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?
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 unexpected sound of Vivian’s voice made Ziara jump. She almost never came to Sloan’s office, preferring to send Abigail when she needed something. What sin had Ziara committed to condemn her to Vivian’s presence at just this moment? The layer of distaste underlying Vivian’s tone compounded her own churning emotions.
“I suppose so,” Ziara said, too shaken to play defense. With a deep breath, she looked up at her former mentor.
Vivian watched her for a moment, her gaze then moving to the sparkling necklace. “You are a dedicated employee with the tact and control to excel as an executive assistant, Ziara. I’ve been extremely concerned by your behavior since you took this position.”
“I don’t understand,” Ziara said, her words more forceful than she would normally have used with her employer. She shook her head. “I thought you trusted my judgment? You are the one who put me here.”
Vivian nodded. “That’s because I thought you had the ability to fulfill the position where others had failed. Without becoming personally involved. Now I know I was wrong.”
“I thought you wanted me to insure Eternity’s success—that’s what I’m trying to do.”
“By worming your way into Sloan’s bed?”
The words stole Ziara’s breath, cutting through the cold, but Vivian wasn’t through with her.
“Oh, I know how this works. I was even accused of it myself. No one understood what my husband and I had, how we felt about each other.” She raked her eyes over Ziara’s trembling body, encased in a perfect pink suit, with harsh judgment. “But I never stooped to using my body to get what I wanted.”
If she could have doubled over in pain, Ziara would have. Instead, she felt locked in a swirling fog that mixed old accusations with new ones. Vivian turned toward the door but paused before leaving. “Ziara,” she said without turning around. “Rest assured, if Sloan doesn’t get rid of you when he’s done, then I will. There’s no place at Eternity Designs for smut like you.”
Her exit was as quiet as her arrival.
With an unnatural calm, Ziara put the lid back on the box. The memories called up by the piece of jewelry had more power to hurt her than even the threat of losing her position here. Under normal circumstances, she could have buried them quickly and gone about her day, but these weren’t normal circumstances.
Rising to her feet, she walked into Sloan’s office without her usual knock. He looked up in surprise from the papers he’d been perusing on the desktop. “Was that Vivian I heard out there?” he asked.
He glanced from her face to the box in her hand. “I saw that in Vegas. I hope you like it.”
Leaning forward, she placed the box squarely on his desk in a parody of the way she’d found it. He looked up in confusion, allowing her to meet his gaze straight on.
“Just so you know,” she said, her voice calm but hollow, “I don’t require payment for services rendered.”
Then she turned on her heel and stalked out.
* * *
As dusk deepened to full dark several hours later, Ziara heard Sloan’s Mercedes purr into her driveway. She’d been half expecting it, half dreading it. The stubbornness of his personality wouldn’t let him leave her alone after their earlier scene.
And she wasn’t anywhere near ready for him to be here.
Her eyes were probably still puffy from crying on the way home. She hadn’t cried in a long time, but twice in a month was unheard-of. The emotional release after everything that had happened proved inescapable.
The loss of control bothered her because it wasn’t her. She was the cool one, stable, clearheaded. But today she’d turned into a crying, hurting mess, desperate to close the door on a past that had reared its ugly head despite her attempts to get as far away as possible.
And it was All. His. Fault.
Not waiting for him to knock, she jerked the door open as he marched up the stone
