Yvonne Lindsay - Scandal In The Boardroom

“Good morning, Ziara,” he said as he swept by her desk. “Could you get me the location contract, please?”

“Sure,” she mumbled.

He took that for as good a sign as he was gonna get. They spent the morning focused on the push for the show, smoothing out location details and ordering fabrics Sloan already knew they needed.

Ziara left for lunch at 11:30 a.m. on the dot, but Sloan stayed behind, trying to breathe after a morning of straining to act normal and, honestly, trying to hide his erection. Once he had himself under control, he figured it might be a good idea if he headed down and gave the Old Brigade a heads-up. Patrick was due to be in sometime today, but he hadn’t texted Sloan to let him know when.

Exiting on the third floor, he heard raised voices. Oops. This visit was just a little too late. He eased onto the overlook. Remaining back in the shadows, he studied the scene below. Patrick had arrived and no one was happy about it. Seeing Ziara standing to one side of the fray, he made his way down the staircase and slipped up behind her.

Unable to resist, he leaned in close to her ear. “Did I miss the start of the war?”

In his chest, he felt the shivers that moved down her spine, urging him to press closer. How quickly his resolve was shaken by the temptation of almost touching that caramel skin.

His mind focused on the heat from the exposed curve of her neck and the vanilla scent drifting 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.

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