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His by Design
Dani Wade


HIS BY DESIGNHe’ll do what he wants with her…Ziara Divan worked hard to earn her position at Atlanta’s most prestigious bridal fashion house. So when her new boss Sloan Creighton tries to seduce her, she’s not climbing the corporate ladder into his bed… even if he’s irresistible.Sloan will have his way – in business and in pleasure. But just as his plans fall into place Ziara’s past threatens to tear them apart…









Sloan surprised her by sliding his hands into her hair and covering her lips with his own.


Ziara’s eyes slid shut as an explosion of sensation overwhelmed her and reason and logic disappeared. He could do what he wanted with her.

Just don’t stop touching me.

Never one to do things by half measures, Sloan deepened the kiss, igniting a flash of longing through her body. Only after the last of her intelligence had leaked from her brain did he pull back a fraction. His hands remained anchored in her hair, his minty breath fanning across her face.

Forcing her heavy lids upward, she made her eyes meet his. “What was that for?” she asked, embarrassed by the husky whisper of her voice.

His hands tightened against her head for a moment, as if to draw her forward for another kiss, but instead he spoke. “For keeping my secrets.”


DANI WADE astonished her local librarians as a teenager when she carried home ten books every week—and actually read them all. Now she writes her own characters, who clamour for attention in the midst of the chaos that is her life. Residing in the southern United States, with a husband, two kids, two dogs and one grumpy cat, she stays busy until she can closet herself away with her characters once more.

This is Dani’s dazzling debut— we hope you love it as much as we do!

Did you know this is also available as an eBook? Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)




His by Design

Dani Wade















www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


Contents

Cover (#u6e1c55be-4aa8-519a-a64d-a36bdf483986)

Introduction (#u607f2864-4643-53ca-8342-fc0c32a2e64e)

About the Author (#u48150add-455e-5f2f-a4d6-14a7633d76dc)

Title Page (#ubc48e52c-9d3b-5ddc-8379-545149f6657e)

Chapter One (#ue892d9a3-8536-59cb-ad3b-ceb35a5115f8)

Chapter Two (#u4db53630-4ec6-5cc8-a2b6-250af582c925)

Chapter Three (#u47a5b3d7-5a55-535f-9f22-27324ae4e62e)

Chapter Four (#ud1ee3acf-3a91-5d22-bb79-586796063e6b)

Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Endpages (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


One (#ulink_c363fd9c-d849-5288-803c-7e7421a21bd7)

This was not how her morning was supposed to play out.

Ziara Divan rushed down the hallway of Eternity Designs, her brain pounding with the knowledge that she was late. Her cheeks burned as a result of her jog from the parking garage in workday pumps, and her suit skirt rode up the panty hose strangling her legs.

She threw her purse under her desk and grabbed her tablet from the drawer, turning it on as she continued down the hall with more speed than decorum. Rounding the corner into Vivian Creighton’s outer office, Ziara ground to a halt. Vivian’s assistant’s desk was empty.

Breathe, Ziara. Pull yourself together.

She straightened her clothes in an attempt to regain her prized professional facade. But the agitated urgency to move, to get into the office quickly, still pounded in her chest. She wasn’t perfect, but she made sure she came pretty dang close as an executive assistant in training, no matter how many minutes she spent stuck on a backed-up Georgia interstate.

As she struggled to regulate her breathing, Ziara heard voices from beyond the door to the inner sanctum. At first, she couldn’t grasp the idea that someone was yelling, because this was Vivian’s office. Vivian didn’t yell. It went totally against the traditional Southern rules of behavior for all ladies. But Vivian’s voice was definitely raised. Ziara inched closer.

The other voice was male, deep. Oh no.

“...will not let you ruin my father’s company...”

Sloan Creighton. Vivian’s stepson. He came into the office rarely, but when he did he brought a tornadic level of energy and caused an unwanted tingle of awareness at the base of Ziara’s spine. Though she studiously avoided him on his rare visits, he always seemed to find her. And flirt with her. And just generally turn her sense of professionalism upside down. The best reason to avoid him.

Vivian’s own voice was muffled, but parts of Sloan’s words came through the solid wood.

“...our biggest buyer rejected all the designs...”

Ziara’s heart sank, threatening to drop out of her chest. Her knees went weak enough to force her to grab the frame of the door.

Ziara had suspected that last week’s meeting with their largest retail account hadn’t gone as planned, but the few who had attended were keeping quiet. Losing that buyer could mean ruin for Eternity Designs, something Ziara didn’t want to see happen. She loved her job; this place, these people had also provided the stability and acceptance that had been lacking her entire life.

“...you have no choice...”

And neither did Ziara. She had to go through that door. Vivian had said to be in her office at eight sharp; it was now 8:17 a.m. But the thought of Sloan and the way his cool, effortless good looks and flirty attitude affected her body and her psyche made her want to return to the crowded freeway.

But backing down wasn’t an option. With a deep breath to fortify herself, she headed through the doorway.

Sloan stood tall over Vivian, his voice ringing clear in the room. “I will have more voice in Eternity Designs, starting now. I’ll need the next three months. If my fall line is a hit with our buyers, you will sign over enough of your shares for me to own fifty-five percent...and relinquish complete creative control. To. Me.”

Ziara paused just inside the door, her mind absorbing those incredible words, while Sloan and Vivian glared at each other across Vivian’s desk. For a moment Ziara’s panic overrode everything, even the tempting sight of Sloan’s strong shoulders and firm backside.

As the tension crept higher and higher, Ziara finally broke. Into the silence, she said, “Would you like me to come back, Vivian?”

Like pushing Play on a paused DVD, Vivian and Sloan both turned and looked in her direction. She met Vivian’s eyes first, checking in with her boss and mentor. The narrowed glare and tight mouth signified a frustration that radiated like a cracked web through Vivian’s normal composure. As if she realized how she must look, Vivian straightened, smoothing her elegant close-cropped curls into place. “Good morning, Ziara. Please sit.”

“Now, Sloan,” she said, turning her attention back to him. “Explain to me why I would ever agree to such ridiculous demands.”

Sloan was too happy to comply. “Let me guess, commissions are down, creditors are closing accounts and you don’t have a clue how to get yourself out of this situation.” He straightened with confidence. “But I do.”

“I’m sure I can find someone else to do the same.”

“In enough time to make a difference? I don’t think so.”

She conceded to her stepson’s ultimatum by leaning back in her chair, her composure shaken enough that she fiddled with the wedding band still gracing her left hand.

At least she didn’t seem to notice—or care—that Ziara was late. Sloan, on the other hand, started cataloging everything about her. His gaze traveled down the length of her body to her toes, then back up with leisurely enjoyment.

Dragging her own composure around her like a cloak that granted her invisibility, Ziara walked with measured steps across the carpeting to a chair beside Vivian’s desk. A glance from under her lashes caught Sloan’s interested stare zeroing in on the V of her suit jacket, where the modest edge of a lacy camisole peaked into view. With a great struggle, she forced herself not to adjust, to hold still while his eyes wandered back up to her vulnerable neck. The knowing smirk on his contoured lips sparked arousal beneath her irritation, confusing her further.

Damn man. She could see why Vivian found him so infuriating—professional behavior seemed to be a foreign concept to him. She’d seen the spark of interest before, though never quite this blatantly. Of course, his simple presence had always created an uncomfortable heat in her core that prompted her to keep any previous meetings as short and far apart as possible.

If she’d simply passed him on the street, Ziara would never have suspected him of the professional dedication he was displaying now. His collar-length, sun-streaked hair and the slight crook of his previously broken nose said “surfer boy” more than it did “hard-hitting negotiator.” But the perfectly tailored dress shirt and pants, paired with his take-no-prisoners attitude, demonstrated the real man inside. His electric-blue eyes confirmed her suspicions that his core was pure steel.

She was thankful when he turned back to his stepmother. “This is my father’s legacy we’re talking about, Vivian. I save other people’s businesses every day. Resurrecting Eternity Designs is right up my alley,” he said.

“Yes,” Vivian said, letting the word draw out. “Your...fix-it-up business.”

“You could call it that. I call it the very lucrative process of taking failing companies and turning them into profit-making machines. Too bad you didn’t get in touch with me sooner, but then you’d have to admit that you screwed up.”

The slap of Vivian’s hand on her desk made Ziara jump. She watched her with wide eyes, shocked by the venom scarring Vivian’s normally genteel facade.

“Your father didn’t trust you to take care of his legacy enough to leave it all to you. Why should I?”

Sloan stalked back and rested his hands on the desk, so he could loom over his stepmother. “And whose fault was that? Who slipped poisonous thoughts into his mind from day one, turning him against me so he could be yours and yours alone? Hell, Vivian, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you set his whole will up. You’re the one who made him insist I go for my MBA instead of continuing to pursue my own plans of fashion design, aren’t you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Of course you do. After all, going from Daddy’s assistant to his wife meant you got to control his entire life and not just his business, didn’t it?”

Oh. Dear. Ziara’s lungs shut down, trapping the air inside. Vivian’s early involvement with Eternity Designs had never been explicitly discussed. Ziara had simply assumed she’d started working with the company sometime after she’d married Mr. Creighton.

The knowledge left Ziara reeling. How many times had Vivian admonished her that only tramps got involved with their coworkers? Ever since her childhood, when Ziara had been bullied because of her mother’s lack of morals, she’d avoided anything that would suggest she was the same. Vivian’s lessons had simply reinforced Ziara’s focus on professionalism and the building of a flawless reputation.

Vivian’s hand shook as she pointed at her stepson. “Don’t talk to me that way, Sloan. It’s disrespectful. Your father would never approve of your tone.”

Sloan leaned in, hard. “Well, he’s not here to reprimand me. If you wanted my respect, you should have tried earning it a long time ago. Now it’s too late.”

“It’s never too late to expect you to be a gentleman. But we just couldn’t get those lessons to stick.”

Sloan laughed, collapsing into the chair as his body shook with a tainted kind of humor. Ziara felt like she was watching a tennis match. Sloan clearly thought he was the winner.

Vivian conceded with less graciousness than Ziara had ever seen her display, but then again, she’d learned quite a few new things about her mentor in the past ten minutes. Vivian hadn’t always been a lady. Disbelief still ricocheted throughout Ziara like the ball inside a pinball machine.

“Fine, Sloan. Do whatever it is you do,” Vivian forced out through clenched teeth.

“I’ll have that in writing, I think,” Sloan said.

“As demanding as you are, I’m amazed anyone will work with you.”

“Oh, I’ll manage,” he said with a cocky quirk of his shapely lips.

“Not alone, you won’t. The last thing I need is you wandering around unattended.”

“Aw, Vivian. I didn’t know you cared. Oh wait, you don’t,” Sloan said with saccharin sweetness.

“I care about Eternity Designs,” she said.

His gaze scanned Vivian’s face as if to determine the catch. “Anyone you saddle me with better know what they’re doing and how to take orders.”

“Oh, I have no doubt she’ll work like a charm...and be able to keep you in line.”

Ziara’s heart picked up speed when Vivian’s elegant, bejeweled fingers waved in her direction. No. No, no, no. The effort to hide her sudden panic and appear in control might just give her a heart attack.

Vivian’s voice trickled through her consciousness, breaking her inward focus. “Your history with assistants is well-known, Sloan. They crawl all over you like bees in honey. That won’t be an issue with Ziara. I’ve trained her well. She knows more about how we conduct business here than anyone except my own assistant. And her behavior is impeccable—unlike yours.”

What was she—a slave girl at auction? Would the buyer prefer pretty and pliable or plain but talented? Though dependable was exactly the look she was going for, the thought still disconcerted her.

“Well, Vivian, isn’t that thoughtful of you?” he said.

Ziara glanced up to find Sloan’s gaze directed her way. His earlier anger had turned his bright blue eyes icily sharp, his body rigid, his jaw tight. But now he eased back in a chair, propping his elbows on the arms. His fingers absently stroked the upper ridge of his lip, drawing her attention to the sensuous curve of his mouth. His turbulent look suddenly softened like ice thawing beneath a heat lamp.

Her emotions seesawed as his gaze traveled south, visually caressing the extra length of leg exposed by her hasty drop into her chair. She could almost feel his touch sliding along the edge of her skirt, tickling the sensitive skin on the backs of her legs.

Bit by bit, Ziara used up her willpower forcing herself to sit impassively. The twitch of her thighs urged her to shift her feet, but she resisted. That would tell him just how much he affected her. Tightening her muscles, she tried to crack down on the spreading fire, to no avail. Ignoring physical desire had never been a problem before him.

Her new boss.

Her soothingly subtle gray business suit, so comfortable in the luxurious air-conditioning only moments ago, now felt heavy, itchy. Her nipples peaked against their confinement. She felt that he peered through her professional armor to the woman she kept hidden deep inside.

How could a simple look make her so aware, too aware? As if she lacked something only he could provide.

As casually as possible, she adjusted her position and her skirt, covering her legs down past her knees.

Knowledge leaked into his eyes, as well as smug satisfaction. He did that on purpose. Feeling a need to defend herself, she met him with a flick of her lashes. Slowly she lifted her left brow.

He grinned, not at all intimidated by her challenge. “Be in my office and ready to work first thing tomorrow morning.”

She could handle his antagonistic, dismissive tone; she welcomed it to counteract her strange reaction to him. Unlike efficient orders and professional expectations, the sensations created with that hot, hard stare set her nerves on edge.

But she could handle it. She’d pulled herself up from a sludge-pile existence and become a woman with goals and dreams and skills. She could control herself for the three months it would take to get Eternity Designs back in the spotlight and earn her stripes as an executive assistant. But how was she going to control him?

* * *

Ziara. Her classic beauty and calm demeanor distracted Sloan from Vivian’s condescension. Staring his new assistant down made him hotter than he’d been in a long time. Vivian’s insistence that Ziara wouldn’t follow the path of his previous assistants didn’t worry him. As annoying as it had been to replace three employees in less than two years because they insisted they were in love with him, he might have to pursue this woman. Her pretend lack of interest challenged him, but turning Ziara’s head could provide plenty of ammunition in his war with Vivian.

How ironic that the very thing he’d avoided in his professional life—intimate involvement with an employee—could give him a leg up in this situation. It felt wrong even thinking that way, but winning her loyalty could give him the freedom to do whatever he wanted without Vivian’s interference. He needed every advantage to fight against Vivian. His stepmother was totally immune to his charm, which drew cheeky toddlers, blue-haired dames and women of every age in between. If Vivian had been a typical trophy wife, at least Sloan could have fallen back on his practiced grin and genuine appreciation of the female species, but, instead, dear old Dad had the foresight to marry a savvy woman. One steeped in Southern tradition and brimming with a Southern belle’s ingenuity to survive. Too bad her temperament had always favored Scarlett’s machinations as opposed to Melanie’s sweetness.

She viewed his father’s memory and Eternity Designs as hers; Sloan was a threat to her reign as queen. His frustration had been building over this situation for years and he let it out for once.

“We need to shake things up,” he said. “We can’t afford to lose our biggest account because we’re afraid to break out of the mold. Reliance on tradition is getting you nowhere. Eternity Designs needs a modern edge, a new designer, a revamped portfolio. Pronto.”

That was exactly what Vivian didn’t want to hear. “Your father prided himself on the tradition inherent in this company and its designs,” she said, elegantly restrained anger sharpening her tone. “This discussion demonstrates exactly why he chose me to continue the legacy of Eternity Designs.”

Not you.

The wedding gown design firm had been in his family for three generations—if his current 40 percent share of it counted for anything. With Vivian, it didn’t. But the words of the accountant told him now was the time to insist on the control she’d denied him for so long.

“The whole company will go under if something isn’t done immediately.”

“Sixty percent ownership doesn’t mean you’re God,” he said, ignoring the burn of betrayal. “It’s a good thing dear ol’ Dad isn’t alive to see how you’ve run it into the ground.” Yep. Payback was a bitch.

A quick glance revealed Ziara stiffening, in surprise or defense he wasn’t sure. If she knew what the posture did for her magnificent breasts, she’d hunch in on herself for eternity. He paced back and forth in front of Vivian’s desk, arousal and frustration fueling his restlessness. The business expert in him was tired of talking.

The man in him begged for a totally different kind of action.

Watching Ziara’s reactions to his and Vivian’s little fight fascinated him more than he would have thought. Her exotic, raven-haired beauty brought to mind sensual, spice-scented nights. What would she look like with that thick bun let loose around her shoulders? With that suit jacket loosened up a few buttons? Seducing her out of her loyalty to Vivian was going to be such guilty fun.

He’d avoided getting involved with his employees like a contagious disease, to the point that he hadn’t even had an assistant for six months. But his desperation called for outrageous actions—like storming into Vivian’s office this morning. Finding out Ziara had given up company loyalty for carnal indulgence would probably mean a quick dismissal, but he couldn’t let that stop him. For Ziara this was a job; she’d find another one soon enough.

For Sloan, Eternity Designs was a legacy.

Vivian’s haughty belle persona reappeared. “You’re awfully sure of yourself, Sloan. Overconfidence leads to nasty downfalls. Those unconventional methods of yours won’t work in such a traditional company.”

“Those unconventional methods are just what Eternity needs. Less tradition, not more.” He turned to Ziara. Might as well put her to the test first thing. “What do you think? Is Eternity’s current path leading to success?”

“I...I...” Her almond-shaped eyes flicked back and forth between him and her mentor, panic darkening their chocolate color. After a moment she said, “Our designers do beautiful work, enough to build a loyal following. Families come here generation after generation to commission their dresses. Our motto, our focus has built a legacy. I have no proof otherwise.”

Test number one: fail.

Vivian echoed Ziara’s words. “Eternity Designs is truly where tradition and style forever align.”

Quoting the company’s motto as a defense ramped up Sloan’s anger. He needed to save this business. His father had worked hard to build it. He’d loved it just as Sloan did. Despite their differences at the time of his death, the 40 percent he’d gifted to Sloan in his will told him his father had wanted him to have some small part of his family’s heritage. He had to believe that, had to believe Vivian hadn’t poisoned every ounce of their father-son bond.

He glared at them both. “Maybe our motto needs to change.”

Ziara held very still, the only movement the frantic pulse beating at the base of that silky throat. But Vivian sighed heavily, with a touch of drama. She would have called it flair. He knew he wouldn’t like what came next.

“I’ve been thinking about options to get us through this little slump. I have a few friends who might know potential backers. That should tide us over until spring.”

Shock immobilized Sloan for a moment. Then a sharp spike of panic sliced through the numbness. Then another...and another. “We’re not letting an outsider buy into this company.”

“I’ll do what I have to in order to save Eternity.”

“Except call in the one man whose skills would provide the lifeline? Did you honestly think I’d sit back, mouth shut, while you let Eternity go out of the family?” He straightened, the hardball negotiator stepping onto the court. “You know me better than that, Vivian.”

With a blink, uncertainty leaked into Vivian’s eyes. “I truly don’t understand why you’d care.”

He shook his head slowly, sorrow over the state of his relationship with his late father leaking underneath the anger. “That right there proves how little you know me...or knew my father. This place was his life—” in the end more than even his son “—I want nothing more than for his life’s work to continue, to prove to his memory I’m more than you made me out to be. A hard worker, capable of contributing to the family dream, instead of a slacker who cares about nothing but myself. You’re still looking at me as a grieving kid, Vivian. Not the man I’ve actually become, the man my father saw in me before he died.”

But the tightening around her mouth told him she’d never see it that way. After years of convincing her husband that his only son was impulsive and undependable, repeatedly citing his teenage antics, his father had left her with the majority ownership of Eternity Designs. That’s all she cared about.

“Sloan, I would prefer to keep this inside family lines, such as they are. So I’ll stand by my word and give you a chance. But in the meantime, I’ll be working on a backup plan.”

It wasn’t much of a compromise, as they went, but he’d take what he could get. He needed carte blanche over the fall line. Because if Vivian knew the plans gathering mass in his mind, she’d shut him down in a heartbeat.

Her mouth pulled into a strained smile. “Just don’t go forgetting who is in charge around here.”

“I won’t. We’ll pretend you’re in charge while I become the linchpin holding everything together.”

It was a low blow, but he was beyond caring. Vivian straightened, her shoulders squaring as the pinching around her mouth deepened. Then a calculating look slid across her face, warning him he was about to pay for his disrespect.

“I have a caveat of my own. If you should happen to walk away before the fall line is presented—” her tone said she could happily run him off with a shotgun “—then Eternity Designs will become solely mine.”


Two (#ulink_1a12ddf4-5be5-587e-b677-98f7de28d806)

Nothing like a new challenge and a gorgeous woman to work with.

Sloan listened to Ziara’s movements in the outer office as he sat at his desk. He’d wondered whether she’d postpone coming in until the last minute, but here she was thirty minutes early, moving into her new office.

Yesterday she’d both confounded and fascinated him. Her exotic, Indian beauty stirred many un-bosslike urges. Her attempts to keep that beauty under wraps teased his senses. Did she think pulling her luxurious dark hair tight into a bun and covering those shapely legs made her a better employee? It probably did in Vivian’s eyes, but Sloan was a whole other matter.

Something she’d learn soon enough, and hopefully enjoy. Though he’d never seduced any of his employees—he spent more time running from than running after—he wasn’t above using this mutual attraction as one more tool to secure control of Eternity Designs. He would need her help to understand how things worked around here, to facilitate his relationships with the other employees after being shut out in the cold since his father’s death. If tempting her loyalty in his direction meant the reports to Vivian became fewer and further between, or even stopped, all the better.

Crossing the room with a heightened sense of anticipation, he eased through without alerting her to his entrance. She stood behind the desk, the chair pushed aside to give her room to reallocate her personal stuff. Her movements were elegant but efficient as she placed pens and papers in the desk drawers. Her careful concentration told him she had a precise way she wanted things and she’d find a way to create order in this new space.

He barely held back laughter as he sized her up. He was a red-blooded male and his body naturally heated despite her choice of clothes. She’d opted for a longer skirt and boxier jacket, as if that would hide the curvy shape of her hips and ass. But it was the scarf he found most amusing. From the back, he could see the curl of material around her neck. Did it merely cover her throat in the front, or had she gone all out to hide every single hint of bare skin, tucking the ends into her jacket?

Didn’t she realize that don’t touch me attitude set her up as his own personal challenge?

“Settling in okay?” he asked.

Her jerk of surprise should have made him feel guilty, but he suspected he had to sneak up on this one before she cut him off at the knees with her stern librarian attitude.

“Yes,” she said. “I’m almost ready.”

“No hurry,” he murmured, tracking the glide of her fingers over a few pictures. No people that he could see, just atmospheric photographs of simple wooden bridges, each in a different season. She arranged them carefully along the top of the nearby shelf, then reached into the remaining cardboard box once more.

Pulling out an object wrapped in cotton batting, she uncovered it layer by layer. She steadily revealed a glass object inscribed with words that she rubbed over a few times with the wrapping.

Too quick for her to stop him, he lifted the object from her hands for a closer look. “What’s this?” he asked.

“Be careful.”

“Ziara, you wound me,” he said with a cheesy helping of drama. “I promise not to drop it.”

The cut-glass award was shaped in the outline of a flowing gown, inscribed with the date and Employee of the Year. Ziara Divan. “Employee of the Year, huh?”

“I’ve worked hard to get where I am.”

“And where is that exactly?”

“If all goes well, I’ll be promoted to Vivian’s personal assistant when Abigail retires next spring.”

“Wow, a full-fledged executive assistant at the tender age of—”

She drew a deep breath, as if he were a toddler trying her patience. “Twenty-seven.”

“So young to be so buttoned-down.” He aimed a pointed look at her scarf, which did indeed drape down to cover that delectable collarbone and upper chest.

“There are worse things to be.”

“Like what?”

For a moment it looked like she would speak, but then those full lips pressed tight. Her hand extended, palm up, and her perfectly manicured fingertips curled in a give it to me gesture. “Behave, please.”

He stepped closer, moving past her invisible keep away signs. “Let’s get something straight here, Ziara. You’re playing by my rules now. I’d imagine I have seriously different requirements for becoming Employee of the Year.”

She swallowed hard. “Excuse me?”

She reached for the award, moving her body even closer to him, and he used the opportunity to snag an edge of the scarf. Luckily for him, it was only loosely twisted and unraveled like a dream from around her neck and into his hands.

Award forgotten, her hands clamped to her bare neckline, then she glared at him. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“A little employee training.” He rubbed the material between his fingers but resisted the urge to lift it to his nose and find out if it smelled like her. Vanilla and cinnamon spice. “I’m not nearly as stuffy as Vivian. I don’t run my office that way.”

“Mr. Creighton—”

“Uh-uh. Sloan.”

He was surprised she could talk through teeth that tightly clenched. “Sloan, your behavior is inappropriate in the extreme.”

“Is it? Are you going to charge me with sexual harassment?”

That cool eyebrow lifted in condemnation. “If I have to.”

Her response was so unexpected, he almost choked. Man, he sure enjoyed a woman with spice, but she didn’t need to know that. Yet. “Oh, I don’t think you will.”

She opened her mouth, but he continued on. “I know Vivian gave you this job for a reason.” He leaned even closer to her, watching her heartbeat speed up in the well of her collarbone. “And not just because you’re organized and can turn in paperwork on time. After all, she knows something about assistants and their access to—how can I say this diplomatically—company secrets.”

Not even an attempt at a response this time.

He pushed a little harder. “Isn’t that right, Vivian’s little spy?”

“That’s insulting.”

But she didn’t look insulted. The waver of her gaze and uncertain look meant one thing: guilt. “There’s no point in pretending, Ziara. Vivian put you here to keep an eye on me, and report back everything she needs—or doesn’t need—to know. But that’s okay.”

Her eyes jerked back to his, widening to give him a great view of chocolate irises shot with gold sparks.

“Just remember,” he said, “forewarned is forearmed.”

For long seconds neither of them moved, gazes locked in either a worthy battle or forbidden attraction, he wasn’t sure. All he felt was the blood pumping hard in his veins and an excitement he hadn’t brought to a job in many, many years.

With shaking hands she finally pulled the award from his grasp and turned to place it on the corner of her desk. Then, she pulled out a thick folder from a drawer of the filing cabinet. “Here is information on the current preparations for the fall line. I thought—”

He lifted the file from her unsteady hands, resentment that he had to rely on her for information mixing with the other emotions roiling through him. “What do we have here?”

She managed to maintain an outward calm. Almost. “Actually, I thought you might like me to familiarize myself with the project you’re here for.”

Her eyes begged, a moment of peace, but he wasn’t in the mood for mercy. “Let’s take this discussion into my office.”

* * *

A spy, he’d said. She’d never really thought about it that way.

How had she been promoted from executive assistant in training to spy in one morning? Proving herself to Vivian had been a long-held goal, but doing it now could put her in a very awkward position.

One last glance at her Employee of the Year award stilled her spinning universe. Looking at it, her uneasiness and frustration melted away and her resolve strengthened.

This is what I want. I’m almost there. Becoming executive assistant to the CEO of a major design firm had been her goal from her first day at Eternity Designs. At twenty-seven, the finish line loomed much closer than she’d dared to hope, despite the lack of money for anything other than a trade school degree.

She’d grown up with nothing—no, less than nothing. Oh, they’d technically had enough to live on, but every spare cent had gone for slutty clothes and accessories for her mother to attract the newer, better sugar daddy around the corner.

She’d dreamed of escaping from the trash that still stained her heart into her own office situated right outside of her role model Vivian Creighton’s. But would the price be worth this sacrifice?

Vivian and Sloan are playing a game and I’m stuck in the middle.

Ziara was smart enough to realize it. Her firm loyalty to Vivian notwithstanding, her choices from here on out had to be dedicated to what was best for Eternity Designs. That was her only guarantee of keeping a clear conscience.

Vivian had given her a long lecture on all things Sloan yesterday afternoon. He’s not to be trusted. Why wouldn’t his father have just given him the business if he wanted him to run it? He’s up to something, I know it. Ziara had questions of her own, concerns about a man who spent his life reviving companies but completely ignored his family heritage until it was almost too late. If Sloan truly sought to ruin the company, as Vivian had also suggested...well, she wasn’t about to let him put anything over on her.

She’d just watch closely and learn to deal with him. She’d always been a stellar student. If she hesitated before crossing the threshold into his office, it didn’t mean anything. Drawing in a deep breath, she straightened her shoulders. A little over three months and her training period would be complete. This was simply a small bump on a long road.

She pushed the dilemmas from her mind and entered the room.

Sloan had chosen a corner office at the opposite end of the building from Vivian’s, his windows overlooking the sidewalk and shops that lined the streets in this part of town. Quaint, with a touch of subdued elegance, Ziara had always thought, and easily accessible through a MARTA stop only a few blocks away.

Instead of the soothing cream carpet prevalent in the rest of the offices, the flooring here had been replaced with dark wood planks. A desk just a shade or two darker dominated one corner, facing out so that Sloan could see the entire room, from the door to the floor-to-ceiling windows. He crossed the thick blue-and-burgundy rug to stand before them now, hands in his pockets, looking down from the fifth-story view.

For long moments he remained silhouetted against the lightened windows. His strong shoulders spoke of strength and shelter. The line tapered down to his waist, where his hands in his pockets drew the material of his dress pants across the high, firm cheeks of his backside.

Ziara shook her head slightly, grateful he couldn’t see her. Being close to this overwhelmingly masculine presence on a daily basis had the potential to open up a whole host of dark desires she preferred to keep locked deep inside. Choosing a leather chair a safe distance away, she sat, primly crossing her legs at the ankles. She held herself rigid as she prepared to take notes, make phone calls, whatever he wanted of her.

“Did you know this was once my father’s office?”

Surprise skittered through Ziara’s controlled pose. “No,” she murmured.

“I used to play right here on a rug while he worked,” Sloan said. “I used to watch him stare out these same windows, while he worked out problems.”

His voice was easy, soft with memory. He started to pace, firm steps along the length of the windows. Two glorious views. Candy for her sweet-starved eyes.

But warning lights started flashing through her brain as she thought about his words. She’d never had any type of loving parental relationships, and had cut all ties with her mother at the age of seventeen. But Sloan seemed to feel very passionately about his father, despite Vivian’s insistence that Mr. Creighton had found his son a huge disappointment. Why had Sloan—

No. Thinking about Sloan’s private life—his childhood, wishes, regrets—could not lead to anything good. Personalizing him outside of their business interactions would weaken her objectivity. She had to focus on work, not skipping through fantasyland.

After a minute or two, he clasped his hands behind his back, his long fingers tapping against his palms. “First things first,” he murmured. “Where to start—”

“I’ve got a list here from Mrs. Creighton, and—”

His laughter echoed through the room, the sound truly amused rather than the nasty version she’d heard in Vivian’s office. He paused in his imaginary trek to catch his breath and clutched his chest in mock astonishment. “Surely you jest. I don’t think so, sweetheart. We’ll be doing this my way.”

Well, that’s reassuring. Ziara had a feeling she was about to get a lesson in all things Sloan—and it would turn everything she’d planned for on its ear. She pulled out her handy-dandy tablet to take notes, since that seemed to be her only function here.

“We’ll need new ideas, new designs, definitely a new designer,” he said, his voice so matter-of-fact that she blinked for a moment, unable to handle the transition from sexy hunk to demanding boss that quickly. But she managed to pull herself together.

Then his words truly registered. Yikes! A new designer definitely would not go over well.

Sloan continued. “Something splashy. Something to draw in big buyers, get people talking, get them curious...”

He dropped into the chair behind his desk. “Presenting the line, one buyer at a time in the studio, is standard fare. We need a fireworks show, not a firecracker...I’ve got it!” Sloan jerked to his feet, palms slapping on his desk with enough force to startle her. “We’ll bring fashion week right here to Atlanta, Georgia. We’ll put on a fashion show.” He started to pace, throwing ideas out with such enthusiasm that she found herself pulled into the spirit without even realizing it. Before she knew it, he had location ideas, preshow party ideas, guest list suggestions, and on and on until he ran out of steam about an hour later.

Ziara’s fingers ached from typing so fast; even she had to concede to Sloan’s intelligence. Once he latched onto an idea, he thought through every angle—catch, plus and minus. Very impressive. If he truly had plans to destroy Eternity Designs, he was going about it the wrong way.

Glancing up in the sudden silence, she found Sloan staring directly at her. She should have been alarmed, afraid of what he might see, but she had sunk so deeply under the spell of his voice that she merely floated.

His eyes widened at whatever he saw in her own, then flashed with a heat that echoed deep inside her core. The connection remained taut for long moments as the heat gained momentum like a house afire.

Only when it threatened to burst out of control did Ziara panic. She bent her head to focus on the tablet still sitting in her lap. Though she felt hot enough for her fingers to burn it, the tablet was miraculously unsinged.

A new kind of heat enveloped her—embarrassment. As Sloan approached, her teeth worried her lower lip. Would he say something? Think she’d changed her mind about him? Think that she was silently asking him to come on to her? With her limited experience, she wasn’t even sure what kind of message she’d just sent. As her imagination picked up speed, Sloan paused a few steps away.

Then he continued around his desk and sat with a squeak of leather. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw his elbows settle onto the arms of the chair as if familiar with the pose, his fingers forming a peak with his fingertips. Relief swept through her, a cooling breeze, though it couldn’t extinguish the fire altogether. She chose to ignore it.

“So we’ll be putting on a fall fashion show this year. You’ll need to book the venue and start construction on the backdrop. Some plans can’t be finalized until closer to the actual date, but pick out invitations, contact the modeling agency so we can line up models, all that stuff.”

He leaned forward, his gaze seeing into the distance. “My focus will be on finding the right designer to carry out my ideas.”

That was a discussion she’d prefer to postpone for, oh, forever. A new designer would shake the foundations of Eternity, regardless of how wonderful he was.

“And what would those ideas be?” she asked, poised to type. How was she going to tell Vivian all of this? Ziara was excited by some of the plans, but change was definitely not Vivian’s forte.

Sloan grinned, resorting to his ample sex appeal in the blink of an eye. “Uh-uh. I’m not giving it up that easily.”

Their eyes met and held. In the aftermath of their earlier connection, his bright blue gaze unnerved her more than ever. Not only did it threaten her internal control, it made her want to clamp the top of her jacket closed to hide every hint of cleavage. She pressed her thighs together in a purely feminine gesture of defense.

Slowly he rose and circled the desk, leaning his hips against the front. The angle allowed him to tower over her, while inadvertently giving her a level view of—

No, she wouldn’t look. Her fight-or-flight instincts kicked in with a rush. She needed a few moments away from this man’s disturbing sensuality. Heck, a few hours would be better. Rising to her feet, she said, “If that’s all, I’ll start—”

“Ziara.”

Her fingers fiddled with her tablet while her gaze examined the polished floorboards.

“I expect hard work out of all my employees. I don’t think that will be a problem with you. But trust...trust has to be earned, doesn’t it?”

The guilt burned deep inside, because she knew she’d have to tell what she’d learned to Vivian—sooner rather than later. But it was her strong work ethic that just might tear her in two. Her dedication demanded she do what was right for Eternity Designs; her loyalty demanded she do anything Vivian asked of her.

“Though hiring and firing is Vivian’s department for now,” he continued, his voice deceptively benign, “be aware you wouldn’t be in this office if I didn’t want you to be.” He stopped an arm’s length from her, bringing the icy heat of his gaze closer, stinging her conscience. “You have your own reasons for being loyal to Vivian.”

She heard the implied question behind his statement. She swallowed, the urge to speak unnerving. How could she describe all Vivian had done for her, the hands-on coaching and molding of her abilities? She opted for short and sweet.

“Vivian saw my willingness to do a job right, even as a simple secretary. To uphold the ideals of this company.”

“Where tradition and style forever align,” Sloan murmured.

A slight smile tugged her lips. Her chin lifted. She knew her intentions here were right, no matter what anyone else thought. Pride in her hard work, in pulling herself up from the bottom rung of the ladder, refused to let him condemn her loyalties. “Yes.”

Sloan stepped even closer. The urge to retreat exploded in her belly. Her muscles jumped to high alert, tightening in preparation for flight.

“I, too, value hard work, initiative and loyalty.” He paused, as if choosing his words carefully. “Just don’t forget who you work for now.”

The pressure of his stare proved too much with Vivian’s expectations still flashing neon in Ziara’s brain. Her gaze fell, grazing his fit body to the tips of his Gucci dress shoes. A short nod was all she could manage.

She wasn’t likely to forget anything about Sloan.

Still, the need to push back rose. “Wanting to uphold the values of this company isn’t a bad thing. After all, it is the way your father wanted this business run.” She ignored the twinge of her conscience. The truth hurt. This time, she leaned closer to him. “People other than you are allowed to care about this place, you know.”

Something flashed across his face that she couldn’t quite read, but it encouraged her to push harder. Not for Vivian. Not for her job. For Eternity Designs. “If you would just tell me what you’re trying to do here instead of leaving me in the dark, then maybe I could help.”

He met her halfway, crowding into her personal space with a sexy grin. “You’ll have to try harder than that to access my...secrets.”


Three (#ulink_09e68d97-7ac1-53a8-8a13-7114cfc397a0)

Sloan took a deep breath and wrestled with his libido for a moment before managing to lock it down. How could the simple sounds of Ziara at her desk turn him into a dirty old man? Well, not quite old, if the level of urgency he felt was anything to go by.

They had a long day ahead—he was pretty sure she was going to hate him by the time he was done, but as the saying went, he had to get rid of the old to make room for the new.

He would need Ziara’s help to carry out his plans without permanent damage. Robert and Anthony were indeed good designers, but designers who needed a serious shake-up. Vivian had offered Ziara for her expertise and he planned to conquer a large portion of his new territory today.

After a moment of silence, Ziara peeked around the door. “Do you need me for anything this morning, Mr. Creighton?”

Oh, honey, I need you for something really bad. Even though it was totally inappropriate, he couldn’t tame the thought. Once again Ziara was wrapped in a narrow skirt and suit jacket, although this one was a dark chocolate-brown that complemented her eyes, bringing out the golden flecks with a glimpse of a silky gold camisole. A little better, though seeing her abundant hair pinned to the nape of her neck just made his hands itch to let it all loose.

He shifted in his seat. “I’ve got a full agenda today. Where do we stand so far?”

Ziara’s efficiency impressed him. Not only had she started contacting people and places yesterday, she’d made a detailed list of the facts so he could compare easily and make decisions.

Old business out of the way, he straightened his shoulders, preparing to face the hardest part of the day. “Let’s take a trip down to the design floor and see what’s what with the Old Brigade.”

The Old Brigade was the employees’ term for the two main designers who headed and vetted all the dress designs for the company. Though by no means original, they’d each been with the company for over fifteen years.

Ziara hesitated, frozen for a moment like a deer caught in headlights at dusk; then she gathered her tablet and smoothed down her skirt.

He let her maintain her silence as they crossed into the hall, but he couldn’t afford for her to hold back. Everything might as well be out in the open.

He stopped in the middle of the deserted hallway. “Look, Ziara,” he said, turning to face her. “One of the reasons you’re here is to help me with intercompany relations, schedules, procedures, et cetera. Right?”

“Yes, Mr. Creighton.”

The prim purse of her full mouth had his brows rising, a grin tugging at his lips. “Didn’t we decide on Sloan? After all, over the next three months, we’re going to be spending a helluva lot of time together.”

Her lips tightened a touch more before she conceded. “Yes, Sloan.”

Teasing her out of that “strictly business” attitude was way too much fun. “Now, I can’t do my job if you don’t do your job—”

A weighty protest formed in her eyes, though her face remained calm. This woman’s responses were seriously under wraps. He had to look very closely to catch the signals, but they told him some genuinely hot emotions hid beneath the surface. “Don’t get me wrong, you’ve been very helpful. But I need an honest rundown of what I’m facing on the design floor today.”

“I—I—”

“Honesty. Right now. Got it?”

“Why do you need my opinion? You said you’d been here often as a child.”

“And as a child I noticed the person most important to me—my father, and the place I spent the most time—his office. The rest? Not so much. I haven’t set foot on the design floor since I was ten.”

Her gaze zeroed in on his face for a moment, then she spoke. “Anthony and Robert are very talented designers.”

Keeping his irritation from showing proved a little easier beneath her disapproving glare.

“The trouble will come from Robert—he’s ruled the design floor through talent and overpowering personality for years. Anthony’s a sweetheart, but don’t take his lack of attitude for subservience. He’s soaking it all in, processing it in his own time and making his own decisions.”

He grinned. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

The low growl from her throat surprised him, sending a shock of sensation right where he didn’t need it. Keep it light. Best to just move on. “Let’s go.” But he was getting a really good idea how to provoke her into an honest response.

Just irritate her beyond measure.

The elevator took them down to the third floor and they stepped out onto the observation deck. The design department occupied most of the second floor, but the large exhibition space below could be viewed and accessed from the open walkway they now occupied.

As he and Ziara made their way down the spiral staircase, Ziara’s heels clicking on the metal steps, the designers appeared to be gearing up for the day.

“Ziara,” Robert exclaimed as she descended the last two steps. “What brings you to our little kingdom?”

Anthony simply smiled and wrapped her in a half hug. Her smile was natural and easy, but she didn’t return the touch. Interesting.

“I wanted to introduce y’all to Mrs. Creighton’s stepson, Sloan Creighton.”

The designers exchanged a look, but it didn’t display as much alarm as Sloan had anticipated. Nor resignation, either. His Spidey senses started to tingle.

“Yes, yes,” Robert said, leading the way by offering his hand. “I believe I remember James mentioning you to us, Dieu ait son âme.”

God rest his soul, indeed. Out of the corner of his eye, Sloan could see Ziara glance his way. Since it was obvious from their benign reception that neither designer had a clue what was coming down the pike, Sloan decided to play along.

“Vivian tells me you two are working on the fall line. I’d love to see the best of Eternity’s upcoming designs,” he said, ignoring Ziara’s sudden stare.

The men were only too happy to show off. Too bad they didn’t realize they were arming him to take them both down. They exchanged excited glances, then walked toward the display boards in unison.

Sloan stepped closer to Ziara as they followed. “Just relax and follow my lead,” he murmured from the corner of his mouth.

After listening to Robert expound on the sketches for over half an hour, Sloan was definitely unimpressed. Just as he imagined their buyer had been.

When Robert finally wound down, Sloan’s voice filled the stillness. “Did you listen to anything that buyer said?”

The men stiffened, but there wasn’t anything they could say in their own defense.

Sloan pushed forward. “She said the designs were stale. She said the dresses were old-fashioned. Not classic. Not retro. Those are buzz words. Compliments. Stale is not.” He gestured toward the stack of drawings. “Nothing has changed here. Nothing. I can find this same thing in any bridal magazine—from ten years ago.”

“How would you know what the buyer said?” Anthony asked, his voice sounding weak after the booming quality of Robert’s.

“And who do you think you are, to come in here and criticize our work?” Robert added.

“I am now the creative director of Eternity Designs’s fall line. From here on out, all decisions from this department must be approved solely by me.”

The silence was so absolute it rang loud in his ears. Robert’s face gradually turned a shade of purple and Anthony’s eyes flicked back and forth between the other people in the room as if he expected someone to tell him what was really going on here.

Finally Robert spoke, his voice coming from deep in his barreled chest. “Ziara, if this is a joke, it isn’t funny.”

“He isn’t kidding, Robert,” she said in her most soothing voice.

“Look,” Sloan said, impatient with the theatrics. “We have a lot to do and a very short time to do it in. Whether you were informed of this decision previously is not my problem. Getting Eternity Designs back on track is—and I’ll be doing it my way.”

“Why would we need—”

“Are you truly going to pretend you don’t know why I’m here?” Sloan met Robert’s blustery gaze directly. “You may not pay much attention to financial statements while you’re down here in fantasyland, but I know for a fact you were present when the Bridal Boutique buyer ripped your designs apart. Would you like me to go into more detail, or do you remember it for yourself?”

Anthony again joined the conversation. “No, we remember it well enough.”

“Good. I am here to get Eternity back in the black and at the forefront of the wedding apparel industry. So for the next three months you will answer to me—and only me.”

“We won’t do it,” Robert insisted. “After thirty years as a designer, I refuse to have my ideas approved by an amateur.”

“Then I’ll bring in someone who will.”

Harsh. But he knew from his own history that sometimes the hardest lessons were the most memorable...if you used them to your advantage. Just like he’d turned his father’s rejection into professional success.

Moving swiftly across the space, Sloan lifted the entire stack of drawings and dumped them into a nearby trash can. “Start over.”

Ziara and Anthony gasped at the same time. But it was Robert he continued to focus on, the leader of this little group. Bring him to heel and the rest would follow.

Robert sputtered his indignation while Anthony’s face crumpled as if he was going to cry. How in the world could he get through to these yahoos?

Sloan didn’t anticipate Ziara’s sudden tight grip on his arm. She pulled him out of hearing range and turned to face him.

“Do you really think this is the way to gain their cooperation?”

He tried to focus on her words, but his own frustration quickly morphed into desire as she moved close enough for them to hear each other without eavesdroppers. All that solid, testosterone-induced drive melted into liquid desire that pounded in his veins with a thrumming rhythm. Lord have mercy, how had this woman gotten under his skin so quickly?

“I don’t need their cooperation. If they don’t do what I tell them, they’re out of here.”

A repressive frown marred those full lips. “Robert and Anthony have always been the stars of Eternity Designs. You should treat them with more respect.”

How could those lips, pressed tight like a disapproving schoolmarm’s, still come across as sexy? He was actually struggling to follow her words. Him. The king of keeping things professional.

“Don’t you see, Ziara, that’s the problem,” he finally managed. “They’ve had people kissing their asses for years, with no challenges to their work. They think they can give a minimal effort and still be put on a pedestal. And Eternity suffers for it.”

“They do work—”

He could almost kiss her for the concern in the dark depths of her eyes but it was misplaced. “Not enough. Where’s the market research, the fresh, new ideas? They don’t just happen by playing around all day. Continued success takes more effort.”

Understanding made a reluctant appearance in her gorgeous brown eyes. For some reason it made all the difference in the world to him. “I know I sound harsh. But they’re grown men who’ve been catered to for years. A polite request isn’t going to even make a dent.” Reaching out, he brushed his thumb along the softened curve of her jaw. “I do have a method behind my madness, I promise.”

The feel of her silky skin beneath his touch was magic, along with the warmth and subtle catch of her breath. They both froze in surprise for a moment. It was all Sloan could do to resist brushing his lips over the same spot.

Whoa. This was the design floor, not a nightclub...not even the privacy of his office. And judging by the utter silence laced with antagonism behind his back, Sloan knew Robert wouldn’t hesitate to throw around accusations of sexual misconduct. With Ziara’s approval or without it.

He took a careful step back, letting his hand drop to his side. “Just remember something—I wouldn’t be here if they’d been doing their jobs right in the first place. Okay?”

Her nod was firm, though her eyes were still a little dazed.

This meeting needed to get back on track. “Ziara,” he snapped, but with a little less bite than he’d used on the men. “The tablet, please.”

She hurried to obey, giving him a moment to regain his focus before turning back to the others. When she handed over the device, he noticed the care she took not to touch him again. After a moment of tapping on the smooth surface, he paused, looking up at the group around him.

“Current trends favor retro designs, new twists on the old, avant-garde as well as classic.” During his recent research, he’d seen some unique retro looks in the fashion and wedding magazines, and they had sparked his own creative imagination.

“In less than three months, I’ll be showcasing our newest designs during a professional fashion show. We’re going to bring fashion week right here to Atlanta. It’ll be an exclusive, invitation-only event that I want people talking about for months.”

As Sloan continued to explain the fall show, excitement crept over the anger that had tightened the designers’ faces. He might have punctured their egos earlier, but now he was tempting them.

Lifting the tablet, he turned it around to face them. “Every event needs a theme, a focal point. This is ours.”

“A car? Are you insane?” Robert yelled, returning to his angry disbelief.

“Not just any car, a Rolls-Royce. A classic car epitomizing the elegance, sleek design and subtle sensuality of the late 1930s. An era where women flaunted sexy curves, draped their bodies with fabrics that showcased their femininity, and set out to entice the opposite sex. Think of the actresses of the time—Marlene Dietrich, Mae West, Vivian Leigh. The dresses they wore—the draped material, exposed backs...”

He caught a glimmer of understanding in Ziara’s eyes. Knowledge of where he was going with this idea.

“Ridiculous,” Robert insisted. “This is the stupidest thing I’ve heard in my lifetime.”

Sloan wasn’t backing down. “We’re going to do this and do it right. Get on board, or jump overboard. Your choice.”

* * *

When had work started feeling like a taffy puller?

Ziara waited until Sloan left the building for lunch before heading to Vivian’s office. Her stomach cramped, knowing Vivian would have already heard about the upcoming show, but also knowing she couldn’t blatantly walk out of Sloan’s office straight to his stepmother’s.

Observing Sloan for two days had taught her one thing already—he wasn’t playing. His knowledge this morning showed he had done his homework on the market, design, themes, even fashion shows. He’d been calm but firm, occasionally harsh, with Robert and Anthony. Stepping solidly into a leadership role, even if he had to do it by force.

Most disturbing of all, his ideas for the show intrigued her.

With some organization, this could be an incredibly successful event, one the upper classes of Atlanta society would flock to in droves. Eternity Designs would be on the tip of everyone’s tongues and the front page in the society section. Notable brides would once again be drawn to the showroom for one-of-a-kind dresses.

But to her shame, Sloan’s appeal continued to taunt her on a more physical level. Vivian had insisted she was the last woman who would be tempted by Sloan’s charm, but the need that had crawled into her body at his singular touch frightened her. She’d seen her mother move from man to man, taking whatever they could give her, using her body to manipulate them. Mixing business with pleasure was the last thing Ziara wanted in her life. The level of temptation here actually scared her bone deep.

Abigail gave her a sympathetic look as she entered the room. “She’s waiting on you, Ziara.”

I bet she is. Her hand pausing on the doorknob, Ziara only let herself hesitate a second before going in.

“Ah, Ziara,” Vivian said from behind her antique desk. “I see you have finally deigned to bring me news.”

Vivian gestured for her to sit. The walk across the room distracted Ziara from the uneasiness caused by Vivian’s words. “I felt it appropriate to wait until Sloan left for lunch—”

“Why? He’s surely aware that one of your jobs is to keep me informed. Next time I want to hear it from you, rather than the office grapevine.”

Yes, but I couldn’t bring myself to rub my choices in his face. She’d probably heard from the Old Brigade, who’d run to Vivian to tattle the minute they’d realized they were losing control.

Ziara wondered if they remembered Vivian had once been a mere secretary—and how long it had taken them to accept the new order of things when she took over. Given the evidence from this morning, Ziara didn’t think acceptance had come quickly.

“I’m very excited about this new idea for the line’s presentation,” she started.

“Ah yes, the fashion show. I hate to admit it, but I’m seeing the merits of this plan myself. I want a full report.”

“I’ve just started working on the details. I’m looking into venues, modeling agencies and such.”

“Keep me informed as everything takes shape.”

Ziara murmured, “Yes, ma’am,” under her breath, but Vivian was already moving on.

“Make it good. Getting some choice buyers in here will make this the must-have ticket of the fall season. I’ll have Abigail get you a list of contacts, and I want to know as soon as the RSVPs come in.”

If Sloan was a train squishing her on the tracks, Vivian was a wrecking ball, destroying Ziara’s calm handling of this difficult assignment. Her mentor ran through a laundry list of items she wanted Ziara to check into, almost doubling the amount of work Sloan had given her. She saw quite a few late nights in her near future.

“Since you will be in the thick of all of this, Ziara—” Vivian’s spine straightened as if bracing herself for what was to come “—you should know...if our largest buyer pulls her orders, as she has threatened if the line doesn’t move in a more modern, unique direction, it will put the company in a very disadvantageous financial position.”

Even Vivian’s attempt at genteel diplomacy couldn’t hide the facts: Eternity Designs was in deep financial trouble. The confirmation of the actual problem had Ziara’s stomach dropping like it would on a roller coaster, a ride she avoided getting on at all costs.

Coming to work here, helping to build some of the finest dresses and dreams, had been like finding her true home. She wasn’t ready to leave.

Vivian’s fingers spun her wedding band in an endless circle. “So you can see how very important it is for the fall line to be not just good, but spectacular. By putting you in his office, I can let Sloan think he’s in charge until we see what he decides to do with the fall line.” Vivian’s heeled pump set up a twitchy rhythm. “I’ve known him for a long time. He’s sneaky, deceptive. His mother’s lower-class roots are showing, I guess.”

Ziara controlled the surprise that threatened to bloom on her face. Social standing had always been important to Vivian, but Ziara had never before seen evidence of prejudice.

“I know you said he was rebellious as a teenager.” Perfectly normal, in Ziara’s opinion. “Why would you think he’s up to something now?”

Being on the receiving end of Vivian’s glare wasn’t comfortable.

“Haven’t you ever heard that a leopard never changes its spots?” Vivian asked. “Besides, there are rumors that he uses some rather ruthless tactics to get his way these days.” Her pen tapped against her desk. One thump, then two. “He’s up to something,” she continued. “And I need to stay on top of it. You need to stay on top of it.”

Ziara wasn’t sure if the turmoil gaining ground in her gut was troubled conscience or the guilt of temptation, but she couldn’t simply ignore it. “Vivian, I really, well, I simply think that someone else might be more suited to working with Sl—Mr. Creighton. I could easily coordinate the show details from—”

“His office. That’s where I put you and that’s where you will stay. Or is there some reason you would request a change?”

The last thing Ziara wanted to do was explain the ins and outs of the past two days. If only she could make Vivian understand... “Honestly, I don’t feel very comfortable with the position I’m in. If you think Sloan will stop anything he’s doing because of me, well, he won’t. I just—”

Vivian’s head tilted slightly to the side, her brown eyes studying Ziara with sudden intensity. For the first time in a long time, Ziara wanted to hide from her boss, to squirrel away the reactions she had to Sloan just as she had the secrets of her past. Vivian would never accept her if she knew either one.

“Have I not done enough for you, Ziara?”

Not expecting the attack, Ziara found herself speechless.

“Have I not taught you all that I can about running this business, about behaving professionally, about coming out ahead of those not willing to put every ounce of effort into their jobs?”

“Yes, ma’am. You’ve been more than generous.”

“Then why do I suddenly feel like all of that effort has been wasted on the wrong person?”

Panic shot deep, mixing with the fear Ziara carried on a daily basis: that one day, everything she’d worked so hard for would crash down into a pile of rubble. She would not go back to being the uneducated girl condemned by everyone around her.

“I certainly don’t want you to feel that way,” Ziara said over the pounding of her heart. “I’m very grateful—

“I see plenty, Ziara,” Vivian snapped, her eyes as harsh as her tone. “And what I’m seeing isn’t gratitude, understand?”

Knowing she’d overstepped Vivian’s invisible limit, Ziara conceded quickly. “Yes, ma’am.”

“You’ve worked very hard to get where you are, Ziara. That’s why I chose you to succeed Abigail as my executive assistant when she retires later this year.”

At the praise, a glow bloomed beneath her fear. She’d yearned to be recognized for her accomplishments for as long as she could remember. First at school, then at community college, from her first job till now. Though she hadn’t found validation at home, her move to Atlanta had been the start of a whole new life.

“I’m confident that you’ll do what’s best for Eternity Designs.” Vivian stood, her posture and classically tailored business suit a picture of authority. Ziara moved quickly to join her.

“This position, though difficult, will also be excellent training for you, and I don’t have to worry about the Creighton good looks turning your head like some of the less dedicated girls around here. Do I?”

Ziara realized the question was rhetorical, so she simply shook her head, keeping her growing doubts to herself. Oh, she had no intention of falling into bed with a man like Sloan Creighton. On the other hand, how did she keep his charm and obvious business smarts from influencing her away from what Vivian wanted?

Vivian moved on, unaware of Ziara’s fears. “By the time we come out of this, Eternity Designs will be set for the future. I’ll be in charge, and you’ll have that job as my E.A.”

Ziara shifted in her heels. “But what if he succeeds? How can you risk him gaining a majority’s ownership if you don’t trust him?”

Vivian turned away, her face hidden as she crossed to the window. “Don’t worry,” she said, twisting her wedding ring around her finger again. “I’ll take care of that.”

Knowing she’d been dismissed, Ziara retreated to the safety of the outer office, where Abigail waited with a kind smile and some lists.

“Thank you, Abigail.”

“No problem, sweetie. Just let me know if you have any questions.”

How about, Will I make it through this without losing my freakin’ mind? Or, Is everyone going to hate me before this show is over? But she said nothing, conscious for once of exactly how alone she was.

Walking through the doorway, she found Sloan leaning against her desk. Her stomach dropped to her toes and a flush suffused her cheeks. The guilt was probably glaring out from her downcast gaze and shifting feet.

Where was this guilt coming from? A shot of surprise jolted through her at the answer. The guilt didn’t stem from tattling like a four-year-old. That was the best thing for Eternity Designs...for now. She simply didn’t want to face him knowing she’d tried to get out of working with him. Her feet stuttered to stillness and she swallowed, praying her voice would work at this point. “May I help you with something, Mr. Creighton?”

Those bright blue eyes, so full of life earlier today, were now cold enough to freeze the devil himself in his tracks. His mouth crooked up on one side, his boyish good looks now brittle around the edges. Oh yeah, he knew what she was up to, and there was no defense against that knowledge.

“I don’t know why I’m surprised.”

For some unknown reason, she couldn’t brush this moment aside with professionalism or tactful confusion. “I don’t know, either. You told me you understood my duties here.”

“That doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

Me, either.

Ziara struggled to return to that place where she was strictly a secretary performing an assigned task, but she couldn’t. Some kind of barrier had been breached with his touch earlier today, and she was very afraid there was no going back from it.

She had the distinct feeling he wouldn’t let her go back even if she tried. His next words confirmed her suspicions. “Too bad I can’t give you what you really deserve.”

“And what would that be?” she asked, though the naughty mischief melting the iceberg should have warned her she’d moved into dangerous territory.

“A spanking.”


Four (#ulink_4c3e0fba-d1e1-59e0-b7c3-e9c7127e02aa)

The next few days went by relatively smoothly as Ziara discovered the ins and outs of working for Sloan Creighton.

He liked his coffee black with just a touch of sugar for sweetness, but he only drank it in the morning. After eleven, he switched to Mountain Dew. He came into the office around nine-thirty every morning, smelling of citrus and a spicy undertone after his daily game of racquetball. He paced while he dictated letters, his long legs performing for her benefit alone. While dreaming up new show ideas, he liked to lean back in his chair with his Gucci-clad feet propped on the edge of the desk.

She often caught a glimpse of him standing at those floor-to-ceiling windows watching people walk by five stories below, deep enough in thought that she’d close the door behind her with extra force to remind him of her presence.

She was getting to know him way too well.

This new knowledge was uncomfortable, but not as uncomfortable as the suspicion that he was cataloging some things about her, as well. Those damn eyes! Not to mention the occasional spicy remark, like that spanking comment, that she pretended to ignore no matter how outrageous he got. The last thing he needed was encouragement.

Today shattered the routine when Sloan hit the outer door like a bull. She hadn’t seen that controlled anger since his first day, that contained heat he’d wielded against Vivian like a fine-tuned weapon.

“I’ve got a lot of calls to make, Ziara. Don’t bother me.”

“Yes, Mr. Creighton,” she said reverting to formality in her confusion. She watched those long strides carry him into his office, the door slamming behind him. Definitely a good day to keep her head down and work on clearing the clutter from her desk.

A few hours of muffled yelling and banging later, she decided now was probably a good time to escape. She made her way through the corridors to the design floor. Anthony met her a few feet in with a quick and quiet hug. He knew exactly why she was here. Leading her across the room, he showed her the new shipment of sample materials scattered across a large table.

“Robert is very upset with me,” he said. “He thinks I’m a sellout.”

Ziara glanced over his shoulder at the normally boisterous man now sitting quietly at a drafting table. “Why would he think that?” she asked, keeping her voice low to match Anthony’s.

He gestured toward the materials. “Because I ordered these.”

Ziara took in the mixtures of cream, pinks, barely there blues and an almost yellow color on a display table that was normally white, white and white. “Hmm. I can see where that would be a problem.”

“I’ve tried to move Robert in new directions for years now, especially as grumblings surfaced from the buyers. But he just won’t listen.”

“I don’t think Mr. Creighton will give him that option.”

“Well, maybe he will succeed where I have failed.” With a sad smile, he wandered back across the room, leaving Ziara alone for what he knew was her favorite pastime.

Picking up the nearby invoices, she started matching the materials on the table with the names and prices on the sheets of paper. She studied the fresh array of colors, the textures, drape and a myriad of other things.

In an ideal world—where she would have had a supportive family, scholarships and no need to be her own sole support immediately after getting her GED—she would have been a supplier, searching out the finest materials, the best deals for the entire company in accessories, gemstones, beading, lining, everything. As it was, she could spend hours immersed in the research but allowed herself only small windows here and there. Luckily Anthony wasn’t threatened by her presence or interest, so he’d spent many a minute teaching her bits and pieces. Bless his heart.

“Enjoying yourself?”

Ziara froze, her hand buried in a pile of pink-tinged satin. To her knowledge, Vivian didn’t know about her little visits here. Yet it hadn’t taken Sloan a week to uncover her secret.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Creigh—um, Sloan. Did you need me for something?”

When he squeezed the back of his neck as if to relieve the tension gathered there, she couldn’t help but sympathize.

“I definitely need you, Ziara. Don’t you know that?”

Her gaze zeroed in on his face, searching for the intention behind the words. His bright blue eyes were now tired, but a shiver of awareness still snuck down her spine. No matter how he looked, no matter what he said, she felt he was bringing her to an awareness of him as a man—and herself as a woman.

She murmured, “I’m happy to oblige.” Then cringed inside at the many ways her words could be misinterpreted. She straightened as he moved closer. He reached toward her stomach, which tightened in anticipation—but his hand bypassed her to explore the materials on the table beyond.

A smoky-blue chiffon, almost gray, held his attention. “Very nice,” he murmured, the sound almost seductive, as though he was encouraging...something. He lifted the material, testing the feel, weight and drape.

His hands fascinated her, the long fingers with their neatly clipped nails a sharp contrast to the fragile-looking material. But his eyes drew her, too. Those bright blues had darkened as if he were looking inward rather than at the material he handled so skillfully.

“What is this?” he asked.

“It’s a light chiffon, mostly used for accents and layering,” she said.

Snapping out of his thoughts, he glanced at her in surprise. “Been studying your materials, have you?”

Warmth flooded into her cheeks and chest. “Anthony has been teaching me.”

Rather than the condemnation she’d expected, his eyes softened in appreciation. “Show me.”

* * *

Sloan found himself entranced as Ziara explained the contrasts between silks, chiffons, satins and numerous other materials used in dressmaking. Not over the information itself, even though it was appreciated, but the unguarded spark in her eyes.

Then there was the show: her slender arms lifting each material to demonstrate its ability to drape, the thickness and what it might be used for.

“You could have been a supplier,” he said, drawn in by her enthusiasm.

The stillness that invaded her body told him he’d hit a sore spot, even though her lowered lashes hid her expression from him. Not quite understanding, he asked, “Why didn’t you? This stuff obviously interests you.”

The muscles around her mouth tightened, then she raised her guarded gaze. “Fashion production and supply chain management degrees don’t come cheap.” She started sorting the material by color. “Tuition was nonexistent for me, so that type of dream wasn’t even on the table. I looked at my options and chose what worked with my skills. It wasn’t until I came here that I realized how interesting this side of the business could be.”

“Your parents weren’t able to help?”

Her mouth twisted. “Not even close. It was just my mother and me, anyway. She didn’t think school was worth much.”

“What about your guidance counselor? If your grades were good, scholarships could have helped.”

“Maybe in another life.”

The spark of curiosity that ran through his body was exciting but dangerous. He took the leap, anyway. “Why?”

Finally she stopped rearranging the material so she could glare at him. “Look. I came from a really small town, even more southern than Atlanta, with not enough money and very few options. I worked my way through secretarial school with two jobs, eating peanut butter from a spoon every night. Not everyone needs a high salary and trust fund to be successful.”

That should have stung—and it did, but not in the personal way he expected. He could see how hard she must have worked to attain her level of success at such a young age—which meant this wasn’t just a job to her.

She wasn’t just Vivian’s pet.

He couldn’t think about what that meant to his plans. So he let his mind conjure pictures of her caressing the fabric. Within seconds, he began to visualize designs: a sleek gown of pale pink satin, almost bright against her dark skin, drifting low over her naked back, accented with white diamonds and silver thread. The smoky chiffon shaped into three-dimensional flowers at the shoulders of a structured gray, almost silver, silk dress. The creamy yellow draped tight across her torso in tiny pleats that met at the curve of her hip, then released into a waterfall of softly lilting, creamy white feathers.

All of them made exclusively for the incredible body before him.

His horrible morning dissolved under the rush of creative energy.

“What are you thinking?” he heard her say, her voice echoing slightly as she pulled him from his own head, that place where he created all the things he needed, wanted, with the easy strokes of his mind.

It didn’t matter whether it was building plans, an office design, extensive renovations...or, apparently, wedding dresses. He had only to envision it and the lines appeared in the forefront of his mind. It was very helpful, incredibly productive and totally intoxicating.

Which was the only explanation he had for what he did next. Reaching around her to the desk, he snagged paper and a drawing pencil. The move brought him flush with her side, prompting a surge of heat wherever their bodies met, though he forced himself to move away quickly.

He could tell she felt it, too, by the widening of her eyes and the way she held her breath. He shoved the materials on the table aside and started to draw. Within minutes, he had a simple outline of the pink satin dress he’d imagined, though he kept the distinctive characteristics of the model vague.

“Wow,” she breathed. “That’s gorgeous.”

“Thank you.”

Her smile warmed him, intoxicating in its sincerity. He often had the feeling that she simply responded to him the way she should, the way an assistant was expected to respond to her boss. Not this time.




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