“Isn’t it, doll?” Patrick said. “And the background changes colors.” He paused. “But I guess you already knew that.”
“Yes, I did,” she said with a sad smile as she remembered the day she and Sloan had picked it out, together. Tucking away the pain, she turned all business. “Time to get ready for opening night, huh?”
By early evening she was a weird combination of tired and wired, with a long night still ahead of them. She didn’t attend the preshow hors d’oeuvres, but she watched the crowd arrive for the event. Vivian was in her element, glimmering in a golden lace overlay gown as she smiled and conversed with members of Atlanta’s elite.
No, not just Atlanta’s, or even Georgia’s. Ziara recognized a few of the surrounding states’ political figures, not to mention the buyers for their usual venues and a few New York buyers, too.
Her heart fluttered, her stomach tightening like a fist. So much rode on this event for Eternity Designs and Sloan, even though he didn’t seem to care anymore. Surely all the hard work and turmoil would be worthwhile.
Surely her heartache wouldn’t be for nothing.
Ziara took her gown backstage to change. It was the same dress Patrick had sent her to wear for his party, topped with a sheer wrap in deference to the cooler fall nights.
Coming out of the dressing room, she had to walk through the space they’d set aside to prep the models. It was already filling up with half-naked women who had Ziara looking askance. A smile tugged at her mouth as she came across Patrick, kneeling behind a scantily clad model wearing a gorgeous burnt-orange negligee.” Isn’t this how we met?”
He grinned up at her before finishing the last few stitches. Then he stood. “I’m done, Jennifer. Thanks.” He turned to her as the model walked away. “You look stunning in that dress, Ziara.”
“Thank you. The designer did an incredible job.” She leaned over to brush a kiss on his cheek, only to jump when someone said, “What’s this?”
Hearing Sloan’s voice was a little surreal. Turning, she was at a loss for words as she faced those bright blue eyes.
Patrick spoke from behind her. “You sure know how to make an entrance, buddy.”
Sloan’s grin made her heart ache, but she couldn’t stop looking. The cool, calm facade she’d rebuilt over the past week cracked under his stare.
“Why...why are you here, Sloan?” she asked, clearing her throat in an attempt to get the words out.
“I’d like to know that myself.” Vivian’s voice drew their gazes as she stormed through the curtain. “I was told you had arrived, but I have no idea for what purpose.” Her eyes swept over their little group before resting back on her stepson. “I’m waiting, Sloan.”
Ziara felt herself take a step back, afraid of the coming storm. Fights between Sloan and Vivian were notoriously intense, and she really wasn’t up to enduring one at the moment.
“Then you’ll be waiting a long time, Vivian,” Sloan said. “I don’t answer to you. Nor do I need an invite to my own show.”
Vivian sputtered, “It’s not your show.”
“Oh, it is. Unless you’d like me to confiscate every dress, every item I had a hand in creating, carrying them to my car right through the front door. Your guests would love that, and we’d certainly make the society pages. And you’d still have a few left to show, I guess.” The charming grin that got Ziara every time made an appearance. “Just not the best ones.”
“You wouldn’t dare.” His charm was definitely lost on Vivian.
“Oh, I would. I assure you.” He rubbed those incredibly skilled hands together. “I’m back in.”
“Excuse me?” The high-pitched squeal in her voice would have mortified Vivian if she’d been more aware of it.
“You heard me,” Sloan said, enjoying Vivian’s distress. His eyes remained on her, but his senses were searching out Ziara’s reactions to his presence. Now, just like the first time, she distracted him. Everything that made him a man told him to end this argument so he could sweep her away to a back room somewhere. But it was too soon for that.
Too much unfinished business between them.
“Oh no, Sloan. You left of your own accord,” Vivian said.
“I prefer to think of it as a vacation.”
The frustration reddening her face wasn’t pretty. “That’s simply semantics. It won’t hold up in court.”
“Wanna bet? Besides, I’m pretty sure Patrick will testify that I’ve been in touch with him over the past few days about final details. In my opinion, that counts.” Thank goodness for Patrick’s pestering. “This is simply a courtesy notice. I’ll see you on the stage later.” With a wink at his friend and Ziara, he turned toward the stage exit.
“So you decided you believed the little slut after all? What did she do, beg you to take her back?”
Sloan halted in midstride. He heard Ziara’s gasp behind him, but forced himself to focus on Vivian alone. If she wanted to do this out in the open, let her hang herself with her own rope.
She kept right on talking. “I didn’t count on that idealistic streak of your father’s running through you as well, so the sexual harassment angle was definitely the way to go. I guess love didn’t mean much in the face of prosecution.”
Sloan pivoted slowly, his body tensing into standard negotiation mode. He’d thought the hardest part of regaining his father’s company would be bluffing his way back into the deal. He’d never imagined Vivian would admit to having met Vera Divan first.
Ziara stood directly in his line of vision, her eyes trained on Vivian. Her olive skin now held a pale undertone and her gaze was hazy, unfocused, as she absorbed a blow he should have protected her from.
Patrick stepped in this time. “How did you even get Vera Divan to approach Sloan?”
“People like that will do anything for money, unlike us.” Vivian kept speaking, digging the hole deeper and deeper. “She’s just the daughter of a whore, Sloan. Or are you finally ready to sink to their level? Your mother’s lower-class roots making themselves known.”
That was all he needed. Stalking across the floor, he leaned in, dwarfing her with his size and his anger. His voice, when he spoke, was cool and deadly, but Vivian didn’t seem to notice. “Actually I’m back here because my father’s idealism runs strong through my veins. I want his dream to grow and thrive, not become some kind of shrine to the marriage you wanted but could never have. You always knew you were second-best, which is why you turned my father against me.”
“You were simply a reminder of her, all free spirit and no responsibilities. The memories are what kept him from moving forward. He could have loved me just as much, given time.”
“But there just wasn’t
