of her overly arched brows lifted even higher at his directness. “Well,” she hedged, “I was just surprised as all get-out to see that picture in our local paper.” She glanced sideways as they walked. “I’m from Macon, you know.”
He didn’t. Ziara rarely talked about her past, her family. The few tidbits he’d gleaned while in Vegas and since then hadn’t painted a pretty picture, so he didn’t push for more. He certainly couldn’t imagine this creature giving birth to Ziara’s exquisite perfection.
“But I know men,” she was saying, “and a man only looks at a woman that way when he wants one thing.”
Sloan jerked to a stop, swiveling to face her with tightly leashed aggression. “What the hell are you saying?”
“Not that I blame you,” she said, her tone sweetly placating. “Ziara grew up around that kind of stuff. I’m glad to see she learned how to take care of herself and get what she needs. Guess she was paying attention after all. Too bad she has trouble with the follow-through.”
Sloan’s stomach went into a nosedive, swirling on the roller coaster before he could get off the ride. Please, please let her not be saying what he thought she was saying. He took another thorough look—short skirt, top unbuttoned enough to reveal more than the edges of her bra and abnormally high heels. In that instant, something in his memory clicked, and he recalled the woman he’d seen walking down Ziara’s driveway last Sunday.
Ziara had said she’d been speaking with a neighbor. And he’d believed her. After all, he’d only seen the woman from the back—a quick glimpse out the bedroom window.
“Are you saying—”
One short, manicured finger scraped from one of his shirt buttons to the next, making his skin crawl. “That’s right, honey. I’m good. Ziara learned from the best, all right. And now she wants you to pay up.”
Anger started to build, low and deep. He’d spent the past five years since his father’s death determined to take back from Vivian what he thought she’d stolen from him—the only piece of his father he had left. But Ziara proved even more ruthless than him.
Her mother was a prostitute. Had she truly followed in her footsteps?
There was no mistaking the insinuation. The woman before him lived the lifestyle, whether she simply used men for their money or actually walked a street corner. Ziara went in the opposite direction, had buttoned down every part of her personality. That would be why she’d latched onto Vivian, the exact opposite of the woman who’d raised her. Dressing to fit the part so she could catch even bigger fish.
The enormity of what she had done hit Sloan in the gut like a physical blow. He just prayed he didn’t spew all over her mother’s imitation designer shoes.
“Why isn’t she here, asking for whatever the hell it is you want, herself?”
“Well, she’s still a little soft when it comes to closing the deal. Not quite enough experience. When she asked me for help, I knew I’d have to step in. You’ll do just as I ask.” She waved the picture under his narrowed gaze. “This picture tells me most of what I need to know. Not to mention the words from Ziara’s own mouth. That little trip to Las Vegas got things off to a right start, didn’t they? I wonder how your stepmother would respond to accusations of sexual, um, what’s that called?”
“Sexual harassment,” he mumbled.
Though he knew she was wrong, and had defended his actions in the comfort of his own mind, there wasn’t a whole lot he could say in his defense if charges were brought against him. And Ziara knew it.
“What, exactly, are you trying to exploit from me here?” he asked.
“Now, you don’t have to say it like that.” She glanced around the cool darkness inside the parking garage. “It’s more like, you scratch her back, then well, you scratch my back. You’ve already gotten your scratch, I’m sure.”
Her rough laughter had the bile rising in the back of his throat again. How could Ziara have viewed their time together as a business deal? As a bargaining chip? “Why not just come to me if she needed money?”
“Oh, money isn’t what we want. Yet.”
He waited, welcome numbness starting to creep through his limbs. For the first time in his life, he couldn’t summon his hardball negotiator side.
“This little show you’re working on? You’re gonna walk away before it’s done.”
If the first demand hadn’t shut him down, this one would have immobilized him. “Why would you want that?”
“Ziara knows it means a lot to you, but having Miss Vivian in charge means a whole lot more. Ziara owes her for all she’s done, and with Miss Vivian as a boss, she’ll have an executive assistant job locked down for years to come. Better deal than working for you until you get tired of her.”
With each word, his disbelief was chipped away into nothing. Only one person could have told her those personal details—Ziara herself. As much as he didn’t want to believe, it looked like he didn’t have much choice.
“What difference does it make to you?” he asked.
“Well, it means a lot to me.” She rubbed her fingers together in an age-old expression of greed. “With Ziara’s status, I’ll get myself a whole new makeover and access to an upscale client list.” Her yellow-toothed grin said she believed this delusion. There wasn’t enough plastic surgery and cosmetic dentistry in the world.... “Then we’ll both be living large.” She sidled a little closer, forcing him to back up flush with his car. “A woman my age could use a little retirement fund, so to speak. Of course, if I had someone like you in my life, I wouldn’t need one, would I?”
“And if I refuse?” There was always a catch.
“Well, you wouldn’t want Ziara’s secrets to get out, now would you? With your reputation, how many people wouldn’t believe claims of you takin’ advantage of the hired help? Those big-money contracts wouldn’t come your way nearly as often, if people around here didn’t want to be associated with you, huh?”
He wasn’t going to show how unnerved that made him. If Atlanta was suddenly filled with accusations of sexual harassment at his father’s company, no one would risk hiring him. Ziara and Eternity would look like the victims, thus keeping their reputations solidly intact while his crumbled.
One of her nails tapped the newspaper clipping. “So what do you say?”
He struggled to find a way out of this mess, but his brain remained stuck on the picture of Ziara, sleeping so innocently on the couch in his office. Disbelief still hung around because he did care, didn’t he? He’d fought it, hid from it, pretended it wasn’t there.
But it was.
Knowing she had him backed against a wall, he conceded. “Done.”
* * *
Ziara took a deep breath of cool air, savoring the softening fall weather, before pushing through the revolving door into the Eternity Designs building early on a Thursday morning. She felt much lighter after a good night’s sleep, although she’d missed Sloan’s warm body curved around her as she drifted off. Amazing
