Scandal In The Boardroom: His by Design / The CEO's Accidental Bride / Secret Baby, Public Affair

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.