Pamela Yaye - Promises We Make

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.