LITMIR.BIZ

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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,

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