.”
Frowning at Patrick, whose incessant phone calls had about driven him crazy, he turned away without a word.
“Love you, too, jackass,” his friend called out behind him. He didn’t let Sloan’s reticence stop him from coming in and making himself at home.
“What are you doing here?”
“Well, since you stopped answering my calls, what choice did I have?”
“You could have just stopped calling me. Or gone home. After all, you don’t have a job here anymore.”
“And let you throw away something you’ve worked damn hard for? Not a chance.” Patrick just kept on coming. “And I do have a job, thanks to a certain someone whose name you forbid me to say.”
“What happened?”
“If you wanted to know, you should have answered my phone calls.”
Sloan glared, torn between curiosity and the pain of hearing her name. Patrick simply stood there with a smirk on his face, humming a few bars of “That’s What Friends Are For.” Infuriated, Sloan stomped through the house to the kitchen, jerking open the fridge to snag a Mountain Dew.
“I told you,” Sloan said after returning and taking a long drink, “I have no interest in coming back. I’m certainly not wanted or needed there.”
“According to who?”
“Vivian, for a start.”
“Since when has her opinion ever counted for anything? In fact, it usually makes you do the opposite.”
“Not this time.”
“Why?” Patrick moved closer. “Sorry, bro, excuses are not gonna cut it.”
“I told you what happened. She wouldn’t even defend herself.”
“Did you give her a chance or did you just railroad her with that overbearing attitude you get sometimes? Did you even tell her what you told me? What her mother said? I doubt she even knew what she was defending herself against. I told you that you were wrong...and this time, I can prove it.”
“How?”
“Ziara went to bat for you—against Vivian.”
Something tingled in Sloan’s chest, but he ignored it. “What do you mean?”
“The lingerie line. Vivian wanted to cut it—and me—from the show. Ziara kept production moving until Vivian got wind of it, then she argued that it should stay. And so should I.”
“How?” Sloan asked again, his throat tightening too much to get anything else out.
“The same argument you used, plus pointing out that a few choice tidbits have already been leaked to the press. Hints of a completely new direction for Eternity that has the RSVPs pouring in like water in a spring flood.”
He was almost afraid of the answer. “Who alerted the press?”
“Not me. Not Robert or Anthony, who were surprisingly supportive of her arguments, by the way.”
“Yeah?”
Patrick nodded. “So I’m guessing that only leaves one choice. Unless you did it yourself?”
“No way.” Sloan’s hands lifted in a hands-off gesture. “I want nothing to do with this show. Nothing.”
Patrick leaned closer, his knowing look pinning Sloan where he stood. “You sure? You haven’t been looking at any designs, thinking about fabric or drape or weight?” He wiggled his eyebrows. “It’s very sexy when a woman comes to her man’s defense.”
“I’m not her man.”
“Deep down, you know Ziara had nothing to do with her mother’s blackmail threat. Time to admit you were wrong.”
Sloan turned to face the bay window, staring out over his wooded backyard. “What if I’m not?”
“Don’t you want to be?”
“Yes,” Sloan said. It was harder to admit than he’d thought it would be, but it was the truth. He wanted Ziara to be innocent; he wanted that shattered look on her face to be real—not some kind of act that she’d learned from her conniving mother.
“Then don’t worry about it. I, personally, am pinning my money on Vivian,” Patrick said, his voice deepening in disgust.
“But I have no proof.”
“And you’ll never get it brooding around your house. Get back in the game, you coward.”
Sloan would never have tolerated it from anyone else, but from Patrick, he knew those words were the honest truth. It was time to put his protective armor aside, face the fact that he loved Ziara and give her a chance to prove her innocence.
“Vivian will fire Ziara after this,” Sloan said. “She’s never tolerated me being a part of anything.”
Patrick nodded. “With or without you, I think that’s already her plan.”
* * *
When Ziara arrived at the fashion show venue, it was a scene of organized chaos. Wa
tching for one last quiet moment, an achy sadness spread through her. After tonight, her job at Eternity Designs would be done and she’d be on her own again. The loneliness had started creeping in earlier this week, an extension of Sloan’s absence.
Spotting Patrick, she eagerly walked down the aisle, anxious not to be alone with her thoughts.
“It’s beautiful,” she breathed, staring at the simulated 1930s nightclub, elegant in its classic simplicity, sexy with silver and black details. The colors of the dresses and lingerie would look amazing against that backdrop. Peeking from a side wing, as if it had just dropped off guests at the show, was a 1930s silver Rolls-Royce classic car.
“Isn’t it, doll?” Patrick said. “And the background changes colors.” He paused. “But I guess you already knew that.”
“Yes, I did,” she said with a sad smile as she remembered the day she and Sloan had picked it out, together. Tucking away the pain, she turned all business. “Time to get ready for opening night, huh?”
By early evening she was a weird combination of tired and wired, with a long night still ahead of them. She didn’t attend the preshow hors d’oeuvres, but she watched the crowd arrive for the event. Vivian was in her element, glimmering in a golden lace overlay gown as she smiled and conversed with members of Atlanta’s elite.
No, not just Atlanta’s, or even Georgia’s. Ziara recognized a few of the surrounding states’ political figures, not to mention the buyers for their usual venues and a few New York buyers, too.
Her heart fluttered, her stomach tightening like a fist. So much rode on this event for Eternity Designs and Sloan, even though he didn’t seem to care anymore. Surely all the hard work and turmoil would be worthwhile.
Surely her heartache wouldn’t be for nothing.
Ziara took her gown backstage to change. It was the same dress Patrick had sent her to wear for his party, topped with a sheer wrap in deference to the cooler fall nights.
Coming out of the dressing room, she had to walk through the space they’d set aside to prep the models. It was already filling up with half-naked women who had Ziara looking askance. A smile tugged at her mouth as she came across Patrick, kneeling behind a scantily clad model wearing a gorgeous burnt-orange negligee.” Isn’t this how we met?”