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      About the Author

      PAMELA YAYE has a bachelor’s degree in Christian education and has been writing short stories since elementary school. Her love for African-American fiction and literature prompted her to actively pursue a career in writing romance. When she’s not reading or working on her latest novel, she’s watching basketball, cooking or planning her next vacation. Pamela lives in Calgary, Canada, with her handsome husband, adorable daughter and precious son.

      Dear Reader,

      What could be more salacious than a sexy office romance featuring two headstrong characters vying for the same position? While writing this story about discovering love in the workplace, I quickly realized that Niveah Evans and Damien Hunter had much bigger problems than just being coworkers. Their love-hate relationship is tumultuous and passionate, and the more they try to resist each other, the hotter the fire burns!

      Before they can ride off into the sunset together, Damien will have to convince Niveah that his feelings for her are real. It won’t be any easy task, but Damien won’t stop until they have their happy ending.

      My next Kimani romance novel, Escape to Paradise (July 2011), is a story filled with secrets, betrayal and a hero so sensitive and romantic and alpha, he’ll make you swoon. To find out more about me and my novels, drop me a line at [email protected] or visit me at www.pamelayaye.com.

      With love,

      Pamela Yaye

      Promises

       We

       Make

      Pamela Yaye

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

      Dedicated to my son in heaven, Justice, and my children

       here on earth, Aysiah and Christian. Mommy loves you

       very much—more than words can ever truly express.

       Chapter 1

      “Is it just me or do all the men up in here look like broke-down versions of Boris Kodjoe?”

      Niveah Evans laughed out loud at her best friend’s assessment of the male guests at the Ritz-Carlton’s annual New Year’s Eve bash. Tickets to the black tie event had set her back a hundred dollars, and as she glanced around the elaborately decorated ballroom, she wondered what all the hype was about. Champagne flowed from a gold fountain and the performers suspended from the ceiling were giving one hell of a show, but it was nothing Niveah hadn’t seen before. As a creative director for the largest advertising company in the U.S., it was her job to be up on the latest trends, and she’d seen the act six months earlier in a Paris nightclub.

      “I can’t believe no one’s asked us to dance,” Roxi Gonzalez complained, wrinkling her nose as if she’d just gotten a whiff of an old shoe. “I wasted the entire morning getting plucked, waxed and shaved and no one in here gives a damn.”

      Jeanette Miller released a deep, pitiful sigh. “This is turning out to be the worst New Year’s Eve on record. I should have stayed home and watched the ball drop in Times Square.”

      “You’re right, this is pretty bad,” Niveah conceded, reaching for her mai tai, “but at least your boss isn’t bringing in some clown from head office to babysit you for the next few weeks. I single-handedly landed that Discreet Boutique account, and now Mr. Russo thinks I need help. How am I supposed to shine with another creative director breathing down my neck? I have half a mind to complain to—”

      Her friends groaned.

      “The next time you mention your job I’m out of here,” Roxi threatened, leveling a finger at her. “I came down here to have a good time, not listen to you bitch about work.”

      Jeanette put down her wine flute. “Niveah, you know what your problem is? Your life has no balance. All you care about is impressing Mr. Russo and getting another raise.”

      “What are you talking about? I travel—”

      “For work,” Jeanette chirped.

      “I entertain on a regular basis—”

      “For work.”

      “And I take the last Friday of every month off to recharge.”

      “Yeah, but that’s because Mr. Russo forces you to!”

      It was times like this that Niveah wished she hadn’t befriended Jeanette at the company picnic five years earlier. Within weeks of meeting, they were working out together, gossiping about their colleagues and planning the first of many Las Vegas shopping trips.

      Intent on being heard, Jeanette raised her voice above the rock song playing. “Working sixty hours a week is prematurely aging you. I didn’t want to say anything because you just celebrated your birthday, but you’ve lost your youth, your shine, that healthy glow I always envied.”

      “You’re so busy clawing your way up the corporate ladder you don’t realize that life is passing you by,” Roxi continued. “You’re working like a dog to forget what happened with—”

      Niveah silenced her with a look. “Don’t even think about mentioning that jerk’s name. I’ve moved on, and I wish you guys would, too.”

      “We will, as soon as you start living again.” Smiling sympathetically, Jeanette rested a hand on her best friend’s shoulder. “You know what you need to do?

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