Читать книгу Promises We Make - Pamela Yaye - Страница 12

“You, in my office, now.”

Niveah’s apology died on her lips. Where the hell did Damien get off yelling at her? She was the most successful creative buyer at Access Media and Entertainment, not some flunky in the mailroom sorting envelopes. Instead of saying sorry, Niveah asked Damien if he was out of his damn mind. “Who do you think you’re talking to? I’m not your subordinate, I’m your equal. And don’t you ever forget it. I deserve to be treated with respect and—”

“Not here.” The sharpness of his tone put an end to her rant. “Follow me.”

Without as much as a nod, he strode past her. The thought of being alone with Damien petrified her, but when he turned the corner, Niveah had no choice but to follow. She watched him open the door to his left and frowned. Curious as to why he wanted them to talk in the storage room, she hurried to catch up.

As she entered, her feet slowed, and her eyes widened. Where was she when they’d transformed the dark, dingy space into something Martha Stewart would be proud of? The room smelled like freshly squeezed lemons and there wasn’t a speck of dust in sight. The old photo copiers, broken office furniture and recycling bins were gone. Now the room was filled with sunlight, comfy couches and an enormous L-shaped desk decorated with sports memorabilia.

“I never realized this room had so much space. It’s twice the size of mine,” she said, admiring the rich, sleek decor. She wanted to ask who the people were in the framed photographs on the wall, but decided against it. After all, they weren’t friends and this wasn’t a social call. “I see you’ve made yourself right at home.”

“I plan to be here for awhile.” Damien took off his jacket, inspected it, and dropped it behind his chair. “You spilled coffee on my suit. I’ll send you the bill for my dry cleaning tomorrow.”

Niveah rolled her eyes to the ceiling. “What did you want to talk to me about? I’m very busy, and I don’t have time for idle chitchat.”

He gestured for her to close the door, but when she didn’t, he strode past her and slammed it. Damien liked the view from where he was standing so much, he decided against returning to his desk. Niveah had a sexy ass, great legs and a perfect set of boobs, so why was she dressed like a Hutterite woman? Did she think that downplaying her looks would help her clients take her more seriously? Before he could censor his thoughts, the question running through his mind burst out of his lips. “What’s with the outfit?”

Niveah pivoted around on her heels. “Excuse me?”

“It’s drab, dark and shapeless,” he said, his gaze sliding down her hips. “It looks like something the hosts of that TLC makeover show would dump in the trash.”

Now she was good and mad. Her chest was heaving, her hands were clenched and when he stepped forward, she thought of kicking him in the shin.

Damien took another step.

There was no space between them now. If she sneezed he’d be covered in germs. The thought made a laugh bubble in her throat. It would serve Damien right for dissing her expensive suit. “Just because I have to work with you, doesn’t mean I have to like you. Stay away from me and I’ll be sure to do the same.”

“Did you forget that I was summoned here to infuse life and creativity into your afflicted department?” He spoke in a conciliatory tone, but his righteous smile spoke of his pride. Damien Hunter thought he was “the man,” and according to her misguided boss, he was. “There’s no getting rid of me, Ms. Evans. I have a job to do and I’m going to do it. You feel me?”

Taking a deep breath didn’t help Niveah relax. Neither did counting to ten. Or twenty. Damien was doing his damndest to piss her off and it was working. The man hadn’t even been at Access Media and Entertainment for an hour, but she already hated his guts. Why did I sleep with him? she thought, overcome with regret. Guys like Damien Hunter were as common as an enchilada in Mexico, but she’d been too blinded by lust to realize it. “Let’s call a truce. You stay on your side of the office and I’ll stay on mine.”

Aggressive women were a turn-on, and as Niveah advanced forward, he felt the impulse to kiss her. But when Damien remembered how their night ended on New Year’s Eve, his interest waned. “Oh no you don’t,” he said, leaning against the door to prevent her escape. “We have some unfinished business to discuss. Once you answer my questions to my satisfaction, I’ll be more than happy to let you go on your way.”

Niveah stared at him, wondering why she’d ever found him attractive.

“Did you know who I was when you approached me at the hotel bar on Saturday night?” Damien continued before she had a chance to respond. “Think long and hard about your answer, because I have a knack for detecting bullshit.”

His question didn’t merit a response, but Niveah forced herself to answer. The sooner she got out of his office, the better. “If I had known you were the clown from the East Coast office I was being forced to work with, I wouldn’t have wasted my best stuff on you.”

Clown? Is that what everyone around the office referred to him as? “Don’t flatter yourself, honey.” He saw her eyes widen and couldn’t resist adding, “I’ve had much better lovers.”

A flush crept up Niveah’s neck and over her cheeks.

“And while we’re on the subject of our one-night stand, how much money did you get for my watch? Five, six grand?”

“Your watch? What makes you think I have that ugly knockoff?”

“Knockoff! Are you kidding me?” His strident tone drowned out the telephone ringing on his desk. “I don’t wear cheap stuff. I only buy the best.”

“I don’t have your precious watch, so why don’t you go ask one of the floozies who frequent your ‘suite of love.’ You know, those much better lovers you mentioned earlier.”

Her tone, like her words, was filled with acrimony, and it took all of his self-control to keep from cursing. Damien was glad he didn’t do relationships, because this saucy, pain in the ass woman was the type to drive him straight to the madhouse. Like his older sister, Niveah brought out the worst in him, and after five minutes in her presence he needed a stiff drink. “I never had anyone else in my room, so that leaves you as the culprit.”

Damien promised himself he wasn’t going to bring it up, wasn’t going to think about it anymore, but the question burning in his mind slipped from between his lips before he could catch it. “Why did you creep out when I was in the shower?” He indulged in a sly, devilish grin. “Did things get too hot for you?”

“Quite the contrary.” A smirk lit up her eyes. “I was, um, how do I put this nicely? I wasn’t quite satisfied when you were done, so I went home to finish the job.”

Her eyes sliced across his face, but it was her words that cut him deep. She’d faked her orgasms? The truth was more stunning than a blow to the head, and for a moment Damien was speechless. He needed time to absorb her words, to think things over, but unfortunately Niveah wasn’t through with him yet.

“And one other thing.…”

Proud she had reclaimed the upper hand, she launched a second, more explosive assault. “I’ve been with this company for ten years and I don’t plan on going anywhere. I’m damn good at what I do, and no arrogant hotshot from New York is going to steal the VP position from me. I deserve this promotion, not you. But if you think you can compete with me, bring it on.”

“Is that a challenge?”

“Most definitely.”

“You have no idea what you’re doing, Ms. Evans. I’ll trample all over you.”

“You’re funny, Damien.” Her smile was sweet, but her tone was ice. “When I’m named vice president in June, I think I just might let you keep your job. And this adorable little office.”

Her mission accomplished, she strode past him and out the door with her head held high.

Damien’s eyebrows shot up. This was the woman he was expected to work with on the Discreet Boutique ad campaign? Did someone have it out for him, or what! He felt drained, beaten down, as if he’d just had his ass kicked by a man twice his size. And it was all because of Niveah. A sister who looked like an angel but had a heart of stone.

It was a challenge, but Damien tried to look on the bright side. At least she’d answered some of his questions. Their meeting on New Year’s Eve had been a stroke of luck, not some elaborate scheme to blackmail him. But there was still the matter of her stealing his watch—and faking her orgasms. Was Niveah telling the truth or just trying to stick it to him?

His thoughts returned to the night in question. Damien could still hear her moans, still feel her thighs locked around his waist, still smell the scent of their fervent lovemaking. His desire for her was overwhelming, and for the first time in his life he’d put the needs of his lover above his own. To please her, he’d honored all of her requests. He’d stroked her vulva, kissed her clitoris, eagerly licked the rim of the swollen lips between her legs. Then, when she couldn’t stand it anymore, he’d flipped her onto her stomach and plunged inside her with all his might.

“Faked an orgasm my ass,” he grumbled, striding over to his desk and plopping onto his chair. He’d been with a lot of women in his life, but he’d never seen a woman lose control like that in bed. He didn’t profess to be a stud between the sheets, but he refused to believe he hadn’t pleased Niveah. Not when she’d been clawing his back, screaming his name, and begging for more. The sister was obviously emotionally unstable, and if he knew what was good for him, he’d stay the hell away from her.

To keep his mind off his argument with Niveah, Damien organized his office and finished unpacking the boxes he’d lugged in from his car hours earlier. The rest of the day flew by, and if one of the guys from the finance department hadn’t stopped by to invite him for after-work drinks, he would have worked past quitting time.

The first thing Damien did when he walked into the upscale martini bar was scope out the lounge area for Niveah. She was nowhere to be found. He felt a pang of disappointment, but quickly stamped it out. Niveah Evans was the enemy, and he’d be wise to always remember that.

“Damien!”

“Hey, man, what’s up!”

“Welcome to the team!”

Damien chuckled when he spotted his colleagues at one of the corner tables. As he strode through the bar, he retrieved his cell phone from his coat pocket. He had one message. Worried something might be wrong at home, he quickly punched in his password. He plugged his left ear with his index finger and turned away from the loud, gaily chattering patrons at the bar.

A woman with a pleasant voice identified herself as the assistant manager at the Ritz-Carlton hotel. “Earlier today, someone in the cleaning crew found your watch in suite 1284. We apologize for any distress this may have caused you, but it’s available for pickup at the front desk of our downtown location. Mr. Hunter, if you have any questions or concerns, please don’t hesitate to call me here at the hotel.”

Damien deleted the message and shoved his cell phone back into his pocket. Damn. He’d accused Niveah of stealing his watch, but it had been back in his hotel suite all along. “A fine mess I’ve created this time,” he grumbled, expelling a breath.

The right thing to do was to apologize, but Damien would rather eat a bowl of crickets than say “sorry” to the snotty creative director. Since Niveah hadn’t apologized for skipping out on him on New Year’s Eve, he wouldn’t apologize for calling her a thief. An eye for an eye, right?

As he reached the table where his coworkers were sitting, a full-figured brunette wearing more makeup than a circus clown surged to her feet. “Mr. Hunter, take a load off. I saved you a seat right here beside me.”

Reluctantly, he sat down in the vacant chair.

“How was your first day of work? Getting a feel for the place yet?” she asked, staring at him intently. “I can show you around tomorrow during my coffee break, if you’d like.”

“No, thanks. If you’ve seen one photocopier, you’ve seen them all!”

The woman erupted in fake over-the-top giggles.

“Sir, what can I get you?”

Damien gave the waitress his order and listened with half an ear as his colleagues talked about their jobs, families and plans for the weekend. A popular country song came on, and the table quickly emptied, leaving Damien alone with one of the guys he’d met during lunch.

“Where’s boss lady tonight? I expected her to be here, hanging out with the team.”

“Niveah would never be caught dead in a place like this. This bar, like all of us, is beneath her.” The computer specialist scrubbed at his pockmarked cheek. “But you’ll see for yourself what a piece of work she is.”

“She isn’t that bad, is she?”

“Butter wouldn’t melt in that woman’s mouth,” he snarled, a bitter expression on his tanned face. “What she needs is a good lay. If she had someone to rock her world on a regular basis, she wouldn’t be such a raging bit—”

Damien gripped his arm. “Don’t.”

The fury in his tone must have shone through, because fear flashed in the man’s eyes. “Sorry, you’re right. That’s no way to talk about a member of our team.”

“Just don’t let it happen again.” Damien didn’t like Niveah, and he suspected that everything the computer specialist said was true, but he hated hearing such a smart, successful woman being disrespected—even one he couldn’t stand. “What’s her story? Do you know much about her life outside of the office?”

“The office is her life. Niveah works evenings, weekends and has been known to come in on holidays, too.” He paused to drink his beer. “She was engaged to a hotshot entertainment lawyer last year, but he broke things off just weeks before the wedding. No one knows for sure what happened, but there are rumors circulating that he had a chick on the side. Lucky bastard!”

The man chuckled, but Damien didn’t.