"Thank you, Mr. Jameson. I admit those are more flattering words than I expected from you."
"Do you do this with all your proposals?" he inquired as he craned across the arm of his chair to watch her work. Now that the presentation was out of his hands, he was genuinely nervous, although years of experience enabled him to hide the fact. Still, what if she sabotaged him now? He would have no one to blame but himself.
Poppy shook her head. It was a pretty gesture, and William liked the way her shimmering spill of blonde hair fell around her shoulders. Another tactic? She engaged with him so naturally he thought he probably wasted his energy looking for an underhanded motive in everything she did. "No. I usually save the makeup for my face."
You don't need any, he was tempted to say. He held his tongue. "Not many people would think of purple," he observed as she dabbed along the sides of each letter. "I certainly wouldn't."
"It hardly matters," Poppy offered offhand. "Your entire presentation is far and away better than what I brought with me." She spoke with such conviction that William drew back a little to get another look at her. He had never sat through a rival lavishing praise on him before… then again, Poppy wasn’t 'lavishing' so much as she appeared to think she really was identifying a superior product. "I'm still working to find a place for this one former intern." She glanced mournfully at her own proposal, neglected and still sitting on the table across the room. "He's an emo kid, and he's constantly on social media. I really thought he'd nail this one." She sighed.
"I thought emo kids went extinct in the early 2000s," William said.
Poppy chuckled. "He has a good heart. I really would like to find him a permanent place at Wildflower… I just think he's maybe less cut out for design than his extreme penchant for personal grooming had led me to believe. There." She finished her adjustment with a flourish and passed the folder back to William. "That's better, don't you think?"
"I think you're right," he replied. The social media spot looked miles better than it had when he first walked through the front doors of the publishing house. Why hadn't anyone on his team thought of this? Didn't he take pains to acquire—and hire—the very best in the business, just like his father and grandfather before him?
Poppy grinned. "You're going to do great in there. It really is an awesome piece of media." She took her makeup brush, twiddled it once more in the eyeshadow, and began to apply the shimmer to her upper lids. William watched her, fascinated. He knew his guard was down, and yet he couldn't help it…and anyway, he was confident that Poppy wouldn't notice him looking at her keenly in her present pursuit.
He needed to say something. He knew this, and yet the harder he racked his brain, the harder to come up with something appropriate given the circumstances. Did he offer her advice on her own proposal? Did he wish her luck in return? Every option sounded absurd, and yet…it hadn't rung wrong, or false, when Poppy
did it.
"Mr. Jameson? Ms. Hanniford?"
William glanced up, and Poppy's compact snapped shut. The secretary stood in the doorway to the boardroom, hands laced, wearing an expectant smile.
"They're ready for your presentations now. If you'll follow me?"
Chapter Two
Poppy
The room was like any other New York boardroom Poppy Hanniford had seen: boxy, with a forced air of personality that didn't quite escape past the two-dimensional motivational posters and recycled, misattributed quotes that papered the walls. At least the side of the room that looked out toward the cityscape was a floor-to-ceiling window; this, too, was typical, but she never found the view of the bejeweled skyscrapers and distant harbor any less breathtaking. A plate of miniature muffins steamed on a plate positioned in the dead center of the table, hopelessly out of reach of anyone who might dare to think they were intended for consumption.
She knew the room. She knew the script. She knew her presentation backwards and forwards—the only difference was this time, she also knew she was going to lose the contract.
And she was strangely okay with it.
She cut a quick sideways glance at William as they both migrated toward the front of the room. He was exchanging pleasantries, and she was doing the same, shaking hands and watching him all the while. The photos she saw of him around the subway—not to mention the splash pages in magazines showcasing his opulent life outside of the office—really didn't do the man justice. The way he carried himself, you'd think he rolled out of his California King every morning with his dark hair perfectly coiffed; the shadow of his stubble perfectly maintained; the dimples…
Oh lord, the dimples. Did they Photoshop them out of all his professional photos? William didn't smile often, but when his generous lips did flex in the vague direction of mirth, his stern jaw gave way to a perfectly symmetrical pair of dimples. They made his cheekbones more defined, his dark, almond-shaped eyes more curved and crinkled. Up close, he was a completely irresistible specimen of a human being.
And he definitely knew it.
"Ms. Hanniford? Would you like to start us off?"
Poppy blinked slowly to disguise the fact that she needed to mentally come back down to earth. Several potential clients had that look of expectation in their eyes, and she nodded. She knew what was being asked of her without having been present the last several seconds. William watched her, and one of his dimples resurfaced; he looked distinctly amused. Poppy wondered if he could see past her mask of calm.
She nodded and moved to the front of the room. The others took their seats; William remained standing. He leaned back against her side of the table and crossed his arms. Poppy wondered if he knew just how distracting his impressive forearms were. She cleared her throat.
"I just want to take a quick moment to thank you for the opportunity you've extended to Wildflower Agency," she began. "I speak for everyone back at my office when I say just how excited I am to be here today." She spoke her introduction easily, confidently. She saw the stiff bodies inside the little boardroom begin to relax as she massaged them with her pitch.
"…and I have here a mockup of what the social media spot would look like, if you'll turn your attention to the board your lovely secretary is wheeling in…"
Poppy continued an explanation of her vision—more accurately, her intern's amateur bastardization of her vision—as she called attention to points of interest in the larger-than-life graphics she had brought with her. She preferred tangible presentation elements to projections or PowerPoints. She could see her audience nodding along, and better yet, leaning in to discuss with their neighbors as she carried on.
"…that being said, I think the ideas that the Jameson Ad Agency has brought with them today would result in a superior product," she concluded. "I'm happy to give the floor up now and segue into Mr. Jameson's presentation."
A surprised murmur rippled through the boardroom. William, for once, looked completely thrown off his game. She could see it in the clench of his hands gripping the conference table. He was very good at hiding his reaction, but Poppy knew the signs. She often surprised people the way she had just surprised William. And it wasn't just some tactic to undermine his calm—no matter what his puzzled gaze quietly accused her of.