by Leslie North
Now this was how you sealed a deal.
Chapter Fourteen
William
So this is what it felt like to be nervous.
Heart racing, palms tingling, mild lightheadedness. It was a distantly familiar sensation. Once upon a time, when he was younger and greener, William had gotten nerves before presentations—especially ones made to his father. And his father had insisted on being present for every one when he was just starting out. Over time, William's anxiety had faded…incessant practice in the form of constant trials-by-fire tended to do that. Years later he had the thought to be thankful to his father for stamping any weakness out of him.
Now he was less than thankful. The weakness hadn't been stamped out at all, only buried deep enough that it had taken years to rise back to the surface and overwhelm him at this singularly inopportune moment.
He stood at the dead center of the room before a group of prospective clients. They all watched him raptly, ready to be impressed. This was William Jameson after all, CEO of Jameson Ad Agency, and he was teaming up with his younger brother to deliver a "pitch to end all pitches" for their jewelry company.
At least, that was how Eddie had pre-pitched it to them. "Believe me, every single one of you is going to want to be there for this," he had hyped over drinks a week ago. "And everyone who's in the room the day William pitches is going to be an integral part of the campaign…but I can't say anymore," he had concluded mysteriously, when everyone present had clamored to know exactly that: more.
William had to hand it to Eddie: he knew how to generate almost obsessive interest in a project. Now every hungry eye was trained on him, and he was meant to deliver.
Poppy stood in the back of the room, slender arms folded neatly over her chest. Every time William's eyes alighted on her, she nodded encouragingly; he suspected she didn't realize she was doing it. He had asked her to come along today for support, an unusual request for a pitch, but she had agreed on the spot.
Eddie stood politely off to the side, shuffling through his materials and occasionally conversing with the camera operator. "…and so when creating a viral video, the most important thing to understand is that your video has not generated the views necessary to make it a viral commodity at the outset," William heard himself saying. His assertion was met with agreeing nods from the potential clients. "If you'll take a look at our associate, Hank, over there beside Eddie—" Eddie waved to attract their attention. "—you will see that while he is a credentialed cameraman hired specifically for this project, he’ll be filming with a smartphone. A lower-resolution video taken by expert hands will give the campaign the level of professionalism you have come to expect from Jameson, all while maintaining something other jewelry campaigns never achieve: authenticity. Hank, do you mind switching the camera on now?"
Hank nodded and flipped his phone around. The clientele murmured amongst themselves. "Mr. Jameson, forgive me, but we all know what a viral video is," one of the suits in front said. "Whatever you're leading up to, I must admit it sounds appealing. In fact, it sounds like exactly the sort of thing our company is looking for with its next campaign. But how can you give us your guarantee, as an ad man, that such a strategy would be effective?"
William barely registered the question. His eyes were locked on Poppy. She shifted beneath the weight of his look, blushed and smiled, before trying in vain to nod his attention away from her. Several others had turned to look at her now. "It's important that improvisation play a part in the creation of any viral video," William said. "Poppy, will you join me up here please?"
All heads turned toward the back of the room. Poppy blinked, her green eyes looking even more enormous than usual. She hesitated only a moment, then detached from the wall to join him. "When you said you needed support…" she began, before cutting herself off with a gasp as William dropped to one knee. Her hand flew to her mouth.
"Poppy," William began. "Thank you for your help with this demonstration. I know you weren't expecting it. Can you confirm to the people in the room that your surprise is authentic?"
Poppy nodded wordlessly.
"Can you confirm that neither of us rehearsed this?" He had been in control of his voice until that moment; now he could hear his own heart climbing into it, threatening to choke him off. He was more nervous than he could ever remember being in his life. Even his first presentation for the agency paled in comparison to this.
Poppy nodded.
William drew a small box out of his pocket. "And can… will you concede that despite any of the differences we may have come up against in the past, there is no more powerful partnership than the one you and I have already begun to forge together?"
"Conceding isn't something I ever imagined myself doing in this scenario," Poppy said wryly. Laughter filled the room, but everyone seemed to be holding their breath. William took her slender hand in his; he popped open the ring box. A dazzling white diamond winked and flashed in the light of the sun streaming in through the boardroom window. It was a radiant gem, perfectly cut to nestle at the center of the gold flower that acted as the ring's setting. Poppy made a small noise as she beheld it for the first time.
"Poppy Hanniford, will you marry me?"
She couldn't hold it together any longer. With an ecstatic sob, Poppy fell to her knees and hugged William, nearly knocking the engagement ring out of his hand. "Yes!" she cried.
Everyone in the boardroom was on their feet suddenly and unable to contain their excitement. William pulled back from Poppy and swiped a thumb across her cheek, banishing her tears of joys. Their eyes met, and for now, there was nothing more they could express to one another in words. He helped her to her feet and slipped the ring on her finger.
"Rhett Butler, eat your heart out," William muttered as he pulled her in.
"Rhett who?" Poppy agreed. Their lips met, and William dipped her in his arms. The boardroom receded around them, until all he was aware of was how bright her laugh tasted and how perfectly she filled his embrace. Distantly, he heard Eddie's voice say:
"Turn the camera off, Hank. I think we all got what we need here."
End of The Billionaire’s Sexy Rival
Jameson Brothers Book Three
PS: Want to meet a handsome stranger? Keep reading for an exclusive extract from The Sheikh’s Fake Fiancée.
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BLURB
After losing her parents, American artist Elena set out on a trip around the world. Now, in the sultry heat of the Middle East, she’s having a hard time imagining returning to real life back home. But with half of her vacation still ahead of her, she and her friend are packed and ready to move onto their next destination when a chance encounter changes everything. A handsome stranger with a devilish grin catches Elena’s eye, but how could she know that an innocent favor is about to change her life forever.
Asim always relies on his intuition...with business and with women. Along with his brothers, he works hard to keep their company so profitable, but he prefers to live in the moment. With pressure mounting from his mother to settle down and marry a family friend, Asim needs an escape. He’s enchanted by the beguiling American beauty he sees at the café, and she couldn’t have come along at a better time. But when he asks her to be his fake fiancée, he never could have known she would change his life forever.
The two waste no time coming together, but when the spontaneity wears off and Elena learns of an unexpected complication, will Asim be ready to face the future?
Grab your copy of The Sheikh’s Fake Fiancée at
www.LeslieNort
hBooks.com
EXCERPT
Elena sipped at the Turkish coffee, grimacing at the strange bitter flavor that, no matter how many times she ordered it in fumbling Arabic, just didn’t taste any better than the first twenty times.
She swallowed it down anyway—it’ll get easier; it’s part of the experience—and sighed happily, enjoying the warm breeze caressing her on the balcony. This was their last morning in Beirut, Lebanon, before she and her friend Aubrey gallivanted onward to Europe. After six weeks on the road, backpacking and sightseeing and gawking and giggling, she found it hard to accept the fact that their trip was halfway over.
Which meant real life loomed just around the corner.
She brought the cup to her mouth again to take a sip but thought better of it. She smiled out at the azure Mediterranean Sea, watching the bustle and clamor of the street below. Cars honked, people filled the sidewalks, and street vendors proffered strange sacks in harsh voices. Gorgeous women strutted in high fashion, oversized sunglasses complementing inky black tresses. She had to pinch herself sometimes to remind herself this was real.
Her parents would have been thrilled to know she’d made it this far. To Lebanon, of all places. The Middle East, the farthest from home she’d ever ventured. Her heart tightened in the way it always did when reflecting on accomplishments since her parents’ passing, a mixture of pride and sadness. If only they could see her. Good lord, would they be proud of her. A fresh college grad, seeing the world. Less than two months away from taking the leap into trying to make it on her own as an artist.
“Hey, girl.” Aubrey’s voice cut through Elena’s reverie. She turned to greet her friend, pushing aside the diaphanous drapes lining the balcony door to step inside.
“So, it turns out checkout is in half an hour,” Aubrey said, flopping onto the skinny twin bed. Elena set her coffee down on the small dresser by the balcony door. “Leaving here at noon was apparently a pipe dream. The sign on the reception desk made it sound like there were stern consequences for overstaying our reservation. Or maybe it was just a bad translation.”
“Shit.” Elena surveyed the explosion of clothes, the still-wet towel hanging on the back of the bathroom door.
“Yeah. We better get a move on.” Aubrey let out a long sigh. “Although we could always reserve an extra night here…”
Elena tutted. “No can do. We have a schedule to maintain.” She tapped an imaginary watch on her wrist. Who knew where they’d be if it weren’t for her rigid punctuality. If left to her own devices, Aubrey would probably still be in Jordan, lurking around the haunting caverns and monoliths of Petra.
“I know, I know.” Aubrey sighed, rolling onto her side. “But seriously, not even an extra day?”
Elena leveled her with a look. “We paid for a ferry to Cyprus tonight.”
“You’re right.” Aubrey groaned, rolling off the bed. “Time to fill up Ol’ Lumpy.”
Elena smirked at the pet name for her backpack her friend had coined during their trip. The two made excellent travel partners, which didn’t surprise her because they’d also been excellent roommates in college. They’d been random roommates their freshman year, hit it off like long-lost twins, and had been inseparable ever since. If they had shared the same major, that would have been the only thing to make college better—but Aubrey’s degree in history only matched Elena’s major in fine arts in their mutual appreciation for very old art.
Elena gathered the loose sheets of paper from the small desk near the balcony door, the sketches she’d started outlining over the course of their trip. It seemed every other turn presented her with a new sight, a new moment, a new hue to capture. She’d have enough painting material for a decade after this trip—and maybe, just maybe, it would turn into a lucrative series down the road. The only thing urging her homeward was the itchy desire to feel the acrid sting of paint thinner in the air as she started with a blank canvas.
If only there’d been a way to fit her easel, five canvases, and the entirety of her oil paint collection in this twenty-liter backpack. Like airport security would have let you through with the paint thinner.
“Elena, do you want these?” Aubrey held up a handful of postcards from the nightstand between the two twin beds. Elena squinted, recognizing them as the postcards she’d bought to write to her parents.
“Yes, I need those!” She leaned forward to grab them, flipping one over to confirm the letter she’d begun.
Dear Mom & Pops,
Sometimes, it seems like writing these letters means I could actually send them, and maybe you’d receive them. Like any other traveling daughter experiencing the world. But I know when I get home you won’t be there. You’d think after three years I’d have gotten used to this a little bit more.
The postcard wasn’t finished, but that could be taken care of later, during their boat ride to the island. Writing letters she’d never send had been an unexpected project during the trip—somehow a therapy and a memento at the same time. They didn’t make her as sad as she might have thought. Rather, it made her feel even closer to them, especially as she embarked upon such new adventures as a freshly minted college graduate.
Grab your copy of The Sheikh’s Fake Fiancée from www.LeslieNorthBooks.com
