LITMIR.BIZ

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could see his own weariness reflected back at him in Patrick. “Is it just me,” his friend asked, “or was that woman way too perky for anytime before lunch?”

      A giggle slipped from Ziara’s lips, but she quickly went silent under Vivian’s disapproving gaze.

      “Considering how quickly we’re trying to pull this together, we should be grateful for all the publicity we can get,” the stern matron said.

      Ziara backed slowly away, disquiet leaking through the cracks of her professional facade. Patrick simply raised a brow and turned away, letting the comment slide over him like water off a raincoat.

      “Ziara,” Sloan said, ready to get away from the old witch himself. “Let’s head back upstairs and get some work done before the whole day is gone.”

      They arrived at the elevators together, slipping in just as the door opened, not realizing Vivian had joined them until they turned back to face the closing door. Damn it. Would this day never end?

      “Since I realize a written report is a bit too much to expect from you, Sloan, why don’t you bring me up-to-date on where we stand at the moment?” she said.

      Not seeing the point of haggling, Sloan gave her a quick rundown of the current budget and status on the design work. By the time he finished, they were in the upper hallway and Ziara was eyeing the door leading toward their office—and away from Vivian—with desperate yearning. Sloan couldn’t blame her. Vivian’s shoulders tightened the longer Sloan spoke, even though he presented the facts in a clear, dry manner. Any minute now she was gonna blow her top.

      “And when are you planning to show me the designs for the...lingerie?” Vivian asked, making the word sound like trash to be picked up from the side of the road. Ah, here it came. “Or were you planning on surprising me, just as you did with Patrick?”

      “I didn’t realize you expected me to run every idea by you, especially since your approval isn’t necessary,” Sloan replied.

      Ziara pressed her lips together, her tension palpable. This did have all the makings of a pissing match and for once he’d rather be anywhere else. Like in Ziara’s cozy, colorful bedroom.

      “I simply think that running things by me would show a little decency, since I am still the majority owner of this establishment.”

      Sloan kept it short, but not sweet. “Decency isn’t part of our agreement.”

      “You mean not a part of your agreement—or hers, I’m learning.”

      “That’s enough, Vivian.”

      She chose to ignore Sloan’s warning, turning the full force of her ire on Ziara. “You were supposed to be keeping an eye out on him, keeping me informed.”

      “I did,” Ziara said with quiet dignity, though Sloan read unease in her carefully guarded expression.

      “About everything?”

      “Ziara is doing what she thinks is right for this company,” Sloan interrupted. “She loves Eternity Designs and wants to see it regain its rightful place in the market, just as I do.”

      Vivian shot another glare over Sloan’s shoulder, so palpable it probably burned Ziara’s skin. “What’s best for Eternity isn’t her decision to make. It’s mine.”

      “Typical of you, Vivian. Last I remember, your decisions ran this place into the ground.” Sloan’s voice was laced with so much venom he was surprised any of them were left standing. Years of resentment and loneliness surged inside him, anger over losing his father breaking through the surface. “Drop it. Ziara’s doing a damn good job bringing this show to life. She can’t do that and be at your beck and call all the time. Or don’t you remember how much work that really is?”

      If anything, Vivian’s gaze turned positively glacial. “What I remember is all the work I’ve put into keeping this company afloat. Your father’s dream has kept me going since his death.”

      “And you’ve shut me out,” Sloan fought back. He was in rare form today. “But that’s what you wanted, wasn’t it?”

      “I did what I thought was best, what your father would have wanted.”

      Sloan stalked closer, the carpeting muffling his steps. “If Father wanted me out, why would he have bothered leaving me forty percent?”

      “How would it have looked if he’d left his son with nothing?”

      “You know, Vivian,” he said, “I don’t think he cared about how things looked nearly as much as you do.”

      The truth hit really hard, and Vivian’s face flushed a mottled red. “I will not let you ruin me.”

      “If I wanted to, you couldn’t stop me.”

      Sloan turned and walked away, calling Ziara to follow him. But the memory of Vivian’s face remained with him for the rest of the afternoon.

      Outrage? Yes. Anger? Yes. But something else, something underneath that hinted at desperation. What would Vivian do if she felt that Sloan had backed her into a corner? If he succeeded, would Vivian rejoice in Eternity Designs’s success or ruin it for the chance to keep her position as its CEO?

      And did his lover have any idea what might be coming their way?

       Fifteen

      A few days later, Ziara stalked down the hall after a frustrating hour mediating between the two-ton egos on the design floor downstairs. As if her emotions weren’t shaky enough! She could barely restrain herself from yelling, Behave like the adults you are or I’ll send you to time-out like you deserve.

      But she’d managed to keep her prized cool. Just barely.

      Since their confrontation with Vivian, the cracks in her professional facade started by Sloan’s lovemaking had widened. Vivian’s rejection hurt, more than the taunts of her childhood, but she’d pushed through to do whatever she could to make this show a success. She owed Eternity Designs and Vivian that much, even if Vivian didn’t want it.

      Deep inside she’d convinced herself that Vivian would change her mind once Eternity Designs regained stable footing. She’d understand Ziara’s decisions, instead of condemning her—and somehow Ziara would be able to remain a part of this home away from home.

      Somehow.

      Finally reaching her desk, she sank into the seat and swiveled to face the desktop. Exhaustion lowered over her like a heavy mantle. The long days of tension and emotional turmoil—good and bad—were taking their toll. As she dropped her head into her hands, her elbow connected with something on her desk. Glancing down, she found a long, rectangular present wrapped in iridescent paper. Her mind remained blank for long moments, but slowly trickles of excitement filtered in.

      Gifts were few and far between in her life. The small Christmas presents exchanged in the office and with a couple of neighbors were the extent of her experience. She almost couldn’t believe someone had gotten her something special, something just for her.

      Lifting the box, she found a piece of Sloan’s personal stationary underneath: “Enjoy, Sloan.” With delicate care, she peeled back the paper, revealing a flat, black jeweler’s box with feminine gold lettering: Par Excellence, Las Vegas.

      Old fears made her drop the box like she’d discovered a big, hairy tarantula was living inside it. The simple package filled her with dread despite her commonsense knowledge that it was just a box, a small gift of appreciation. Giving herself a firm talking-to, she reached out to pick it up with a fairly steady hand.

      Her heart started freezing before she even had the lid open. By the time the teardrop diamond pendant, hung on a delicate gold chain, came into view, she’d gone completely numb.

      “Is that from your trip to Vegas?”

      The

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