The Billionaire's Sexy Rival (Jameson Brothers 3)

"I like to take ownership of my surroundings," William replied. "Don't you?"

"Playing for the away team never slowed me down before, Mr. Jameson. But I understand if some people aren't comfortable with it."

"Mr. Jameson? Ms. Hanniford?"

The two of them turned when called. One of the younger and more timid-looking authors on the panel held her hand up in apology. "Sorry to interrupt. We're ready to start brainstorming when you are."

Poppy nodded. The panel the publishing house had selected was larger than she expected. Seven authors total, plus herself and William, made even his enormous office feel overcrowded. It wasn't helping matters that she could sense the women's uncertainty. They probably hadn't expected to have to deal directly with two rival ad execs.

They all settled into the chairs that had been brought in for them. Poppy remained by the window, just off to the side of William, who had assumed a position at the head of the room. At least he hadn't sequestered himself back behind the desk. The optics of him ruling over the proceedings like a king definitely wouldn't have worked out well for them here.

"All right. Welcome, everyone." William led them off. "I'd like to get started right away in answering any questions or concerns you might have for me. Us," he corrected quickly. Poppy wondered if the slip had been intentional; in either case, she couldn't resist letting her mouth quirk to betray her amusement. William was so obviously not used to playing with others, much less asking for their input.

The authors all looked at each other. Poppy felt as if she could read their minds. They didn't know whether this was a pleasantry on William's part or a genuine invitation. "Well, our panel is about how to take the traditional images of romance publishing and make them unique," one offered.

"Good," William responded.

Poppy nodded. "And what we're here for is to help you come up with a visual so absolutely explosive as to make our panel the one that attendees can't stop talking about, for years to come. That's exactly where all our heads should be at. We need to tap into the tropes that your readers have been conditioned to look for, but we also need to find a new spin to set our campaign apart. Does anyone have any suggestions?"

The authors all exchanged looks again. They looked a shy, introverted bunch, Poppy realized, but she thought she knew better. There had to be an undercurrent of edge here, otherwise they wouldn't all excel at what they did. She just had to find it and tap into it: it was a vein of gold.

William seemed less patient. He crossed his arms. "Anybody?" he prompted. "Come now. You can't have all come to this meeting unprepared."

Poppy's hackles rose on the authors' behalves. It was no use shaming or blaming this early in the meeting. She placed a hand on his bicep and stepped forward before she knew what she was doing. "I have an idea," she volunteered. “Beginning here. We'll design a romance cover—or at least, an image evocative of a romance cover. We'll put it on posters for the

event, blow it up on banners—we'll place it everywhere a pair of eyes has the opportunity to see it."

The authors all exchanged looks. "Book covers aren't usually done that way," one offered.

"But it's every author's dream to have creative control of her own cover," another added. "What did you have in mind when you say 'beginning here’, Miss Hanniford?"

"I want you guys to direct. And don't hold back on ideas." Poppy took an assessing glance at herself, then at William. She had a wild idea, but she wasn't sure how it would pay off… what she really hoped was to relieve some of the women's self-consciousness. She needed them to focus outside of themselves and think more creatively

To do that, Poppy decided, she just might have to make a spectacle of herself.

"Why don't you arrange the two of us in a sort of tableau?" she suggested. "I think we fit the average body types portrayed on your covers. Would that help you visualize better?"

William looked miffed at her accusation of 'average', although it certainly wasn’t what she meant. He was tall, hunky, and probably very gym-sculpted beneath the suit—a man of his station and responsibilities, both professional and private, simply didn't let his own health fall by the wayside in her experience. He probably maintained a strict diet and exercise schedule; the results may have mostly been hidden, but she could still see it in the controlled, graceful way he moved. He was in perfect command of his body, just like he was in perfect command of his company.

"…that would help," one of the authors agreed.

"Oh, I like this idea," another said. She chatted enthusiastically with the woman sitting beside her, who nodded and blushed at something she said. This woman in particular was having a hard time making eye contact with William, or even really looking in his direction. She gave the impression of someone trying very hard not to stare directly into the sun.

"Great!" Poppy clapped her hands, then held her arms out to William.

"What?" he deadpanned. He didn't budge an inch.

"Dip me, Mr. Jameson," she said. "Time to put on a show.”

She prodded him. He was as immobile as a statue…that, Poppy mused, or this was his natural state: rock-hard. Her teasing poke had loosened him up, though. It took some coaxing, but she finally managed to convince William to wrap his arms around her and hold her parallel to the floor. The position was awkward, but the authors were all talking now. Many of them looked dubious, but at least they weren't locked in painful silence.

"Or what if I sort of…" Poppy righted herself and pushed William's arms away, then draped herself in a sultry display over his shoulders. A chorus of disappointed sighs told her this was all wrong. It was a good response—it meant that the wheels were turning.

"We need props," someone suggested.

"Their bodies are the props. What we need is setting," another emphasized. "And set pieces!"

"The desk!"