by Dani Wade
Even though it was something she’d feared her entire adult life, she found herself saying, “They won’t all hold me responsible for your actions.”
“No, but they can hold you responsible for yours. After all, you did sleep with your boss, didn’t you, dearie?”
And wasn’t that the pickle she’d put herself in? Vera couldn’t prove anything, but Sloan would know the truth. She had slept with him. Could she make him understand it was for love…not for money? Feeling sick, imagining what this woman would say to Sloan, she sank against the brick wall. “What do you want?” she mumbled.
“A salary of my own. You’ll pay me every month to keep my mouth shut and stay at home. A nice home, not that nasty trailer I’m living in now.”
Anger returned with the strength of a lightning bolt. “Like hell I will.” She stalked closer, now the hunter rather than the hunted. “I’m not going to pay you a dime, Vera. I’ve paid enough for being your child. I’ll just go to the police—you know blackmail is a federal crime, don’t you?” Ziara wasn’t sure whether it was or not, but her mother wouldn’t know the difference.
Vera paled, backing toward the door. “You can’t do that.”
“Oh, I can and I will. Who do you think they’ll believe, Mother? Me or you?” Securing Vera’s arm with a firm grasp, Ziara led her off the porch and around to the driveway. A beat-up Chevy Cavalier rested at the curb, looking barely capable of going twenty miles, much less the eighty-five between Macon and Atlanta.
“Just remember this.” Ziara turned Vera to look at her. Staring into those brown, sad eyes, Ziara felt her heart softening but forced steel into her voice. “I will not be manipulated. Neither will Sloan. So get back in your car and drive south. I don’t want or need a mother anymore. I never did.”
She waited until Vera pulled away before returning to the house. Once inside with the door firmly locked, she rested her head against the solid wood. She wouldn’t cry—Vera had lost that hold on her a long time ago. She wouldn’t worry—surely her mother wouldn’t risk prosecution in order to get money from her. She wouldn’t relent—Vera had made her bed a long time ago.
It would just be nice if she didn’t have to stand her ground all alone.
Then a warm heat covered her back as Sloan brushed her hair aside to rain quick kisses across the base of her neck. “Good morning, gorgeous,” he whispered against her skin. Her entire body came alive under his touch. “Did I hear you talking?” Ziara’s heart started to pound, a dragging thud, thud that physically hurt in her chest. No matter how much bravery she could manage to Vera’s face, telling Sloan the truth wasn’t what she wanted. If he never knew her dirty, rank secrets, he would never look at her with pity or indifference or judgment. Even she wasn’t that brave.
“A neighbor,” she mumbled. “Just a neighbor who dropped by. Want some coffee?”
He growled, teeth scraping her skin this time. “I want something—but the coffee can wait until later.”
Seventeen
“I think I’ll head back to the office until you finish throwing your little temper tantrum.”
Sloan winced as Ziara’s words rang throughout the design floor, then turned to watch her dramatic exit, her body moving with the grace of a runway model and the irritation of a woman putting up with a difficult man. He’d snapped yet another order at her, one time too many, and apparently she’d had enough. He knew he took on bearish qualities the closer he got to a deadline. It hadn’t bothered him before now.
But it wasn’t simply the pressure that had him up in arms.
Ziara had been distant since their night here at the office. As he turned to Patrick to discuss the finer points of an orange flame pajama set, he remembered again the pure rightness of having her sleep in his arms before tearing himself away. A sense of inevitability colored every intimate moment they spent together. He couldn’t decide if he was sinking fast or had already drowned—which only upped his grizzly bear aura of the moment.
Hell, there wasn’t time to examine his life. He had a show to put on. Looking up, he found Patrick watching him. “What?” he demanded, not bothering to mitigate his irritable tone with his closest friend.
Patrick’s face cleared. “Showing her the designs, huh? I thought you weren’t big on anyone seeing them until they were done?”
Sloan shrugged, wishing Ziara hadn’t let that little tidbit slip. “She was working late with me.” He cringed at once again sounding like an uncaring ass, but he didn’t have to explain himself.
“Does Vivian know?” Patrick asked, though his tone said he already knew the answer.
“Hell, no. I don’t have to report my love life to her.”
“Not about you, maybe,” Patrick said, his tone unconvinced. “But she’d be interested in Ziara. You’re poaching on her territory, professionally speaking. And she could make Ziara’s life mighty uncomfortable after you leave.”
“She already has, though Ziara admitted nothing.”
“Please tell me you aren’t going to leave her to face the old dragon alone when all this is over?”
“Who says I’m going anywhere?” he asked, then walked away without waiting for an answer. He knew he’d woven a complicated web. And he knew staying away from Ziara wasn’t an option.
There would be plenty of time to fix all that after the show. Ziara’s job was important to her, but he could always find her another one if he needed to keep them together. But he worried, deep down, that the approaching show was the reason behind Ziara’s slowly rising wall. Was she afraid he would dump her after she was done being useful?
Deciding a quick exit was best for everyone involved, Sloan headed straight for the door instead of back upstairs to his office. He could get things done just as well from home and he wasn’t in the mood to deal with interruptions. A brisk walk to his car would help with the thoughts crowding his brain.
The voice calling his name didn’t register at first as the list of everything he needed to handle this afternoon ran through his mind. When he finally heard it, he turned back but didn’t see anyone he recognized on the lightly populated sidewalk. A woman detached herself from the background to approach, but she wasn’t familiar.
Her shaky smile revealed yellowed teeth from cigarette smoking if the bitter smell was any indication. Her clothes would have been indecent on a woman thirty years her junior, but on her… He kept his gaze trained on her face to spare them both any embarrassment.
“Are you the Sloan Creighton?”
Great. Media coverage could benefit a project, but it could also bring out the crazies. “Yes. How may I help you?”
The preening seemed instinctive for her, but it had Sloan shifting in his suede shoes. He glanced around—was he being pranked?
“My name is Vera, Vera Divan. I wanted to talk to you about my daughter.”
Daughter? Surely not— “You mean—”
“Ziara? That’s the one! She’s turned into a right pretty thang, hasn’t she?”
A part of him frowned in disbelief, though he made sure it didn’t spread to his face. Judging by how she measured up against him, she was probably a couple of inches shorter than Ziara and the distinctly exotic flair was definitely missing. Maybe Ziara’s father had been Indian, because it certainly hadn’t come from her mother, whose thin, mousy-brown hair lacked her daughter’s vibrant color. But a glance at her clothes revealed that they’d seen better days, sparking a moment of sympathy.
“Did you want to see Ziara, Mrs. Divan?”
“Oh, it’s Miss. I’m not married, never have been—and I’m definitely available.”
Sloan had been in many uncomfortable situations over the years, but this was one he doubted he’d forget.
“No, I didn’t come to see Ziara. I came to see you after I found this.” Reaching into a flashy, bright pink tote bag,
she pulled out a newspaper clipping. Yet another article about their interview, but not from a newspaper that he recognized. He examined the photo. The look on his face as he talked to Ziara had him choking. They stood in the background, but the camera had still captured what was obviously a very intimate exchange.
“I’m pretty sure you get why I’d want to have a little chat, right?”
That caught his attention real quick. Though he had a feeling he wasn’t dealing with a lady, he acted the part of the gentleman. With a sweep of his hand, he gestured for her to join him. “Would you care to walk with me? I’m heading to the parking garage.”
Her grin was way too happy for his taste. Sloan wasn’t fooled. Better to get down to business if this was headed where he thought. “What can I do for you, Miss Divan?” he asked, stumbling over the name.
One of her overly arched brows lifted even higher at his directness. “Well,” she hedged, “I was just surprised as all get-out to see that picture in our local paper.” She glanced sideways as they walked. “I’m from Macon, you know.”
He didn’t. Ziara rarely talked about her past, her family. The few tidbits he’d gleaned while in Vegas and since then hadn’t painted a pretty picture, so he didn’t push for more. He certainly couldn’t imagine this creature giving birth to Ziara’s exquisite perfection.
“But I know men,” she was saying, “and a man only looks at a woman that way when he wants one thing.”
Sloan jerked to a stop, swiveling to face her with tightly leashed aggression. “What the hell are you saying?”
“Not that I blame you,” she said, her tone sweetly placating. “Ziara grew up around that kind of stuff. I’m glad to see she learned how to take care of herself and get what she needs. Guess she was paying attention after all. Too bad she has trouble with the follow-through.”
Sloan’s stomach went into a nosedive, swirling on the roller coaster before he could get off the ride. Please, please let her not be saying what he thought she was saying. He took another thorough look—short skirt, top unbuttoned enough to reveal more than the edges of her bra and abnormally high heels. In that instant, something in his memory clicked, and he recalled the woman he’d seen walking down Ziara’s driveway last Sunday.
Ziara had said she’d been speaking with a neighbor. And he’d believed her. After all, he’d only seen the woman from the back—a quick glimpse out the bedroom window.
“Are you saying—”
One short, manicured finger scraped from one of his shirt buttons to the next, making his skin crawl. “That’s right, honey. I’m good. Ziara learned from the best, all right. And now she wants you to pay up.”
Anger started to build, low and deep. He’d spent the past five years since his father’s death determined to take back from Vivian what he thought she’d stolen from him—the only piece of his father he had left. But Ziara proved even more ruthless than him.
Her mother was a prostitute. Had she truly followed in her footsteps?
There was no mistaking the insinuation. The woman before him lived the lifestyle, whether she simply used men for their money or actually walked a street corner. Ziara went in the opposite direction, had buttoned down every part of her personality. That would be why she’d latched onto Vivian, the exact opposite of the woman who’d raised her. Dressing to fit the part so she could catch even bigger fish.
The enormity of what she had done hit Sloan in the gut like a physical blow. He just prayed he didn’t spew all over her mother’s imitation designer shoes.
“Why isn’t she here, asking for whatever the hell it is you want, herself?”
“Well, she’s still a little soft when it comes to closing the deal. Not quite enough experience. When she asked me for help, I knew I’d have to step in. You’ll do just as I ask.” She waved the picture under his narrowed gaze. “This picture tells me most of what I need to know. Not to mention the words from Ziara’s own mouth. That little trip to Las Vegas got things off to a right start, didn’t they? I wonder how your stepmother would respond to accusations of sexual, um, what’s that called?”
“Sexual harassment,” he mumbled.
Though he knew she was wrong, and had defended his actions in the comfort of his own mind, there wasn’t a whole lot he could say in his defense if charges were brought against him. And Ziara knew it.
“What, exactly, are you trying to exploit from me here?” he asked.
“Now, you don’t have to say it like that.” She glanced around the cool darkness inside the parking garage. “It’s more like, you scratch her back, then well, you scratch my back. You’ve already gotten your scratch, I’m sure.”
Her rough laughter had the bile rising in the back of his throat again. How could Ziara have viewed their time together as a business deal? As a bargaining chip? “Why not just come to me if she needed money?”
“Oh, money isn’t what we want. Yet.”
He waited, welcome numbness starting to creep through his limbs. For the first time in his life, he couldn’t summon his hardball negotiator side.
“This little show you’re working on? You’re gonna walk away before it’s done.”
If the first demand hadn’t shut him down, this one would have immobilized him. “Why would you want that?”
“Ziara knows it means a lot to you, but having Miss Vivian in charge means a whole lot more. Ziara owes her for all she’s done, and with Miss Vivian as a boss, she’ll have an executive assistant job locked down for years to come. Better deal than working for you until you get tired of her.”
With each word, his disbelief was chipped away into nothing. Only one person could have told her those personal details—Ziara herself. As much as he didn’t want to believe, it looked like he didn’t have much choice.
“What difference does it make to you?” he asked.
“Well, it means a lot to me.” She rubbed her fingers together in an age-old expression of greed. “With Ziara’s status, I’ll get myself a whole new makeover and access to an upscale client list.” Her yellow-toothed grin said she believed this delusion. There wasn’t enough plastic surgery and cosmetic dentistry in the world…. “Then we’ll both be living large.” She sidled a little closer, forcing him to back up flush with his car. “A woman my age could use a little retirement fund, so to speak. Of course, if I had someone like you in my life, I wouldn’t need one, would I?”
“And if I refuse?” There was always a catch.
“Well, you wouldn’t want Ziara’s secrets to get out, now would you? With your reputation, how many people wouldn’t believe claims of you takin’ advantage of the hired help? Those big-money contracts wouldn’t come your way nearly as often, if people around here didn’t want to be associated with you, huh?”
He wasn’t going to show how unnerved that made him. If Atlanta was suddenly filled with accusations of sexual harassment at his father’s company, no one would risk hiring him. Ziara and Eternity would look like the victims, thus keeping their reputations solidly intact while his crumbled.
One of her nails tapped the newspaper clipping. “So what do you say?”
He struggled to find a way out of this mess, but his brain remained stuck on the picture of Ziara, sleeping so innocently on the couch in his office. Disbelief still hung around because he did care, didn’t he? He’d fought it, hid from it, pretended it wasn’t there.
But it was.
Knowing she had him backed against a wall, he conceded. “Done.”
* * *
Ziara took a deep breath of cool air, savoring the softening fall weather, before pushing through the revolving door into the Eternity Designs building early on a Thursday morning. She felt much lighter after a good night’s sleep, although she’d missed Sloan’s warm body curved around her as she drifted off. Amazing how quickly she’d gotten used to that.
Now she was ready to face the Abominable Snowman again. A soft laugh escaped as she crossed to the elevator. Sloan’s attitude had finally pushed her over her limit, but when she’d smarted off in return, she’d felt a surge of adrenaline. Matching wits with him energized her, made her feel alive like she hadn’t in her entire life.
She smiled as she trekked down the hallway toward Sloan’s office, remembering a similar walk several months ago. Now, instead of dreading seeing him, she couldn’t wait. Instead of resenting her attraction to him, she reveled in it.
Turning a corner, she spied Patrick standing in the doorway to her office. He gestured for her to hurry.
“Ziara, get in here.”
Ziara rolled her eyes. Patrick tended toward the melodramatic, but she accelerated in anticipation of seeing Sloan. Even when he acted like a bear, he was a lovable bear.
At the thought, her body froze, her heart seeming to stop, then start again twice as fast. She could almost feel the shell encasing her heart give one last crack before bursting into a million tiny pieces. Left behind was a pure red, bigger, more feeling muscle that beat with the certain knowledge of her feelings for Sloan.
How did she even know what she felt? It wasn’t that she’d ever been in love before. Or loved anyone at all that she could remember. Maybe her mother at some point, but she retained few memories from her early childhood. She remembered very little before her tenth birthday. After that Ziara supposed she’d lost hope of it ever being returned, so whatever love she might have had died a painful death.
The only love she’d ever felt had been for her job.
Maybe that’s how she knew this was love—she’d never felt like this before, about anyone. She’d never felt so exposed, so vulnerable. So alive.
Patrick practically vibrated with irritation. “Come. On.”
Ziara jumped, then picked up speed as she moved toward him. “What?” she hissed.
