"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."