Читать книгу Promises We Make - Pamela Yaye - Страница 11

“Here’s the rundown of your morning,” Doris Murphy began, opening her black portfolio notebook. “You have a staff meeting at nine o’clock, coffee with the marketing department an hour later and lunch with Vladimir Butkovsky at noon.”

Niveah consulted her agenda. “I’m expecting to hear from Mrs. Garrett-Reed today. If she calls while I’m in the morning meeting, come and get me. Understand?”

“Yes, Ms. Evans. Is there anything else? If not, I’ll return to my desk and finish typing up your notes from last night’s brainstorming session.”

Spotting a male figure striding by her office, Niveah leaned sideways in her chair, and peered around her receptionist’s full-figured frame. “Have you seen the new guy?”

“Mr. Hunter just arrived with Mr. Russo. Apparently, the two had breakfast this morning.”

Niveah didn’t like the sound of that. It was bad enough her boss had hand-picked this clown to work on her project, but discovering they were socializing off the clock was upsetting. She’d have to keep a close eye on this Hunter character. Her first crack at him would be at the morning staff meeting, and Niveah had every intention of showing him who was really in charge of the project. First she’d make him her new best friend, and then she’d pull the rug out from underneath him. The thought brought a smile to her lips.

“Confirm my twelve-thirty reservations at Casa Barcelona, and give me a buzz when the rest of the team files into the conference room.”

Niveah waited until her executive assistant closed the door before signing into her computer and reading the day’s emails. Knowing she would be interrupted in the next ten minutes, she decided against working on her latest project. Instead, she picked up the file marked “Specifics” that Doris had brought her, and began reading.

Crossing her legs, she settled into her seat and read the document cover sheet. Excitement surged through her. This was the project she’d been waiting for her whole career. A multi-million-dollar campaign that would garner enormous press. Landing this account would not only impress the higher-ups at head office, it would improve her chances of being named vice president when Mr. Whitmore retired in the fall. The position meant long, insane hours, but also a huge pay increase. Enough money to buy her parents a lavish new home in a gated community.

Niveah thought about what she had to do. Her job was simple. Create a unique ad campaign for Discreet Boutiques and knock her colleagues out of the running for the top position. If she nailed next month’s presentation, she’d be one step closer to landing her dream job. Becoming creative director six years ago had been a major accomplishment, but being named as the company’s first female vice president would make headlines around the world. And Niveah wasn’t above outwitting the competition to make it happen, either. That’s why she was going to march into the conference room at nine o’clock sharp, and charm the socks off the clown from head office.

Niveah had perused the file a few days earlier, but she wanted to ensure she hadn’t overlooked anything. Mrs. Garrett-Reed was a force to be reckoned with, and when she met the self-made woman last month, they hit it off immediately. With sales in the millions, Discreet Boutique was one of the most lucrative companies in the world, and launching a menswear line next winter was sure to triple profits.

As Niveah read from her notes, she recalled her hourlong conversation with Mrs. Garrett-Reed the previous week. Not only was she impressed by the keenness of the businesswoman’s mind, but she’d been blown away by her knowledge of marketing and advertising.

“Our new menswear line was created with today’s businessman in mind. Someone athletic, charismatic and successful who can finagle millions from clients, play golf with more finesse than a PGA champion and make women of all ages go gaga.”

A picture of Damien sprawled flat on his back flashed in Niveah’s head. It had been seventy-two hours since her one night stand, and she’d thought of nothing else since. Niveah had a staff meeting to prep for, but she couldn’t seem to get the brown-eyed New Yorker with the killer swag out of her mind. Sex with Damien had been hot, erotic and everything she’d been looking for. Was he still staying at the Ritz-Carlton? Or had he returned home already?

Shaking off the thought, she returned her attention to the file. It didn’t matter. They’d had their fun and that was that. So why couldn’t she stop thinking about him? Why was she replaying every moment of their night together? Niveah hated to admit it, but he’d loved her in a way no one else had before. Not even Stewart—and they’d dated for three years.

Allowing her mind to wander, she recalled how they’d made love again after eating dinner in bed. Unlike the first time they’d made love, he’d tenderly and gently stroked her. Cupping her face in his hands, sprinkling kisses on her cheeks, whispering words of praise in her ear. He’d loved her up all night long, and she still had the sore muscles to prove it.

Niveah shook her head. It was still hard to believe that she’d had sex with a perfect stranger. Part of her was angry at herself for not getting his phone number. She would have loved hooking up again, loved spending a second or even third night with him. But deep down she knew that would have been a huge mistake. Now was not the time to indulge in a seedy affair. She had a job to do, and it was imperative that she stay focused. Besides, Damien was hardly the relationship type. He was the kind of guy who promised to call at the end of a great date but didn’t, who dated three women at the same time and lived for the thrill of the chase. No, she was definitely better off alone.

“The staff meeting is about to start.” Her assistant’s voice came through the intercom loud and clear. “Mr. Russo just walked in the conference room with the new guy, and everyone’s clamoring for his attention.”

Prepared to meet the enemy, she stood, buttoned her blazer and checked her appearance in the full-length mirror behind the door. Her Chanel power suit was a chic, loose-fitting design and her Gucci eyeglasses gave her a mature, intelligent air. To complete her all-business look, she’d skipped the makeup, pulled her hair back in a no-nonsense bun and passed on accessories.

In the mirror, Niveah practiced a tight, toothless smile. Perfect. She looked serious, almost deadly—like the kind of person you didn’t mess with. A grin surfaced, quickly overwhelming the corners of her mouth. No one was going to push her around, especially not some hotshot from back east who Mr. Russo had hand-picked to be the next VP.

On the walk over to the conference room, Niveah went over her game plan. Befriending this Hunter guy was definitely the way to go. She’d play nice, work with him closely, then knock his feet out from under him. Guilt pricked her conscience, but she brushed all second thoughts aside. The advertising world was a ruthless, cutthroat business. To succeed at Access Media and Entertainment a girl had to play dirty, and that was exactly what Niveah intended to do.

Inside the conference room, her colleagues mingled at the breakfast table, grabbing coffees, chatting and munching on pastries and fruit. Starving, but too nervous to eat, she scoured the room for her boss. He was standing over by the window. Beside him was a much shorter man with sunken cheeks and sandy brown hair. Bingo. Mr. Hunter in the flesh. Deciding this was the perfect opportunity to introduce herself, she strode over.

“Good morning, gentlemen,” Niveah greeted. “It’s another gorgeous day in Tampa, isn’t it?”

Damien frowned. That voice. That scent. He shook off the thought that sprang in his mind. No way. It couldn’t be her. He’d been thinking about his sexy one-night stand for the last seventy-two hours, and if he didn’t stop daydreaming, Mr. Russo would show him to the door. Damien refused to let that happen. After twelve years in the business, he was ready for the big leagues. Blowing this opportunity would earn him a one-way ticket back to New York, and since he had no intention of returning to the cold, corrupt city, it was time to get his head in the game.

Tearing his gaze away from the window, he turned, prepared to meet the woman who was talking amicably to his assistant.

“This is Damien Hunter,” Mr. Russo said, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “Damien, I’d like you to meet, Niveah Evans. Like you, she’s one of our brightest and most talented …”

Damien stopped breathing.

Then, his whole body turned ice-cold.

It was her.

The woman he’d had hot, passionate sex with three nights earlier. The same woman who’d swiped his platinum watch and tiptoed out of his suite while he was in the shower. Damien’s mouth fell open, but nothing came out. Suddenly, he didn’t know up from down, right from left, or something as rudimentary as his first and last names.

“Over the next eight weeks,” his boss continued, oblivious to his physical distress, “the two of you will be heading up the Discreet Boutique menswear campaign, and I don’t have to tell either one of you that there’s a lot riding on this.”

Ride me, baby. Faster! Faster! Faster! She’d increased her pace, rocking her hips expertly, powerfully, with more zeal than a veteran pole dancer.

Damien snapped his eyes shut, deleting the image from his mind. He ordered himself to get a grip. To return to the present and quit reliving the past. What happened with this Niveah chick was a one-time deal, and if he wanted to be the next vice president of Access Media and Entertainment, he had to obliterate all thoughts of last Saturday from his mind.

The atmosphere was charged with tension, and Damien had the strange feeling that he was being watched. A glance over his shoulder confirmed it. Several women were staring at him. Had Niveah told her colleagues about the night they spent together? Did they know he’d gone down on her repeatedly? Damien stamped out the thought. Before this morning, she didn’t know who he was. Or did she? Fear burned in his lungs. What if … what if their hooking up hadn’t been a chance meeting? What if it had all been a setup? A scheme to blackmail him? It was a real and frightening possibility. In his twelve-year advertising career he’d seen it all. Powerful, accomplished men brought down by scandals. Even when the rumors turned out to be false, their careers were damaged irrevocably.

His features hardened and it hurt to smile. Not that he had reason to. He’d given Niveah the best sex of her life, and now she was playing him. Acting like he was a nobody. A scrub. A bugaboo. But what did he expect from a thief? Damien didn’t know why he was surprised. This was the nature of women. To lie, steal and cheat. They were sharks, every last one of them. Isn’t that what he’d learned from a long list of ex-girlfriends?

“I look forward to working with you, Mr. Hunter.”

Without missing a beat, he nodded and extended his hand. “Likewise, Ms. Evans.”

He searched her face for a sign of recognition, for acknowledgement, for something that indicated she knew who he was. Nothing. Not a blush, not a smile, not even a blink. Isn’t this a bitch, he thought, glaring at her. She’s pulling a Bill Clinton. Pretending we didn’t have sex all night long. Well, I’ll show her!

“If you’re not busy this afternoon, I’d like to sit down with you and discuss the—”

Damien spoke over her. “There are a few people in the production department that I’d like to have a word with first,” he lied smoothly. “Again, it was nice meeting you.”

Moving on, he introduced himself to everyone in attendance, shaking hands and making note of those he’d be working with on the Discreet Boutique menswear campaign. Damien was just starting to relax when he heard Mr. Russo call his name. “Damien,” he boomed, beckoning him with a large, beefy hand. “Come over here. I’d like you to say a few words.”

Damien coughed. For him, public speaking was as natural as breathing, but he suddenly felt out of his element. Feeling as inept as a nine-year-old delivering the opening address at the G8 Summit, he advanced slowly toward his boss.

Underneath Damien’s suit jacket, sweat soaked through his white designer dress shirt. And it didn’t help that Niveah’s eyes were all over him. Her gaze, filled with loathing and disgust, burned a basketball-size hole in his forehead. To remove the bitter taste in his mouth, he snatched a plastic cup off the refreshment table and downed the orange juice in one gulp.

“I know you’ve all had the pleasure of meeting the newest member of our team, but I’d like to formally introduce everyone to Damien Hunter. In the last decade, he’s crafted some of our most memorable ads, and I’m excited to have such a creative talent on board with us.”

“Thanks for the warm welcome, Mr. Russo. I’ll keep this brief, because I know you’re all anxious to get back to work, right?”

Polite laughter and smiles rose across the room.

“Like all of you in here, I strive to be the best in my field.” To ensure he was heard above the hum of the coffee machine, he raised his voice. “Forty years ago, the founders of this great company set out with a dream. A dream to set the advertising industry on its heels with their unique ads, slogans and media spots. I’m thrilled to be working with such a creative, go-getting bunch, and I’m confident that with hard work, commitment, and collaborative input, we’ll have a successful year filled with more profits and promotions.”

Fervent applause followed.

Damien snuck a look at Niveah and wished he hadn’t. She was inspecting her French manicure, a bored, uninterested expression on her face. He felt the urge to kick her chair, or give her shoulders a good hard shake. It was hard to believe this was the same woman who’d dropped to her knees, grabbed his package and given him the best oral sex of his life.

Niveah raised her head. There was a warning look in her eyes, and he read the message clearly: say a word and you’re a dead man. For now he’d play her game, but this was far from over. Disgust clogged his nostrils as he watched her. Niveah Evans was one hell of an actress. Drama students should take pointers from her, he decided, sliding a hand into his pocket. Recalling how she’d screamed and cursed as she climaxed, made him grin. The creative director might be able to fool their colleagues, but he knew the real Niveah Evans. The sultry, bad-ass chick who was a freak between the sheets.

Damien examined her. Remembering how she’d purred when he’d sucked her nipples into his mouth made it impossible for him to stare at anything but her chest. He dragged his gaze back up her face, only to have it dip back down to her cleavage seconds later. Worldly wise, there wasn’t much that got past him, and one glance at Niveah, sitting all prim and proper in her padded chair, told him she was a fraud. A fake. A woman with more faces than Lady Gaga. Why else would she look like a sex kitten on New Year’s Eve and a sexually repressed librarian three days later? Niveah was trying to pull the wool over his eyes, but he wasn’t having it. Before the end of the work day, he was going to get to the bottom of things—and retrieve his watch—because no one tricked him and got away with it.

“Dammit, Jeanette! Quit laughing, this is serious!”

“I can’t help it,” she admitted, still tittering, “This sounds like an episode of Desperate Housewives, and you know how much I love that show!”

More giggles flowed over the phone line.

Niveah leaned against the tiled wall and crossed an arm under her chest. Sneaking off to the bathroom in the middle of the staff meeting to call Jeanette was risky, but she couldn’t handle being in the conference room a second longer. Not with her hands and legs shaking furiously. Shocked didn’t begin to describe how she felt when her boss introduced her to Damien Hunter. Ashamed and mortified were more suitable words, but she wasn’t about to tell her best friend that. Besides, Jeanette was too busy busting a gut to realize the severity of the situation. “I can’t believe this is happening. This is my worst nightmare come true, and you’re cracking up like you’re watching a Chris Rock HBO special.”

“Girl, I’m sorry, but this is just too rich!” Her tone was filled with awe. “Okay, let me make sure I got this straight. Your one-night stand—the guy you had, and I quote, ‘the most amazing sex of your life with’—is the clown from the East Coast office? The man Mr. Russo expects you to work with on that big Discreet Boutique account?”

Niveah cringed. Again.

“I could kick myself for calling in sick today. I would have given anything to see the look on your face when that Damien guy came into the conference room.”

“Believe me, it wasn’t pretty.”

“I bet. You’ve gotten yourself into one hell of a jam, and I’m dying to know what you’re going to do next.”

“Nail the Discreet Boutique campaign, that’s what.”

“No, not about work, about this Damien guy. Are you going to approach him, or pretend your rumble in the jungle didn’t happen?”

“Can you stop saying that?” Niveah snapped. “It’s not funny.”

“You were the one who said the sex was wild and primitive, like two animals mating in the jungle,” she said innocently. “Now back to my original question, are you going to talk to—”

“Why would I do that? We had our fun, and now it’s time to move on. I have a campaign to finish, and a presentation to prep for. I don’t have time to worry about some man I …” had hot, steamy sex with. The words rose in her thoughts, but she said, “I’ve already forgotten about.”

“I wouldn’t be able to work with someone I’ve had sex with, but if anyone can do it, you can. Your employees don’t call you ‘the Heart of Darkness’ for nothing.”

The bathroom door swung open, and two women from the human resources department sauntered inside. “Hello, Ms. Evans,” they greeted.

Niveah nodded, then whispered into the phone. “We’ll talk later.”

“Sure thing. Try not to worry. Everything will be fine.”

Doubtful of that being true, she ended the call, switched off her cell phone and slid it into her jacket pocket. Determined to make a hasty getaway, Niveah reached for the door handle.

“What do you think of the new guy?”

Niveah glanced over her shoulder, realized the brunette was speaking to her, and plastered a smile on her face. Each company had at least one employee who lived for gossip, but Access Media and Entertainment had been cursed with two, and since she didn’t want to be the next casualty on the rumormill, she decided to be nice to the Olsen twin lookalikes. “I only spoke to him briefly, but he seemed okay. Why?”

“The female employees are placing bets on who will nail him first. Essence Jackson, over in the finance department, is leading the pack.”

What was with the women betting all of a sudden? Snippets of her conversation with Roxi on New Year’s filled her mind. A cold shiver crawled up her back, and a scowl tightened the corners of her lips. Her friend was to blame for the trouble she was in. If Roxi hadn’t goaded her into having a one-night stand, she wouldn’t be hiding out in the women’s washroom now. Okay, so Roxi hadn’t had put a revolver to her head and forced her to have sex with Damien, but Niveah needed someone to blame and big-mouth Roxi was it.

“Damien Hunter puts the f in fine, and if I wasn’t happily married, I’d be all over him.”

I hear you, girlfriend, I hear you.

The shorter woman stopped preening in the mirror, a contemplative expression on her oval-shaped face. “I don’t know what it is, but every time he looks at me I get knots in my stomach and I break out in goose bumps. It’s the strangest thing.”

Tell me something I don’t know, Niveah thought, remembering the first time she’d seen Damien at the Ritz-Carlton bar. Six feet tall, dreamy eyes, shrouded with muscles. He was confident, persuasive and smoking hot. What more could a woman want? And then there was that dark, penetrating gaze of his. The sexual energy between them was crushing, the single most devastating thing she’d ever experienced. His voice had had a calm, soporific effect on her, and before she knew what she was doing, they were headed upstairs to his executive suite. There, he’d further broken down her defenses, making her believe with every kiss that it had never been like this for him.

“A bunch of us thought it would be fun to take Damien out for drinks after work,” she continued, turning back to the mirror. “If you don’t have other plans, you’re more than welcome to join us. We’re meeting at the bar up the block around five.”

Curious, Niveah asked who was going.

“Everyone,” they answered in unison. “Since there’ll be over twenty of us, I went ahead and made reservations for one of their back corner rooms. That way we can talk and mingle, and drink our martinis in peace.”

“Thanks for the invitation, but I’m afraid I can’t join you. I’m working late tonight.”

“I told you she wouldn’t come,” grumbled the shorter woman to her friend. “She doesn’t believe in fraternizing with her subordinates, remember?”

Anxious for the conversation to end, Niveah yanked open the bathroom door. She hurried out into the hall, and ran smack dab into her wickedly handsome one-night stand.