Читать книгу The Complete Boardroom Collection - Джанис Мейнард, Yvonne Lindsay - Страница 70

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. Watching 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?”

He grinned up at her before finishing the last few stitches. Then he stood. “I’m done, Jennifer. Thanks.” He turned to her as the model walked away. “You look stunning in that dress, Ziara.”

“Thank you. The designer did an incredible job.” She leaned over to brush a kiss on his cheek, only to jump when someone said, “What’s this?”

Hearing Sloan’s voice was a little surreal. Turning, she was at a loss for words as she faced those bright blue eyes.

Patrick spoke from behind her. “You sure know how to make an entrance, buddy.”

Sloan’s grin made her heart ache, but she couldn’t stop looking. The cool, calm facade she’d rebuilt over the past week cracked under his stare.

“Why...why are you here, Sloan?” she asked, clearing her throat in an attempt to get the words out.

“I’d like to know that myself.” Vivian’s voice drew their gazes as she stormed through the curtain. “I was told you had arrived, but I have no idea for what purpose.” Her eyes swept over their little group before resting back on her stepson. “I’m waiting, Sloan.”

Ziara felt herself take a step back, afraid of the coming storm. Fights between Sloan and Vivian were notoriously intense, and she really wasn’t up to enduring one at the moment.

“Then you’ll be waiting a long time, Vivian,” Sloan said. “I don’t answer to you. Nor do I need an invite to my own show.”

Vivian sputtered, “It’s not your show.”

“Oh, it is. Unless you’d like me to confiscate every dress, every item I had a hand in creating, carrying them to my car right through the front door. Your guests would love that, and we’d certainly make the society pages. And you’d still have a few left to show, I guess.” The charming grin that got Ziara every time made an appearance. “Just not the best ones.”

“You wouldn’t dare.” His charm was definitely lost on Vivian.

“Oh, I would. I assure you.” He rubbed those incredibly skilled hands together. “I’m back in.”