The morning passes in a blur of meetings and strategy sessions. We’re launching a new campaign for one of the casino properties, and I’m presenting the creative concept to the executive team at eleven. By the time I’m walking into the conference room, my nerves are humming with anticipation.
And then I seehim.
Damon Blackwell, CEO, sitting at the head of the table in a perfectly tailored charcoal suit, his expression all business. This is the side of him that most of the company knows. Polished, professional, untouchable.
But when his eyes meet mine across the table, they soften. Just for a second. Just enough for me to see Nitro beneath the corporate armor.
“Ms. Wren,” he says formally, but there’s warmth in his voice. “Please, walk us through your proposal.”
I launch into my presentation, and I’m good at this. The months of proving myself have honed my confidence and sharpened my skills. I watch the executives lean forward, engaged and interested. I field questions with ease, defend my creative choices with data and market research.
When I finish, there’s a beat of silence.
Then applause.
“Brilliant work, Marley,” says Christine, the COO. “This is exactly the direction we need to take.”
“Agreed,” adds Marcus from operations. “When can we launch?”
I glance at Damon, and his smile is small but proud. “That’s up to the creative team’s timeline,” he says. “Ms. Wren, what are you thinking?”
“We can have assets ready within three weeks,” I say confidently. “Full launch by the end of the month.”
“Make it happen,” Damon says, and that’s that.
As everyone files out of the conference room, Damon catches my arm gently. “Got a minute?”
I nod, and he closes the door behind the last executive. Alone in the conference room, the dynamic shifts. He’s not the CEO anymore. He is Nitro, my man, looking at me like he’s about to go full badass biker on me.
“You were incredible,” he says, pulling me against him. “I wanted to stop the meeting halfway through just to tell you how proud I am, but that probably would’ve been unprofessional.”
I laugh against his chest. “Probably. We’re trying to maintain that whole professional-boundaries thing, remember?”
“Fuck professional boundaries.” He tilts my chin up and kisses me, deep, thorough, and completely possessive. “You’remine, and I’m proud as hell.”
“I’m proud of me too,” I admit softly. “I never would’ve believed I’d get here. Creative Director, I mean, presenting to the executive team. Making arealdifference.”
“Six months ago, you were fighting through the worst situation imaginable. And you came out stronger.”
“We both did.”
He rests his forehead against mine. “Yeah. We did.”
A knock on the door makes us jump apart.
Damon clears his throat and straightens his tie while I smooth my dress.
“Come in,” he calls.
His assistant pokes her head in. “Mr. Blackwell, your two o’clock is here.”
“Thank you, Sarah. I’ll be right there.” He waits until she leaves, then turns back to me. “Dinner tonight? Just us? Queenie mentioned wanting to have dinner with Millie anyway.”
“Sounds perfect. Where?”
“I was thinking of that little Italian place you love. The one with the homemade pasta.”
My heart melts a little more. He remembers. He always remembers the little things that make me happy.
