LITMIR.BIZ

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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,

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