her trade and generally left alone until some wife made a fuss. That same officer had told him Ziara left town as soon as she’d earned her GED, after years of being tormented by schoolmates who were well aware of her mother’s profession.
But the information had only reinforced his decision to walk away. He didn’t know where Vera Divan had gotten her information, or why she had confronted him that day—at least, not for sure. Suspicions lurked at the back of his mind, but honestly, the problem with Ziara meant more to him now than the business. He would not make Ziara pay any more than she already had for her upbringing. His physical relationship with her had given Vera the ammunition she’d needed to interfere in her daughter’s life. What would stop her from doing it again? What if his suspicions were wrong?
Sloan sighed, running rough hands through his hair. It sucked when you realized you were in love with someone as you walked away from them.
Looking back, he could see that Ziara was ashamed, not just of her past, but of the things her mother did for money. So she’d run as far in the other direction as she could.
The buzz of the doorbell pulled Sloan’s thoughts away from the scenarios swirling through his brain. Striding the length of the house, he jerked the door open. “Yes?”
“Don’t have to be so short about it, Sloan.”
Frowning at Patrick, whose incessant phone calls had about driven him crazy, he turned away without a word.
“Love you, too, jackass,” his friend called out behind him. He didn’t let Sloan’s reticence stop him from coming in and making himself at home.
“What are you doing here?”
“Well, since you stopped answering my calls, what choice did I have?”
“You could have just stopped calling me. Or gone home. After all, you don’t have a job here anymore.”
“And let you throw away something you’ve worked damn hard for? Not a chance.” Patrick just kept on coming. “And I do have a job, thanks to a certain someone whose name you forbid me to say.”
“What happened?”
“If you wanted to know, you should have answered my phone calls.”
Sloan glared, torn between curiosity and the pain of hearing her name. Patrick simply stood there with a smirk on his face, humming a few bars of “That’s What Friends Are For.” Infuriated, Sloan stomped through the house to the kitchen, jerking open the fridge to snag a Mountain Dew.
“I told you,” Sloan said after returning and taking a long drink, “I have no interest in coming back. I’m certainly not wanted or needed there.”
“According to who?”
“Vivian, for a start.”
“Since when has her opinion ever counted for anything? In fact, it usually makes you do the opposite.”
“Not this time.”
“Why?” Patrick moved closer. “Sorry, bro, excuses are not gonna cut it.”
“I told you what happened. She wouldn’t even defend herself.”
“Did you give her a chance or did you just railroad her with that overbearing attitude you get sometimes? Did you even tell her what you told me? What her mother said? I doubt she even knew what she was defending herself against. I told you that you were wrong...and this time, I can prove it.”
“How?”
“Ziara went to bat for you—against Vivian.”
Something tingled in Sloan’s chest, but he ignored it. “What do you mean?”
“The lingerie line. Vivian wanted to cut it—and me—from the show. Ziara kept production moving until Vivian got wind of it, then she argued that it should stay. And so should I.”
“How?” Sloan asked again, his throat tightening too much to get anything else out.
“The same argument you used, plus pointing out that a few choice tidbits have already been leaked to the press. Hints of a completely new direction for Eternity that has the RSVPs pouring in like water in a spring flood.”
He was almost afraid of the answer. “Who alerted the press?”
“Not me. Not Robert or Anthony, who were surprisingly supportive of her arguments, by the way.”
“Yeah?”
Patrick nodded. “So I’m guessing that only leaves one choice. Unless you did it yourself?”
“No way.” Sloan’s hands lifted in a hands-off gesture. “I want nothing to do with this show. Nothing.”
Patrick leaned closer, his knowing look pinning Sloan where he stood. “You sure? You haven’t been looking at any designs, thinking about fabric or drape or weight?” He wiggled his eyebrows. “It’s very sexy when a woman comes to her man’s defense.”
“I’m not her man.”
“Deep down, you know Ziara had nothing to do with her mother’s blackmail threat. Time to admit you were wrong.”
Sloan turned to face the bay window, staring out over his wooded backyard. “What if I’m not?”
“Don’t you want to be?”
“Yes,” Sloan said. It was harder to admit than he’d thought it would be, but it was the truth. He wanted Ziara to be innocent; he wanted that shattered look on her face to be real—not some kind of act that she’d learned from her conniving mother.
“Then don’t worry about it. I, personally, am pinning my money on Vivian,” Patrick said, his voice deepening in disgust.
“But I have no proof.”
“And you’ll never get it brooding around your house. Get back in the game, you coward.”
Sloan would never have tolerated it from anyone else, but from Patrick, he knew those words were the honest truth. It was time to put his protective armor aside, face the fact that he loved Ziara and give her a chance to prove her innocence.
“Vivian will fire Ziara after this,” Sloan said. “She’s never tolerated me being a part of anything.”
Patrick nodded. “With or without you, I think that’s already her plan.”
* * *
When Ziara arrived at the fashion show venue, it was a scene of organized chaos. Watching for one last quiet moment, an achy sadness spread through her. After tonight, her job at Eternity Designs would be done and she’d be on her own again. The loneliness had started creeping in earlier this week, an extension of Sloan’s absence.
Spotting Patrick, she eagerly walked down the aisle, anxious not to be alone with her thoughts.
“It’s beautiful,” she breathed, staring at the simulated 1930s nightclub, elegant in its classic simplicity,
