Читать книгу Scandal In The Boardroom - Yvonne Lindsay - Страница 20

Twelve

Ziara stayed in her room the next morning until the last possible minute. Hiding wasn’t the noblest of behaviors, but she simply couldn’t face Sloan after calling a halt to...whatever last night had been.

How would she ever explain why she’d led him on, then left him hanging like that? How could she ever look herself in the eyes again and not remember her actions? Behavior that brought memories of her mother flooding to the surface. No matter how much her mind insisted she wasn’t using Sloan, the fact that he was her boss couldn’t be ignored. She refused to participate in anything reminiscent of her mother’s life, built on sex, money and scheming for everything she could get.

Drawing in a deep breath, she smoothed her hair back into its usual bun. More aware than ever of the facade she presented in her business suit, she grabbed the handle of her rolling suitcase and opened the door. Sloan stood silent near the outer door, his own luggage not far away, remains of breakfast littering the table near the window.

Keeping her chin lifted and her eyes focused over his shoulder, she somehow crossed the room without stumbling or being sick. By the time she neared Sloan, his hand rested on the doorknob, but he made no move to leave. She could actually feel him looking at her, and her insides shivered. Part of her cowered in humiliation; the other part flared back to life with arousal.

For long moments Sloan didn’t move, keeping them locked in a silent battle. The tension ate away at her composure.

“I just have one question,” he finally said, his voice strained and husky. “Why?”

She spit out the words she’d rehearsed during the long, dragging hours of the night. “You’re my boss. It just isn’t right.”

She must have managed the right level of conviction, because he opened the door and led the way outside. Watching him stride away struck her as bittersweet.

The flight home, long and silent, was punctuated by agonizingly polite phrases like “Excuse me” and “Would you like a drink?” Her body pulled in on itself, making her wish she could shrink into oblivion. But she couldn’t. Not yet. Soon, though.

Unfortunately, Ziara was left with lots of time to think over what had occurred between them, as if she hadn’t replayed it a hundred times in the dark of night. His kiss had been seductive in more than the obvious sense. It had made her blossom with beauty, power and wantonness. Therein lay the rub. She wanted to revel in the passion Sloan evoked, whether they were sparring or kissing. But she couldn’t because it might lead to becoming the one thing she’d promised herself she never would.

As for work, she couldn’t fathom how she’d ever behave normally again. Why did it have to be this particular man who affected her like this? The one man who could tear down the respectable career she’d worked so long and hard for with just a few words.

Deciding to bite the bullet as they stood at the luggage carousel, she turned and said, “Would you like me to pick up some lunch on my way to work?”

“Go home,” he said.

Ziara’s body froze with her emotions. She couldn’t see for a moment. Everything went blurry. When her vision cleared, Sloan was propping her suitcase in front of her. Was he so fed up, so desperate to be rid of her, he would fire her despite Vivian’s insistence that they work together? Not that Vivian would oppose him once she found out what Ziara had done.

“Rest today,” he said, his voice a little softer this time. His gaze inventoried her face, probably noting the swelling under her eyes and the red rims she’d been unable to cover this morning. “The real work starts tomorrow.”

He turned and walked away without looking back, leaving confusion and an achy longing behind.

* * *

Desperately needing something to distract herself, Ziara tried to catch up on things she probably wouldn’t have a chance to do in the weeks to come unless Sloan changed his mind about firing her before tomorrow. Deep cleaning the house and weeding the flower beds were always good for keeping her hands busy. Too bad her mind didn’t want to cooperate.

But even if he didn’t fire her, she knew in her heart she’d have to move on as soon as the show was over. Even if Vivian graciously extended the offer to be her executive assistant to Ziara, just knowing Sloan was right around the corner and could appear at any minute would keep her on edge.

It looked like she’d end up losing, after all. Her heart tightened, grieving as much for the loss of her beloved position within this company as it did for the necessity of keeping Sloan at arm’s length. She hadn’t just worked for Eternity Designs, she’d believed in its values, its purpose, and had hoped security could be found within its ranks.

As she went inside to clean up, she couldn’t hold the tears back any longer. They mingled with the streaming water of the shower, invisible enough that she could dismiss her shame.

What was happening to her? All these emotions, so long buried deep inside, were erupting at every twist and turn. This was exactly why she didn’t want them—because she couldn’t control them. Or maybe she grieved because she did want them yet couldn’t express them.

Guess she could add confusion to the messy pile.

Tears spent, she dried off, shaking away the last vestiges of depression and guilt. She dressed casually in khaki capris and a fuchsia T-shirt, then brushed out her hair in front of the bathroom vanity. Everyone was allowed one colossal mistake in their lifetime, right? This was hers. At least her conscience was clear. Her mistake wouldn’t hurt anyone but herself.

Padding into the kitchen, she immersed herself in cooking dinner. Something as far from paella as she could get.

She threw together a quick southwestern chicken panini, which she coupled simply with apple and orange sections. Delicious as it was, she’d only managed to choke down half when the doorbell rang. Grateful for an excuse to give up on the pretense of eating, she straightened her T-shirt on the way to the door.

Shock sizzled through her when the door swung open to reveal Vivian. Without waiting for an invitation, her mentor glided inside. Ziara remained speechless for a moment. In the six years she’d been working for Eternity Designs, she’d never seen the Creightons outside the office. Now in the space of a week, both of them had shown up unannounced at her house.

After a thorough glance around the room, Vivian turned to face Ziara. “Is he here?”

Though Ziara understood, she still asked, “Who?”

“Sloan, of course.”

Ziara easily pulled her facade into place, almost amazed at how well she could handle the accusation. But then again, she didn’t have anything left to lose. “Sloan is not here, Vivian, and I resent the implication that he would be.”

Vivian studied her for a moment, brows raised as if surprised Ziara would stand up for herself. Then her chin dipped in a slow nod of acknowledgment. Luckily Ziara found she could meet Vivian’s eyes without a problem. A glimmer of compassion streaked through her as she noted Vivian’s disarray, in contrast to her usually immaculate appearance.

“Perhaps we could sit and talk,” Ziara said. She gestured Vivian into the sitting area facing the fireplace. The overstuffed chair and chaise weren’t necessarily elegant, but they were comfortable and their deep burgundy hue complemented the fire-glazed tiles covering the hearth. “Can I get you something to drink? Coffee? Sweet tea?”

Vivian shook her head, a trembling sigh escaping her coppery brown lips. “That’s what I so like about you, Ziara,” she said. “Always cool under pressure, knowing just the right thing to say.”

Ziara perched on the edge of the chaise opposite Vivian, wishing the same were true in her relationship with Sloan. Business. Business relationship with Sloan. They didn’t have anything outside of that...anymore.

“I know my accusation was rude. But considering Sloan’s history with assistants and this trip to Vegas...” She made a vague gesture with her hand, her diamond rings glittering in the soft evening light. “I assumed something I shouldn’t have, knowing you. You are far too smart a girl to get mixed up with a smooth talker like my stepson.”

Ziara prudently kept her mouth shut and her face impassive.

“Did Sloan procure a designer?”

Ziara now wished they’d go back to the sex issue. There were a lot less mines in that field.

Vivian grimaced. “Ziara, I’m going to find out eventually. I’d rather be informed now than surprised in front of my employees.”

Ziara was too emotionally exhausted to come up with a clever sidestep. “He’s hired Patrick Vinalay.”

Vivian stood immediately, the click of her heels rapping on the wood floor. “I should have known Patrick would be the one to take him up on the offer. But it will put a kink in my plans.”

Ziara frowned. “What do you mean?”

Vivian turned to face her, the pale cream of her skin contrasting with the bold colors of Ziara’s home. “I thought I could get around whatever he might do by influencing Robert to cause a few delays until I could find a backer to bail me out, but having someone else on the design floor will change that.”

With a jolt, Ziara realized how serious Vivian was about this. Her mentor, the woman who had taught her the meaning of professionalism, had actually considered sabotaging her own company. Delays in production could have bogged down the rest of the process, resulting in major issues at showtime. Maybe even cancellation.

Unaware of Ziara’s growing alarm, Vivian smiled and said, “I’ll just have to find another way to get what I want.”

* * *

Sloan paused for a moment after exiting the elevator, his pulse pounding as he stared at the door to his office suite down the hall. How ironic that after years of sidestepping persistently amorous employees, he now found himself on the other end, wondering how he could go back to acting like a normal boss. Especially when all he wanted was to lay Ziara across his desk and— He coughed to clear his throat. This wasn’t helping.

If only he hadn’t seen those red-rimmed eyes. Knowing how much he’d upset her, when she could usually be counted on as the calm one, put those boundaries firmly back into place. Determined not to cause any embarrassment, he marched forward.

“Good morning, Ziara,” he said as he swept by her desk. “Could you get me the location contract, please?”

“Sure,” she mumbled.

He took that for as good a sign as he was gonna get. They spent the morning focused on the push for the show, smoothing out location details and ordering fabrics Sloan already knew they needed.

Ziara left for lunch at 11:30 a.m. on the dot, but Sloan stayed behind, trying to breathe after a morning of straining to act normal and, honestly, trying to hide his erection. Once he had himself under control, he figured it might be a good idea if he headed down and gave the Old Brigade a heads-up. Patrick was due to be in sometime today, but he hadn’t texted Sloan to let him know when.

Exiting on the third floor, he heard raised voices. Oops. This visit was just a little too late. He eased onto the overlook. Remaining back in the shadows, he studied the scene below. Patrick had arrived and no one was happy about it. Seeing Ziara standing to one side of the fray, he made his way down the staircase and slipped up behind her.

Unable to resist, he leaned in close to her ear. “Did I miss the start of the war?”

In his chest, he felt the shivers that moved down her spine, urging him to press closer. How quickly his resolve was shaken by the temptation of almost touching that caramel skin.

His mind focused on the heat from the exposed curve of her neck and the vanilla scent drifting from the tamed confection of her hair.

“I ran into Patrick at the door,” she murmured. “And made the mistake of letting him in.”

Patrick was throwing out orders as if he owned the place, which didn’t surprise Sloan in the least. Patrick knew how to captivate a room, but true resistance didn’t bring out the best in him. No one appeared to be playing nicely.

“This is my studio and it will run the way I say,” Robert bellowed.

Patrick folded his arms over his chest. “Really? When I signed on it was with the express understanding that final say would be mine.”

Robert gasped, his hand clasping his heart, in contrast to Anthony, who stood silently in the background, watching the scene before him with somber eyes. “Say it isn’t so!”

Patrick chuckled, prompting Robert to launch into a litany of French while Anthony’s face turned red to the point of glowing. Sloan feared the way he bottled things up might cause a heart attack.

Taking control, Sloan let his voice boom out across the massive room, bringing everything to a halt. “That’s enough.”

Ziara jumped as he moved away from her, stepping forward from his position on the sidelines. “Patrick is here to modernize the line.”

“But we don’t need him,” Robert insisted.

Sloan went on as if he hadn’t spoken. “He will take the basic designs you put together and adjust or add to them as needed. I have given him final say in the overall designs for the fall line to speed things up.”

As Robert sputtered, Sloan pinned him with a look. “Do you want this studio to close?”

“No,” Robert said, resignation in the very lines of his face.

“Then I suggest you find a way to make this work.”

Not as diplomatic as he could have handled it, but effective. Sloan let his gaze sweep the whole group. “You two will put together the basic designs we’ve already approved, with Patrick adding what he believes is necessary. He’ll have his hands full between that and his additional line.”

“Additional line?” They all jumped as Vivian’s voice erupted from behind them. “And what would that be?”

She walked toward the men, bypassing Ziara with barely a glance. Sloan’s blood started to pound through his veins, that instinct to clash rising to the fore. But he checked himself, his curiosity starting to stir. How much had his little assistant given away already? He’d been with her most of the morning, but he couldn’t account for every phone call, every second in the office. Or out of it.

“Still causing trouble, I see, Patrick,” she said.

“Vivian.” Patrick grinned. “As lovely and cold as ever.”

She frowned but let the comment pass as her eyes swept over the men to rest on Sloan. “What do you mean, another line? We’ll have a hard enough time coming up with one.” She turned to examine Patrick from under raised brows. “Don’t tell me he’s going to do some kind of trashy, glitzy gowns. Surely taste hasn’t gone that far downhill.”

Why was she ignoring Ziara? He didn’t want to believe that Ziara would rat him out, but Vivian was her mentor. Was Vivian testing him? Did she already know what was coming? The thought nibbled at the back of his brain. Ziara stood at the rear of the group, her brows lowered, arms crossed tightly over her stomach. Noting every curve, every shift, he still couldn’t tell if she was transmitting nerves or guilt. He remembered her tortured expression as she’d asked him to stop—please don’t let it be guilt. Deep inside, he needed her to be innocent, needed someone to be on his side.

“Actually, Vivian, it won’t involve wedding dresses at all,” Sloan said, going on the offensive.

Vivian stiffened. Enjoying himself, he let a smirk slip onto his lips. Even though Ziara’s silent stare weighed heavy on him.

“Then what is it?” Vivian asked.

“He’ll be launching our new lingerie line.”

Sloan may have delivered the news with just a bit too much relish. The room became so still that from several feet away he heard Vivian’s ragged intake of breath.

“Absolutely not!”

The furious look she threw Ziara definitively answered his questions—the woman he’d held in his arms, who clung so tightly to her professionalism that she would turn away from the inferno they created together, had stood her ground. Or rather, his ground. She’d kept his secret, despite the risk of losing the career Vivian held in the palm of her hand.

Now—if he didn’t succeed, he wouldn’t just lose the company. Ziara would lose everything she’d worked so hard to achieve.