Zane.
Gianna didn't think she would ever forget the voice of the egoistic prick.
Where had he appeared from? What hole had vomited him out?
When she had looked at the Whitman's booth earlier, she hadn't seen him. Not even when the designs of his company had been shown.
So, where exactly had he been then? Smooching some jeweler in the restroom?
She watched placidly as he stepped forward, making the room stir again, tension shifting, recalibrating.
And what was he about to do? Defend his company?
She wouldn't put it past him.
Meanwhile, Zane's gaze flicked to Sabrina—disgusted, disappointed.
Then to Gianna. Something unreadable passed between them.
"She didn't steal anything," he said flatly.
Gianna opened her mouth to counter, but his next words put her zeal out.
"Gianna, I mean. She is the original designer."
Sabrina spun toward him. "Mr. Zane—"
"You embarrassed the company," he continued, facing her, voice carrying. "And yourself."
