from the tamed confection of her hair.
“I ran into Patrick at the door,” she murmured. “And made the mistake of letting him in.”
Patrick was throwing out orders as if he owned the place, which didn’t surprise Sloan in the least. Patrick knew how to captivate a room, but true resistance didn’t bring out the best in him. No one appeared to be playing nicely.
“This is my studio and it will run the way I say,” Robert bellowed.
Patrick folded his arms over his chest. “Really? When I signed on it was with the express understanding that final say would be mine.”
Robert gasped, his hand clasping his heart, in contrast to Anthony, who stood silently in the background, watching the scene before him with somber eyes. “Say it isn’t so!”
Patrick chuckled, prompting Robert to launch into a litany of French while Anthony’s face turned red to the point of glowing. Sloan feared the way he bottled things up might cause a heart attack.
Taking control, Sloan let his voice boom out across the massive room, bringing everything to a halt. “That’s enough.”
Ziara jumped as he moved away from her, stepping forward from his position on the sidelines. “Patrick is here to modernize the line.”
“But we don’t need him,” Robert insisted.
Sloan went on as if he hadn’t spoken. “He will take the basic designs you put together and adjust or add to them as needed. I have given him final say in the overall designs for the fall line to speed things up.”
As Robert sputtered, Sloan pinned him with a look. “Do you want this studio to close?”
“No,” Robert said, resignation in the very lines of his face.
“Then I suggest you find a way to make this work.”
Not as diplomatic as he could have handled it, but effective. Sloan let his gaze sweep the whole group. “You two will put together the basic designs we’ve already approved, with Patrick adding what he believes is necessary. He’ll have his hands full between that and his additional line.”
“Additional line?” They all jumped as Vivian’s voice erupted from behind them. “And what would that be?”
She walked toward the men, bypassing Ziara with barely a glance. Sloan’s blood started to pound through his veins, that instinct to clash rising to the fore. But he checked himself, his curiosity starting to stir. How much had his little assistant given away already? He’d been with her most of the morning, but he couldn’t account for every phone call, every second in the office. Or out of it.
“Still causing trouble, I see, Patrick,” she said.
“Vivian.” Patrick grinned. “As lovely and cold as ever.”
She frowned but let the comment pass as her eyes swept over the men to rest on Sloan. “What do you mean, another line? We’ll have a hard enough time coming up with one.” She turned to examine Patrick from under raised brows. “Don’t tell me he’s going to do some kind of trashy, glitzy gowns. Surely taste hasn’t gone that far downhill.”
Why was she ignoring Ziara? He didn’t want to believe that Ziara would rat him out, but Vivian was her mentor. Was Vivian testing him? Did she already know what was coming? The thought nibbled at the back of his brain. Ziara stood at the rear of the group, her brows lowered, arms crossed tightly over her stomach. Noting every curve, every shift, he still couldn’t tell if she was transmitting nerves or guilt. He remembered her tortured expression as she’d asked him to stop—please don’t let it be guilt. Deep inside, he needed her to be innocent, needed someone to be on his side.
“Actually, Vivian, it won’t involve wedding dresses at all,” Sloan said, going on the offensive.
Vivian stiffened. Enjoying himself, he let a smirk slip onto his lips. Even though Ziara’s silent stare weighed heavy on him.
“Then what is it?” Vivian asked.
“He’ll be launching our new lingerie line.”
Sloan may have delivered the news with just a bit too much relish. The room became so still that from several feet away he heard Vivian’s ragged intake of breath.
“Absolutely not!”
The furious look she threw Ziara definitively answered his questions—the woman he’d held in his arms, who clung so tightly to her professionalism that she would turn away from the inferno they created together, had stood her ground. Or rather, his ground. She’d kept his secret, despite the risk of losing the career Vivian held in the palm of her hand.
Now—if he didn’t succeed, he wouldn’t just lose the company. Ziara would lose everything she’d worked so hard to achieve.
Sloan and Patrick holed up in his office for most of the afternoon while Ziara practically collapsed at her desk. Work was beyond her for the first time in her life.
As if in slow motion, she relived Vivian turning until her accusing eyes met Ziara’s. She knew Vivian would forever hold her responsible for not telling her about the lingerie line the day before. Her stomach clenched as the ramifications of her actions hit her. When Vivian turned and left without a word, Ziara had said her final goodbyes to the position she’d worked so hard to attain.
Vivian would never give it to someone she couldn’t trust.
But would Sloan believe her now if Ziara came to him with the truth? She’d been trying all day to find the right time to tell him about Vivian’s threat, but each time she’d hesitated. They’d maintained a strictly professional attitude toward each other that she’d been afraid to upset. That balance was so fragile. What would happen if she brought up such a personal subject?
“Wish me luck, sweet cheeks,” Patrick said, sweeping by her toward the suite doors. “I’m off to face Mutt and Jeff.”
She frowned, her strained emotions too heavy to hide. “Their names are Robert and Anthony.”
He leaned against the doorframe. “It was just a joke.”
“I know. But Robert and Anthony are going to have a difficult time adjusting to this. They’ve devoted many years to this company. Joking might not be the way to go.”
A light grin tugged his lips. “I can take a hint. Just remember, I’m making the best of a situation they created.”
Hoping her expression told him she understood, she nodded and watched him slip out the door. Then she dropped her head into her hands as the roller coaster of emotions of the past few days—heck, the past few hours—got the better of her.
She’d lost so much—her direction, her focus—and for what? Where would she go from here? Once Sloan got through the fall show she’d have to leave. But how could she find a job that would mean as much to her as this one?
“Ziara.”
She heard Sloan’s husky voice at the same moment that his heated palm cupped the back of her neck. She sensed him kneeling beside her chair, but she couldn’t bring herself to raise her head, because she knew her face would be an open book at the moment.
“Ziara,” he tried again. “Are you okay?”
No, she wanted to cry. Instead, she wiped the emotion from her face as she would tears, then sat up straight. She nodded shortly. “Yes. I’m just tired.”
Skirting around her, he propped himself on the edge of her desk. She tried hard not to notice the sculpted muscles of his thigh, revealed by the pull of his slacks.
That husky drawl came again. “Do you need to go home?”
Like the snap of a twig, the pressure broke her prized