LITMIR.BIZ

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      “We’ve got somewhere to be,” he said, turning away without waiting for an answer. Had he drawn his own conclusions?

      As she followed him down several hallways, she pulled herself back into professional mode, sharp and on alert around Sloan’s prying eyes.

      Her first inkling that all was not as she suspected came when Sloan led her through a nondescript door that opened into a back corridor near the theater. After several minutes of walking, they came to a door marked Backstage with a doorman keeping a close eye on things. Sloan pulled something from his jacket pocket and the man waved him in.

      Going through that door was like entering another dimension. Whereas earlier Ziara had been dazzled by the lights, sounds and effortless flow of the production, now she was amazed that such beauty came from such chaos.

      Performers stood in groups chatting or rushing to and from who knows where. Stagehands attended to curtains, props and other mysterious tasks, sidestepping anyone or anything in their way. But it was nearly silent chaos, for the tone of the noise remained low and soft, ever aware of the audience and performance not too far away.

      Sloan led her deeper into the backstage area, through rooms containing waiting performers. Here the noise level rose, protected from the stage by distance. Finally they came to a long, narrow room lined with dressing tables. Sloan didn’t even blink at the number of women—very toned, well-built women—in various stages of undress, though several certainly noticed him.

      He made a beeline to the far end of the room with Ziara cautiously following, awkward under the eyes tracking their progress. Finally Sloan stopped, moving slightly to one side so that Ziara came up even with him. Before them stood one of the performers, a showgirl decked out in a wisp of spandex and sequins. Ziara’s gaze trailed down the outfit to catch sight of a man crouched behind the girl, one hand inside the bottom of her outfit and a needle and thread in the other. His spiky blond hair was just level with her rear end, as he leaned close to repair a seam.

      “Ziara,” Sloan said, “I’d like you to meet Patrick Vinalay, my roommate from college.”

      * * *

      Ziara’s heart stopped at the shock, then resumed beating again triple time.

      This would definitely not go over well. Vivian would throw a true hissy fit if Sloan hired this man to design her wedding dresses. Ziara managed a sickly smile as Sloan introduced her to Patrick’s assistant, who was standing nearby.

      “Welcome to the drudgery behind the glamour,” Patrick said, waving a hand around them at the glittering chaos.

      “It’s nice to meet you,” she murmured, at a loss for anything else to say. Fortunately he turned to Sloan, relieving her of the need for small talk. Her brain couldn’t form a coherent sentence; she was still shell-shocked by the bomb Sloan had dropped on her.

      What had he been thinking, to offer a man with this background first chance to modernize their line? Patrick was probably great at what he did, but that was the problem. What bride wanted to look like a Vegas showgirl on her wedding day? Eternity Designs was known for its elegance, subtle beauty...not tacky sequins.

      Patrick stood, dropping the needle and thread on a table behind him. “So what brings you to Vegas, Sloan? I guess if you brought your assistant, you aren’t here for a little wink-wink.” Patrick accompanied the words with the matching motion. Then his eyes widened. “Or are you?”

      The sound of distress—all Ziara could manage—had both men turning toward her. Patrick quickly backtracked. “I’m just kidding! A little off-color college humor between buddies. I’ll try to remember my audience in the future.”

      But the serious consideration she caught lurking in Sloan’s gaze sent heat rushing to her face. And the knowledge that some physical recreation hadn’t been far from her mind from the moment she’d laid eyes on Sloan Creighton.

      Moving closer, he cupped a hand on Patrick’s shoulder. “I’m actually here on business.”

      A knowing, exasperated look crossed Patrick’s face. “This wouldn’t be about the design position, would it?”

      “Of course. Why else would I take time out of my busy schedule to come to Sin City?”

      “Oh, how about the glamour? The excitement?”

      “Do I look like I have time for all that?” Sloan asked without a change of expression.

      Patrick prodded some more. “Sexy women and high-stakes gambling?”

      As a waiting showgirl called to Patrick, Sloan laughed. “I don’t need all that. I just need a designer.”

      Shaking his head, Patrick gestured toward the girl in front of him. “Look, I’ve got to get this done before she has to be onstage for the final number. We’ll talk after the curtain falls. Now get out of here,” he said with a stern look around the dressing room. “You’re distracting the girls.”

      Patrick’s assistant peeked around his boss’s shoulder. “And the boys,” he said, his tone flirty.

      Ziara tensed, unsure how Sloan would feel about this turn of events, but he simply threw a look at Patrick.

      “Don’t bother,” Patrick said. “He’s not interested, much to the disappointment of many of my friends throughout the years.”

      He favored Ziara with another cheeky wink, then crouched behind the woman once more. Ziara pulled Sloan by his arm into a darkened, abandoned corner. “Have you totally lost your mind?” she asked, her tone surprisingly calm and steady, though she was shaking on the inside. Her controlled voice and out-of-control words prompted a laugh from Sloan.

      Knowing by now that honesty was the best way to reach him, she continued, “Do you have a death wish? Because Vivian will certainly kill you if you try to bring a costume designer in to work on our wedding dress line.”

      Sloan’s eyes narrowed, his back stiffening in a way that made her swallow, hard. “Our? If I don’t step up now, before Bridal Boutique sees the fall designs, there won’t be a business left to save. This isn’t a game to me, Ziara.”

      He loomed closer, his broad shoulders inducing a feeling of claustrophobia in the dusty space, leaving her vulnerable to his size. “Since it isn’t Vivian’s reputation on the line, I don’t give a damn what she thinks.”

      “I understand your urgency, just not your secrecy. This wild idea is exactly why you need someone to provide balance,” Ziara said.

      “For the record, I’m keeping it quiet because I don’t want her shooting down a plan that has nothing to do with her. Understand?”

      Ziara drew in a deep breath, choking a little on the dry, dusty air. She knew exactly what Sloan meant. Vivian would do everything in her power to stop this, even if it lost them the Bridal Boutique account. Reputation was everything to her, as Ziara well knew.

      “I don’t agree with this choice.” Ziara waved a hand in Patrick’s general direction. “I understand why you are trying so hard to fix this problem. But why him?”

      “Because he knows what he’s doing,” Sloan said.

      “That’s right,” Patrick said from over Sloan’s right shoulder, making Ziara jump. “I do know what I’m doing. Besides a degree in fashion design, I know my way around a booty, as you can see.” He quirked a grin. “That should come in handy designing lingerie.”

      Ziara’s chest tightened, cutting off her breath for a moment. Sloan’s body remained close enough that she could feel the half laugh, half groan he choked back, but when she looked up, his face was still.

      Her heart knew this wasn’t a joke. Vivian had sensed all along that Sloan was holding something back, that he might try something crazy. She’d had good reason to be concerned, because this was big. A lingerie line, no matter how tastefully done, would shatter Eternity’s conservative reputation forever.

      “You’re

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