LITMIR.BIZ

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the pages before him, a kind of fascinated pride brightening his already light eyes.

      “But why keep it a secret?” She struggled to keep disappointment out of her voice.

      His mouth twisted. “You’ve seen how Vivian reacted to Patrick. Do you think she’d have signed any kind of agreement if she even remotely knew I would be in on the actual designs? Hell, my ideas for the show were shot to hell and back, but in the end she had no choice but to accept it.” His naked shoulders lifted in a shrug, drawing her attention away from his sardonic grin for a moment. “It was one less battle to fight.”

      Which made sense, but she couldn’t help wondering why he hadn’t told her. Didn’t he think she’d understand after everything they’d said to each other, done with each other?

      Maybe he didn’t trust her as much as she’d thought he did.

      * * *

      Returning to the scared-rabbit mentality of her childhood had never been one of Ziara’s life goals, but these days she found herself fearing the world around her like that lost, lonely child once more.

      She wasn’t entirely sure how to stop it. Throughout the next week, anxiety rolled over her whenever Sloan wasn’t with her. Even though it was a stupid, feminine insecurity, she realized she wasn’t as immune to the disease as she would have hoped.

      Which was why she was awake at seven o’clock on a Sunday morning instead of curled up in the arms of the only man to ever inspire her to snuggle. He’d slipped into her bed after a really late night at the office and slept the morning away. But here she was trudging to the kitchen for some coffee, rather than waking him up.

      When a knock sounded on her door, her heart jumped. Please don’t let that be Vivian. All she needed was to confirm Vivian’s already glaring accusations by having Sloan walk out from her bedroom in his favorite pajamas—his birthday suit.

      When she opened the door, she stood for a moment in puzzlement. The woman’s face wasn’t familiar to her, but one look at her clothes and Ziara almost had a heart attack.

      “Mom?” she croaked.

      Her mother cracked her gum in the same way she’d been doing all her life. “I told you not to call me that, remember?”

      I’ve done my best to forget. “Sorry. What can I do for you, Vera?”

      “Aren’t you going to let me in?” she asked.

      Ziara didn’t move, but shock kept her from shutting the door in her mother’s face. She’d never prepared for this scenario, never dreamed her mother would track her here to Atlanta—or even care enough to want to find out where she was. This situation was completely alien, but anger started to seep around the edges of her confusion.

      She wasn’t about to taint her home with even a hint of bad memories. Pushing forward, she met her mother on the porch and closed the door firmly behind her. “What are you doing here?”

      Vera knew Ziara better than to play the loving-mother card. “Well, I saw your picture in the newspaper, looking all fancy, prim and proper. Almost didn’t recognize you.”

      Probably because she hadn’t seen Ziara, truly seen her, since before she’d hit puberty. “That doesn’t explain what you’re doing here, at my house.”

      “Well, if you wanted to hide, you shouldn’t put Z. Divan in the phone book. I picked up on that right off.”

      As her mother prowled the porch, Ziara performed her own inspection. The years hadn’t been kind, by any means. Not surprising, since her mother had started binge drinking about a year before Ziara left for good. Her once-thick, shiny hair had been teased to lift its lifelessness. Wrinkles radiated from her mouth as if she’d taken up smoking, hard. But one thing remained the same: her clothes. The skintight animal prints hadn’t looked good ten years ago, much less now.

      “Right nice place you’ve got here, Ziara.” She paused to peek inside the window along the side of the door. “Right nice. I always knew you would land on your feet.”

      I certainly did, with no help from you.

      As Vera droned on about the house, Ziara found it easy to shut her out. There were no excuses, no changes her mother could make to establish a relationship between them—if that’s what she was looking for here. Seventeen years had been opportunity enough. Even if it made her a bad person, she wasn’t going to soften her heart for a woman who would put men and money ahead of her own child.

      A child who had been haunted by those choices for her entire lifetime.

      “Yep, you’ve done good. Better than I expected.”

      “I know.” Anger seeped into Ziara’s voice, making it hard and cold.

      Vera stopped in her tracks as if just now getting the message. Her eyes homed in on Ziara, almost closing from all the mascara gooped on her lashes. “Guess you did get some of my genes, after all.”

      “Excuse me?”

      Reaching into her cleavage, Vera pulled out a crumpled piece of newspaper to wave in front of her. With a quick snatch, Ziara was staring at the picture. In the foreground stood Vivian and Robert, discussing something with the reporter, but it was the background that caught her attention.

      She and Sloan faced each other across one of the fabric tables. She looked as circumspect as she always did at work, but it was his expression that gave away the true nature of their relationship. She could just imagine the wolfish comment that would accompany that look on his face. Someone would have to be searching to notice, but she was pretty sure Vivian would look closely if given the chance.

      Vera turned back toward the window. “That boss of yours looked like he could eat you up. Judging on his looks and money, I’d let him if I were you.”

      A shudder worked its way down Ziara’s spine, the picture of Sloan even now sleeping in her bed burning in her mind. Despite the differences in their incomes, Vera and Vivian probably viewed this situation in a very similar manner. But what she felt for Sloan couldn’t be reduced to a simple paycheck.

      “Why are you really here, Vera?”

      The other woman’s back stiffened. “Well, I figure I fed and clothed you for seventeen years. Now that you’re on your feet, payback would be the grateful thing to do. I’ve had a few setbacks lately, and I can’t work—”

      I just bet you can’t. “Actually, Mother, the state paid for my raising. I took the checks to the bank every month, remember? I bought the groceries with the food stamps I managed to salvage from your purse. I raised me. Not you.”

      Anger sparked in the other woman’s faded brown eyes. “I don’t think so, you ungrateful brat. I worked on my back every day, something you never appreciated. And now you’re going to make sure I never have to worry about money again.”

      Ziara crossed her arms over her chest. “This is ridiculous. Why would I give you money?”

      “Because you want your next job to last longer than this one.”

      She froze. “What is that supposed to mean?”

      “I could pay your boss a little visit. Put a little bee in his ear. After all, you certainly didn’t earn those skills on your own. And I can do the same to your next boss, and your next, and your next. I’ll follow you around like a bad penny until I get what I want.”

      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

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