LITMIR.BIZ

      2

      “HUGH.” JOSS TURNED, confident in her composed expression. She’d won plenty of poker games, this one was just played without cards. “It’s a pleasure to see you.”

      Viscerally speaking, her words were true. What woman wouldn’t be pleased to see a tall tuxedoed man who looked like Hugh? With his thick black hair, short in the back but longer and sexily disheveled around his face, his laser-blue eyes and finely chiseled flawless features, he was hot without even trying. But then he’d smile.

      Hugh Brannon’s teasing grin and accompanying dimples could convince female Eskimos to line up to buy ice.

      “A pleasure?” he echoed. “My, how we in marketing do bend the truth.”

      “Speak for yourself.” Joss smiled sweetly. “My ads use honesty and ingenuity.”

      “And mine use…?”

      “Overpaid celebrities, mostly.”

      “Well, I do work for a large agency with the budget for network commercials and well-known stars.” His tone was annoyingly indulgent. “I guess you’re in a different position.”

      The streamlined Visions Media Group might not produce glamorous spots for national television, but some of advertising’s most memorable campaigns, such as the milk mustache, had been print. And for all that Hugh liked to needle her, he oversaw his share of regional work. To hear him tell it, you’d think he was single-handedly responsible for the ads played during the Super Bowl.

      She scoffed. “You’re not up against me because of national commercials.”

      He swept his gaze over her. “I miss being up against you.”

      His words caught her off guard, and a pang of desire tightened her midsection. Should she glare, which he fully deserved, or look away in case she blushed tellingly? Not an oh-I’m-embarrassed-by-your-sexual-references girlish blush. An oooh-that-sounds-good-to-me-too flush of color. She might have a great bluffing expression, but there wasn’t much she could do about her fair skin.

      “So…” Hugh glanced around. “Donald’s not with you tonight?”

      She didn’t bother correcting him since he knew perfectly well her ex-boyfriend’s name was David. There had been an uncomfortable encounter at a convention in Houston over the summer, and Hugh had childishly insisted on calling David “Dale” all night.

      “We’re not seeing each other anymore,” she said.

      He shook his head. “Broke his heart, too, huh?”

      Please. As if she were the one who’d hurt him? “At least he had one.”

      Instead of arguing, he brought out the big guns—the seductive smile that lit his eyes and managed to be both boyish and enticingly adult. “You look fantastic, Joss.”

      So did he. “I certainly think so.”

      He chuckled at her cool response, and the low, rich laugh turned her insides to traitorous goo.

      “What about you, no date tonight?” Ordinarily, she wouldn’t have shown the slightest interest in his love life, but she was willing to make an exception since he’d broached the topic.

      “Of course not.” He feigned shock. “What woman could compare to you?”

      Infuriating man. Which, come to think of it, was redundant.

      “I forgot how full of it you are,” she said.

      “Really?” His smile vanished, and he brushed a finger across her cheek. “I haven’t been able to forget a thing about you.”

      It was a pitch, she reminded herself, a sale. Hugh was an ad man who went with what he thought the target audience wanted to hear. She should end this exchange, but she didn’t want to be the one to walk away. If only Nick would come in, she could excuse herself gracefully.

      Since it didn’t look as if anyone was bringing her a file in a cake, she’d have to spring her own escape. “We shouldn’t stand in the doorway like this.”

      “True. Buy you a drink?”

      “Very generous…considering it’s an open bar.”

      “It sounded more gallant than, wanna go get a free watered-down cocktail with me?”

      “Since when do you care about being gallant?” The old pain was numbed but still there, like emotional scar tissue. “I had you pegged more as opportunistic.”

      His jaw clenched, but then he shrugged. “Have it your way. I just thought maybe you could use a drink before you take second to my first. Again.”

      Not if there was any justice in the world.

      Her nomination this year was a first for Visions Media Group, and though Wyatt was ecstatic about the added credibility it lent his small company, she wouldn’t be satisfied with anything less than victory. Somewhere deep down, she questioned how healthy her desire to win was, but her mom had taught her that “also-ran” meant nothing. Besides, knocking Hugh down a peg would be a favor to the universe, benefiting all mankind.

      Womankind, at the very least.

      And it’s not like I’ve taken ambition to an unwholesome level. She wasn’t some unscrupulous nut who’d smear her opponent’s reputation, or bribe judges or throw virgin sacrifices into volcanoes to appease deities. Good thing, since the Dallas-Fort Worth area was as lacking in volcanoes as her social circle was in virgins.

      Inching away, she went with a more direct brush-off this time. “You’ll have to excuse me, Hugh. I see my boss over there, and he wanted a preview of my acceptance speech.”

      “By all means.” He didn’t reiterate his prediction of winning, but his smirk conveyed the message all the same.

      She ground her back teeth together as she walked away. Tuxedo, eight hundred and fifteen dollars. Cost of admission to ADster Awards Dinner, ninety dollars. Hugh Brannon’s ego, limitless.

      “AND THE GOLD ADSTER goes to…” Tessa St. Martin, a curvy woman in a short sequined dress, opened the envelope.

      Hugh waited along with everyone else for the winner’s name.

      “Kimmerman and Kimmerman’s Life in Motion campaign for ATC Tires! Hugh Brannon, account supervisor.”

      He shoots, he scores.

      The crowd didn’t exactly go wild, but all around the table, Hugh’s co-workers began congratulating him. Individual awards were given out for specific creative contribution, but recognition for an overall campaign went to the person who’d coordinated the client’s branding with the agency’s work. In this case, Hugh. His friend Mike Denton slapped him on the arm, and Kimmerman Sr. himself reached across the table to shake Hugh’s hand.

      Standing, Hugh nodded his thanks, but his mind drifted for a second to a fellow nominee across the room. He knew without seeing her that Jocelyn would be smiling graciously—as if she

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