The Billionaire's Sexy Rival (Jameson Brothers Book 3)

by Leslie North

  William's head spun. Despite Poppy's insistence that he take charge, she had arrived at her decision in record time…and she certainly hadn't run her decision by him.

  His phone buzzed, indicating a text from their driver. The car was on its way. William pocketed his phone, thinking that he would hold off on relaying this information until he could convince Poppy to reconsider, but she was already forging ahead.

  "… so anyway, now that that's settled, I was thinking we should go as a couple to the convention," she said. "I mean, not a couple-couple, but a famous literary couple. Tons of people will be cosplaying, and we can use the opportunity to illustrate the concept of our panel. You know what I mean. Anyway, I was thinking maybe Bella and Edward, at least for the first day?"

  "God no." The refusal was out of his mouth before he could think how to steer their conversation back on track. Her suggestion evoked an image of himself, pale and glittering, dressed like an undead high schooler…such a vision must be nipped in the bud. "That couples' costume idea was beaten to death already ten years ago."

  "Pun intended?" Poppy's mouth quirked, but he was on a roll and couldn't be distracted.

  "Even taking the wearisome history into consideration, with the amount of Edwards and Bellas we're bound to see at the convention…we'd get lost in the crowd. We'd be totally unremarkable, when the theme of our panel is unconventional. And anyway, we look nothing like the characters."

  "How about Jamie and Claire? Outlander?" she suggested.

  William gave a disgusted snort. "At least Edward and Bella were subtextually abusive and unhealthy. Can you imagine the number of convention-goers to come up and ask us if we'd ever recreated that scene where…" He stopped. Poppy was gazing up at him, eyes shining, her voluptuous mouth even fuller than usual and unable to contain a smile of absolute amusement.

  "You've read all these books," she said triumphantly. "You're a romance-lover. This convention was made for people like you."

  "I…" There was no use denying it by this point. William didn't know what part of his reputation was still salvageable, but he decided to take a leaf out of Poppy's book and charge ahead. "You didn't trick me into admitting anything, Miss Hanniford. It's certainly not a secret to those who know me best."

  "Romance-lover!" she said again gleefully. She rocked back with the force of her laugh, her shoulder brushing against his own. "No wonder you want their business so badly! Do you think they'll send you free books? Oh, I'd hate to be the one to take that hookup away from you…"

  A fire flared in William. "You won't be taking any 'hookups' away from me," he promised. "In fact—"

  When Poppy's lips closed momentarily over her smile, likely to say something else to try and get a rise out of him, William made his move. He caught her chin and swooped in, capturing her lips with his own. The kiss was firm, authoritative, deliberate. As sensual as it was silencing. He held it for longer than he had intended, enjoying her surprised intake of breath and denying her real release until he was satisfied. He withdrew slowly, enjoying the way her plump bottom lip tasted, and the way it fell back into place once he had finished his surprise sampling. Gorgeous green eyes gazed at him; for once, William couldn't read a single secret thought hidden in their depths. Poppy broadcasted everything she was thinking on her face in that moment.

  He found the sight immensely satisfying.

  "William…" Almost as satisfying as the way she breathed his name. "You should know I'm thinking about backing away from this contract. It's getting too complicated. Things between us…" She trailed off.

  "Poppy. I don't want to end our competition," he whispered. He stroked her cheek, marveling at how her skin seemed to glow in the fading light from the sun. "And neither do you. Besides, it wouldn't be half as fun without you."

  Poppy's lips parted. Maybe she meant to respond, or maybe she meant to follow-up some other way. William leaned in.

  The pop of gravel beneath car tires pulled him back to the present. Poppy moved her head away to look, and William followed her gaze. The car was coming down the road to retrieve them. He mentally cursed the fact that he had texted them so soon to begin with. He rose, and offered his hand to Poppy, who didn't hesitate in letting him pull her to her feet. He gathered their equipment as she conversed with the driver. Probably to thank him, William thought. Poppy never let any small job or gesture go unnoticed.

  "I meant what I said," she told William as he held the car door open for her. "I'd like the best person to win the job, William. And if today's… conversation… proved anything to me, it's that you're a good fit. I'm not beyond admitting when I'm defeated."

  "We'll see," he allowed as he got in beside her. He had already decided privately that he wasn't going to let Poppy Hanniford slip out of this arrangement so easily. He wasn't going to accept any sort of victory that wasn't hard-won… and he definitely wasn't going to accept her easy exit from his life. Not now that he had tasted her lips. Not now that she had become so thoroughly entangled in his thoughts.

  There was no way he was going to let her call the shots. He was going to have his way, and he was going to prove that his methods were the right way to win.

  He would get what he wanted.

  Chapter Six

  Poppy

  "I swear," Poppy said. "Isn't it weird for you sometimes? I mean, if you really sit back and allow yourself to think about it?"

  "Think about what?" Across the table from her, William was busy pulling his tablet out of his briefcase. "I try to have a plan for every scenario, if you haven't noticed."

  Poppy arched an eyebrow. "I've noticed," she returned coolly. The two of them were seated at a coffee shop a few blocks east from Wildflower Agency headquarters…and a few blocks west of Jameson headquarters. It felt almost Shakespearean: 'two lovers from rival clans sneak out to a hideaway between their strongholds'. Or something like that. Poppy hadn't exactly excelled in classic literature in school. She had always found the majority of it as dry and dusty as the history it hailed from.

  No, what she loved most was romance: timeless, sweeping.

  Forbidden.

  "So am I supposed to assume it was your plan all along that we would collaborate together on…on…" Poppy gestured to the stack of folders between them. "On Conventional Romance?"

  "I assure you, Miss Hanniford, I find nothing about our present partnership conventional," William said as he reached for his coffee.

  Poppy's cheeks heated. "You can say that again," she muttered. It was the perfect segue into a topic that had been nagging her. There was no good time to bring it up, really, but she still felt as if she needed to clear the air. "William, I want you to know that I—that this interpersonal thing going on between us isn't something I normally encourage."

  "Nor I." William squinted at his tablet screen. It was a look of doomed concentration, one that clearly asked: how is everyone else getting on? Why can't I connect to the Wi-Fi?

  "William!" Poppy reached over and wrenched the tablet out of his hands. William stared at his empty palms as if he couldn't believe she had just snatched it away. He had been born filthy rich, after all: he had probably never experienced someone taking a toy away from him in his life. "William, I mean it. What I'm trying to say is…" Poppy closed her eyes as she fought for the right words. "…I don't normally do this sort of thing. Like, ever. That came out way more anticlimactic than I wanted, but I hope you know what I mean. I don't normally kiss rival CEOs, especially not those I'm competing against for a job."

  "I know what you mean." William met her eyes patiently. "And I mean it when I say that the same goes for me. But you don't believe me, do you?"

  "Not for a second." William was way too handsome to have avoided this sort of entanglement in the past. The odds simply weren't in his favor.

  "Well, I've never found myself in a working partnership with a rival CEO before," William said as he took his tablet back from her. "So whether or not you believe me is irrelevant. You're the only one, Poppy
. I'm as new to this sort of thing as you are."

  "Surely you aren't totally new?" Poppy said with a raised eyebrow. William rolled his eyes at the low-hanging fruit, and she stifled a laugh. She had never seen William Jameson roll his eyes before. It must be something he reserved for private moments, she realized, when the eyes of the world were finally off him. She wondered what it meant that he would do it in front of her.

  "William…there's something else," she began hesitantly. She had intended to use their meeting today to tell him of her decision to forfeit the job. It was painful to admit it, but Jameson Ad Agency was a better fit for this client. After seeing William in action last weekend, Poppy felt certain of it. The only thing hampering the project going forward was her own team's involvement. Sooner or later, there would be too many people running in too many different directions, and their productivity would tank. Better to back out now, gracefully, and let William…

  "… so you understand the conundrum I'm facing, and I'm hoping you can assist me on this," William was saying. Poppy blinked and glanced up. She had been shredding her napkin into little pieces and not listening, but that didn't mean she couldn't set her own agenda aside and rise to the occasion.

  "I'd be happy to, William! Only there's just a small caveat: I didn't go to school to be a Jameson's assistant," Poppy said innocently. "Are you sure I'm qualified for the position?"

  "Oh, knock it off." William flipped his tablet around and passed it back to her. "Look. The publishing house has just announced what the basis for the convention is going to be this year. They've already selected the book."

  "Gone with the Wind!" Poppy exclaimed. Her heart leapt at the sight of the familiar movie poster: Scarlett O'Hara and Rhett Butler, locked in their iconic embrace amid the bright orange fire engulfing the Old South.

  William leaned forward. "You know it?"

  "Of course I know it! What heartless, cultureless bridge troll hasn't seen Gone with…the…oh," Poppy concluded at William's look. "Well, if it makes you feel any better, I never did get all the way through the book."

  "I didn't even know it was a book first," William said blandly. He sat back in his chair and looked thoughtful.

  "But I do love the movie. It's one of my all-time favorites," she volunteered. "Well, I don't love the racial slurs. Or other problematic elements."

  "Glad to hear it, Poppy." William chuckled. "At least that's one aspect of the story we can agree not to include in our planning for the event."

  His emphasis on the word 'our' was enough to make her sit up and take notice. She watched William take a casual sip of his coffee. Evidently he hadn't noticed his own usage of the word. Was he really ready to play ball as part of a team?

  Poppy squinted at him. He looked the same as ever: regal, collected, and completely absorbed in the task before him. She couldn't count on seeing a change of heart in William Jameson this early in their collaboration, no matter how much she might like to fantasize about him being a team player. She was sure that would come with time, especially after he got a taste of how easy she was to work with…

  But in the meantime, he would never know how effective a team could really be if she backed out now. Poppy doubted anyone in his own agency had the balls to suggest as much to their CEO, much less follow through. More than that, maybe she had the publishing house all wrong. Poppy could admit when she was wrong—especially when her misunderstanding had blinded her to her own advantage. If the convention was using Gone with the Wind as its theme, then the event was obviously seeking to prop up strong women. Poppy had always likened herself to Scarlett O'Hara growing up—to the admirable, tenacious aspects, anyway—and the fact that her potential client had chosen that particular story had to be a sign. They were trying to prop up narratives with strong female characters, strong women, and Poppy had always counted herself among them. She couldn't erase herself from the narrative before it had even really begun.

  She couldn't back down and let William take over now.

  "What are you smiling about?" William sounded playfully suspicious, but Poppy could hear the smile in his own voice. She shook her head, grinning, and stabbed at her pastry with her fork. "Poppy…"

  "What? Nothing! I'm smiling at nothing! I mean, even if I was smiling…" Her grin broadened. "Can't I enjoy a morning out with my rival?"

  "I'm enjoying myself too," William acknowledged.

  "Enjoying yourself with your tablet!" she teased.

  "I'm sorry if I get wrapped up in work." He surprised her by setting the tablet aside and folding his hands. "The best defense I can offer you is that it's my personality type. Always has been. But…it's remarkable to have someone to bounce ideas off of, and get lost in a problem with company."

  Poppy shook her head again. "Honestly, William, I'm just giving you a hard time. I really admire your concentration, your dedication. No wonder you're so successful."

  "I'm starting to think that success comes with a cost," William murmured. He spoke so quietly that Poppy almost imagined she had misheard him. She blinked, and leaned in a little in case he decided to follow up his words, but he seemed to be talking more to himself than to his tablemate.

  "Maybe it doesn't have to." Poppy reached across the table and pulled one of his hands free to hold in hers. She lost herself momentarily in the feeling of his long strong fingers, and the deep crease of his palm. His hand was still warm from the mug of coffee.

  "Miss Hanniford. You'll set the gossip columns talking," William whispered, but he didn't pull away. His serious mouth curled in a crooked, mischievous smile, and only one dimple leapt into prominence. Poppy had never seen him wear that version of his smile before. She wondered what a man who smiled like that was secretly capable of, and a rush of warmth flooded through her. Her face suddenly felt hot, hotter than their joined hands. The place between her crossed legs doubly so.

  "Do you care?" She was genuinely curious.

  William seemed to consider for a moment. His fingers caressed the inside of hers all the while. "I don't," he said finally. "Not in the least. My younger brother has occupied those particular New York columns long enough. Maybe he's overdue for a challenger to his crown."

  "Then you'll wear all the crowns in the family," Poppy laughed.

  "Are you calling me a king, Miss Hanniford?"

  "Like you've never heard that comparison before." Poppy withdrew her hand from William's and rose. She hated that she was the first to notice the time, but he was sitting just below the coffee shop's clock. She enjoyed the momentary look of confusion that passed across his face, and filed it away as a victory.

  William Jameson had been so wrapped up in her that he had forgotten the time.

  "I propose we meet again at the end of the week," she said as they shouldered their bags and walked out together. "But I get to decide the time and place."

  "Done," William said. "I think a follow-up meeting is a good idea. I'll try not to be so distracted next time."

  "See that you aren't." Poppy paused on the sidewalk outside and smiled up at him. "Because the meeting I'm proposing could be rife with distractions. I'm inviting you over to watch 'Gone with the Wind', William. Friday night, eight o'clock, my place. Can't serve a client when you're totally ignorant of what they’re looking for, can you?"

  "I wouldn't say I'm totally ignorant," William fired back. "Eight o'clock. Text me the address."

  Poppy waved and turned. She was surprised when William caught the strap of her messenger bag and reeled her back suddenly. She turned herself around just in time to crash against his chest. She gazed up the length of his expensive tie, totally stricken by the move and trying to hide the fact. He looked down at her, his dark eyes penetrating. For a moment, Poppy thought he was going to capture her mouth in a kiss right then and there, in full view of the interested coffee shop patrons. But William didn't budge, and neither did she. If this was a test, she was determined to pass it. She wouldn't be the first to admit defeat in this particular little battle.

>   Even if the lips hovering above her looked absolutely irresistible.

  "Don't be late," she breathed.

  "I wouldn't dream of it," William replied. The arm around her waist relented, and she slipped free of him once more. She took a step back, then turned away again. She tried not to notice the collective look of disappointment on the faces of the coffee shop watchers as she strolled back down the street toward her office. She tried to ignore the way her heart kept beating, fast and irregular, all throughout her morning appointments. She swore it didn't calm down until lunchtime, and a text from William requesting her address started it going all over again.

  Maybe it was all the coffee.

  Maybe she wasn't as resilient as she thought.

  Chapter Seven

  William

  William arrived early and took a moment to himself on the stoop of Poppy's brownstone to adjust his tie. He had already checked his appearance in the tinted window of his limousine and knew he looked as put-together as always.

  He just didn't feel that way. The prospect of seeing Poppy Hanniford tended to do that to him.

  The handle of his briefcase was worn and smooth and reassuring in his hand. He had no idea what he was about to walk into, but he had come prepared. He wouldn't put it past Poppy to try and throw him a curveball the moment she opened her door to him. He raised his fist and knocked.

  The door opened. Poppy stood before him, grinning. "You came!" she exclaimed, as if there had ever been any question. She held a massive bowl of popcorn in her arms, salted and glistening and ready for consumption. The bowl was almost wider around than her arms could reach.

  William's gaze went lower and lower, trying to wrap his head around what he was seeing. Poppy stood before him in an oversized T-shirt (purple, of course) with large black print letters.