by Leslie North
"Protect me from what, William?" Her voice was quieter. "From having to make hard decisions? They're my hard decisions. You wouldn't respect me as an equal if you thought I couldn't handle myself. So do you?"
"Do I what?"
"Do you respect me?" she demanded.
"Of course I respect you." He didn't need to think. "I more than respect you. Poppy, of course I know you're capable."
"Then you better start acting like it," she warned as she stepped out of his arms. "We're a team, William. If I come to you, it means I trust you enough to want your advice. I want your support. But I'm afraid your management style isn't going to work in this partnership…professional or otherwise. So I'll see you at the convention Friday," she concluded as she took a step back.
"You'll see me," William promised.
"Good. Because in light of recent events, I've made some last-minute changes to our costumes. You'll be getting an e-mail from me today," Poppy mentioned over her shoulder as she departed. "I'm throwing down the gauntlet, so be ready."
"Better than impaling me on it," William muttered. He watched her walk out, wishing he didn't so enjoy the mesmerizing sway of that tight, trim posterior. Whatever she would be wearing to the convention, he had no doubt that she would look damn good filling it.
After she had vanished back out the door, William relaxed a little. He hadn't realized he'd been grinding his teeth, but it was better to clamp down on what he really wanted to say then let the words pour forth. How could Poppy not see that he had done this for her? What's more, what he had done had flown in the face of his own self-interest. Jameson Agency looked better if Wildflower had incompetents on staff. He had only sought to do her a favor by helping her cull her staff and make it more efficient. It was something he was good at, and hadn't she come to him seeking his expertise?
He moved back around to his desk and sat down. He was unsurprised to find an unopened e-mail from Wildflower Agency at the top of his inbox.
He clicked it open and braced himself.
Chapter Ten
Poppy
If her arrival at the convention was something of a sensation, then Poppy couldn't wait to see the reception that William was going to get.
"Oh, Miss Hanniford! You look absolutely gorgeous." One of the authors on their panel, a mousy woman who hadn't spoken more than three words to her over the course of their meetings, came running over the moment she clapped eyes on Poppy. "Holy crap. What an innovative idea to switch up your choice of costume!"
"You like it?" Poppy executed a little turn to show off her ensemble. She wore a sleek black suit and choker, her honey-blonde locks straightened and slicked-back. She had indulged herself in a little smoky eye makeup and scarlet lip color to soften the masculine choice of costume.
"Almost as dreamy as the original Rhett Butler," her admirer enthused. "This so fits with the 'unconventional' theme of our panel! Everyone's going to want to know who the crossdressing Rhett Butler is repping. Although…" The author glanced around curiously, and Poppy knew her question before she asked it. "Is Mr. Jameson partnering with you in your cosplay?"
"That remains to be seen." Poppy couldn't help the amusement that colored her tone. It was the exact challenge she had posed to William earlier that week: in sticking with their theme of turning romance conventions on their head, she had informed him of her intention to come dressed as Gone with the Wind's hero. That left him with only one option if he wanted to match her idea.
If you insist on being such a Scarlett, then you can dress the part, Poppy thought mischievously. She was lost in her vision of William draped in a dress—and her suspicion that he might not follow through at all, which she would take as a personal victory—when the author she was speaking to tapped her on the shoulder. She pointed excitedly toward the entrance of the convention center, and Poppy turned, her heart already climbing into her throat in anticipation.
It was William, all right, and he had not disappointed. He wasn't wearing the full-on gown that Poppy had envisioned, but that didn't mean he had taken the 'vision' part out of the equation. William was dressed in an emerald green brocade suit that was completely evocative of Scarlett's infamous curtain dress. When he turned to address the cluster of overexcited authors that came to meet him, Poppy could clearly see the coat's exaggerated tails—from behind, it was almost dress-like. Poppy waited to greet him, fighting a smile. She could see his eyes skimming over the heads of the crowd to locate her. His look when he saw her was approving…more than approving. She loved the way his eyes darkened even more when he focused on her.
He said his farewells cordially, even dropping a little bow to his fans. As if he could get anymore swoon-worthy in that getup. He moved toward Poppy and she met him halfway.
"Frankly, my dear, you look damn amazing," Poppy said in her best sultry baritone.
"I would reply with my passionate refusal to never go hungry again, but it would be a bald-faced lie, " William said. "You look utterly edible in that outfit." William said. He leaned in. "I've never had more of an appetite for anyone in my life."
A shiver of pleasure coursed through her at his words. The heat of his breath on the back of her neck was almost enough to undo her right then and there. She had worked too hard on pulling together her Rhett costume to rip it all off for William now. Instead, she offered him her arm. "Walk with me to the panel?"
William surprised her for the second time that evening by accepting her lead, before swiftly executing a maneuver that turned her around and pulled her into the crook of his arm. Poppy laughed despite herself. Of course William couldn't stand to let someone else take the lead…but in this case, she thought she would allow it. Their own individual experience was bound to be full of these little power plays. She personally couldn't wait to get the upper hand on him again.
"William! Poppy!" The author leading their panel bustled over. "We're about ready to start! We were wondering if the two of you would like to say a few words of introduction to kick us off?"
Poppy glanced at William as they entered the room together. She hadn't prepared anything, but she wasn't afraid to wing it. William raised an eyebrow at her, and she thought they were on the same wavelength. "Not at all," she told the lead panelist. "We're happy to do it."
"Great!" The author looked immensely relieved, and Poppy wasn't unsympathetic. So many of the authors they had worked closely with over the past few weeks were decidedly not public speakers, and they would be the first to admit it themselves. Someone used to giving presentations could easily break the ice for them so they could go forward with their talking points.
William pulled out one of the chairs at the main table for Poppy, and she accepted. It felt in-character for them to conduct themselves grandly, even around the panel. It was only when she noticed that William had remained standing that she realized he intended to speak first.
"Welcome, everyone, to Conventional Romance," he said. His resonant voice carried, and the audience immediately hushed. "I would love to pose a question before we start. What does it mean to be conventional?" he asked. "Besides its usage here as a clever pun." Several people chuckled in agreement. The audience was starting to relax, and Poppy could feel the energy in the room turn in his favor. It was remarkable, really, how easily William assumed command. "We all have our individual definitions of the word…of what we personally find conventional. Convention is expected; ordinary; safe. Convention has its place and serves a purpose. Old formulas, tried and true tropes…they have all been proven to work before, and we know they will work again."
William paused, and Poppy half-rose. She could sense the beats of his speech, and she was eager to pick up his flow. "…but if you know what works, then so does your audience," William continued. Poppy froze. Her ass hovered above her seat, and she eased back down again slowly. She didn't think anyone noticed that she had made to stand, least of all William. She came home to roost and crossed her arms impatiently. "They've seen it all before," William said. "And t
hey crave something new. Something different. Even if what you offer is a new spin on an old favorite."
The audience in the front row leaned in to whisper appreciatively to one another. Poppy distinctly heard talk of their costumes…along with talk of William.
She took a long sip of water from one of the provided bottles. Her chest suddenly felt tight, and she didn't know why. The suit hugged her bust, but it wasn't that constrictive…so why was it suddenly harder to breathe? He didn't take credit for your idea, Poppy, she reminded herself. And you don't need credit, anyway. The costumes are just for fun. They were for the two of you to put on a show.
Then why does it suddenly feel like you were never given the script?
"At Jameson Ad Agency, we reject the conventional," William said. He turned and gestured to Poppy. "The partnership Miss Hanniford and I formed came unexpectedly, and I wouldn't have it any other way. We hope to spend the weekend promoting our definition of what it means to be unconventional."
Poppy made to rise again.
"So thank you, Conventional Romance," William concluded. "I look forward to meeting with many of you in the coming days. In the meantime, I pass things off to the panel. It's what we're all here for." A handsome grin drew his intro to a perfect close. William sat down amidst a smattering of applause. Poppy's jaw clenched so tightly she thought her teeth would crack. When William's thigh brushed against her own beneath the table, she wanted to knock it away.
"Great speech." She wished the compliment didn't sound so forced, but William didn't appear to notice. He made a minor adjustment to his brocade. He was still beaming from ear to ear.
"I figured something short and semi-poetic would start us off strong. Sorry I forgot to plug Wildflower. Sometimes the fact that our agencies have teamed-up still gets away from me." He tried to move his hand to her knee reassuringly beneath the table, but Poppy pulled it away.
Frankly, my dear, she thought, I don't think you give a damn.
Chapter Eleven
William
William sat in the publisher’s waiting room. His leg jogged. He stilled it.
It was hard not to recall that he had first met Poppy in this room, and that he had watched as one of her slender legs jogged similarly. He could see now that it wasn't a nervous habit to be suppressed, but one that spoke of boundless, positive energy. So much of that energy had resided within Poppy from the very beginning. He regretted that it had taken him until now to see it for what it was, and to know how infectious it could be.
A lot had changed for him since meeting Poppy.
William glanced at the clock posted on the wall. They were five minutes out from getting called into the final meeting with the publishing company, and Poppy was nowhere to be seen. She wasn't responding to any of his texts; William had limited himself to three, and even that felt excessive for him, but the delay in her arrival also felt excessive. Poppy always arrived as early to an appointment as he did. A nagging worry continued to invade his thoughts—what if something happened to her on the way over—but he pushed it stubbornly from his mind. He would deal with the reality of an accident if and only if it came to pass. He wouldn't waste any excess energy on worrying about the worst.
Somehow, this private affirmation didn't stop the thought from invading his brain again a few minutes later.
He tried to concentrate instead on the presentation he intended to give. The publishing house was scheduled to make their final decision today on who would get the campaign, and William intended to make that decision for them. He had it all laid out: how he would insist on speaking first, before anyone else, and how he would take command of the center of the room. Poppy would be surprised, but he wouldn't leave her in suspense for long. She should know that she’d won; that he agreed with her now what winning truly was. He intended to tell the publishing company exactly what they would be missing out on if they decided to award their business to only one agency. His proposal would put both Jameson and Wildflower at the helm; he would emphasize, with all the data he had collected to back up his claim, that they worked best as a team. He would even take a pay cut to ensure that they continued on this course, and he had no doubt that Poppy would be willing to do the same…besides, he was confident in his ability to renegotiate the pay after. Right now, all that mattered was that the project continued to move forward with the same incredible momentum they had already amassed.
All that mattered was that he continue to work alongside Poppy Hanniford. It was important for his own agency's growth, and…it was important for him. As a leader, and as a man who had fallen head-over-heels in love. He didn't intend to include that last part in his presentation, but it was something he intended to relay to her later, in private.
The clock struck the appointed hour of the meeting, and the door opened. William's leg had started jogging again without him realizing it, and he mastered the tic now that he had an audience; he rose, pocketing the thumb drive that contained his presentation, and prepared his best apologetic smile. He had no problem stalling for time and blaming traffic for Poppy's delay….
…but it was Poppy he saw now, walking out of the room with their clients. She paused in the hallway to shake hands with the company's representative, and William froze as he watched her. She was smiling, although her eyes seemed a little tighter than usual. Her lips were forming words of gratitude, but she looked distinctly unhappy about it…at least, William thought he could see all the cues.
He knew without being informed what had just happened in that room, but he still couldn't believe what he was seeing. Poppy disengaged the handshake, her eyes moving to him, but William refused contact. He didn't want to infer anymore; he wanted to be told. He strolled into the room and waited for the representative to close the door behind them.
"You've given the campaign to Wildflower," he said. It wasn't a question.
The head smiled sympathetically and laced her hands. "Yes," she agreed. "I'm sorry, Mr. Jameson. Ms. Hanniford requested to come early and talk with us more about her vision for the project. We appreciate what your agency brought to the table, but we preferred Ms. Hanniford's planned approach. Her ideas are ambitious, like yours, but they are also more out-of-the-box. We were excited by what she has to offer. And at the end of the day, her vision was simply more team-oriented, and more in line with what our company is looking for."
"Team-oriented," William repeated. The thumb drive felt heavy in his pocket with the weight of the irony of her statement. "I see."
"I'm sorry, Mr. Jameson. Our company really did enjoy working with you, but it simply wasn't a perfect fit for us. Not without Wildlfower. I hated having to make the decision more than I thought I would." The representative shook her head. "I really hope we can work together again in the very near future."
The meeting concluded quickly. As soon as the door had closed, and he was alone in the hallway, William strode for the elevators. He had intended to try and catch Poppy before she left, but he was still surprised to find her chatting with the receptionist in the hallway. Her eyes leapt to him, and she didn't appear surprised that his own meeting had concluded so soon. It was almost enough to make him wonder if she had been waiting for him.
"Miss Hanniford, do you mind if I ride with you?"
Poppy maintained her smile, but he saw the tension still hanging around her eyes. "Not at all, Mr. Jameson. Please." She indicated the elevator as it opened, and William allowed her to step in first. He followed her and punched the door closed behind them. He didn't designate a floor, and neither did Poppy. They both knew what this impromptu meeting was about.
"Wow. You're really furious at me." Poppy seemed surprised by whatever she saw in his face.
William could feel his fist clenching and unclenching itself at his side, as if it was hoping to catch hold of the exact words he wanted to use in this situation. He forced it to still. When he thought he could speak evenly again, he risked his next words. "Forgive me, Poppy, but this is the third client your agency has stol
en out from under mine."
"Stolen?" she echoed incredulously. "William, we were in competition with each other!"
"We weren't," he seethed. "You know that we weren't. Don't play games with me now. There's no one in this elevator, or in this conversation, but you and I. So drop the damn act already."
"The act?" she demanded. "What act? I'm not the one who was acting like this was a job competition all along! You were! You were always putting your agency—no, not your agency, yourself—first! And by being supportive of you, I was getting left in the dust. You took advantage of me, and I…" Poppy sucked in a hard breath and appeared to compose herself. William stared at her, stricken by what she was saying. Fearing what she would say next. "…I let you walk all over me," she concluded finally. "It's my fault things were turning out the way they were. But don't for a second think that by taking charge of my own destiny I somehow slighted you. Don't you dare accuse me of underhanded tactics, or of not being a team player. I played fair this entire time. But we were playing by different rules, William. And I figured out, finally, that I was playing at a disadvantage."
He wanted to speak. He wanted to defend himself against her claims, but no words came. His head was empty except for the reverberations of her words; his throat was dry as dust. "…I'm sorry if I operated in a way that gave you that impression," he said finally. "Truly, I thought we were in this together."
Poppy crossed her arms, and turned slightly toward the corner of the elevator. "You wanted to lead," she said finally. "It's what you're good at. But it's also become apparent to me that it's all you know. And when a person leads like you do, they often forget to check in with everyone else to see if they're following. You're Atlas: you want to take the world on your shoulders. It's a trait of yours that I l…that I admire. More than I can express. But the person I want to align myself with should be able to meet me halfway. They should want to support me as much as I support them."
