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
