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"I will take that into consideration," he promised. "Now Sam, if you'd excuse us…there is something I'd like Trinity to look over for me."
"I owe Eddie a phone call, anyway," Sam said as he rose. "I'll be sure to send him your love."
William waved him off. He was already deep in contemplation concerning the next order of business. Trinity rose to come around to his side of the table and examine the documents he spread before him.
"Is this your business plan for the romance convention?" she asked curiously. William nodded, taking a step back to grant her full access to his outline. "Wow. You've really thought of everything, haven't you?"
"Exercising that iron fist," he agreed. "I know you've been highly successful in the past running many of our all-female production groups out of L.A. I just wanted your opinion on my plan before I push forward."
"My opinion?" Trinity turned to him, and William guessed what was coming. Thankfully, he hadn't gotten this far by throwing up walls every time he was faced with outside criticism. "Your 'iron fist' is what's going to get you into trouble. Not just with running the business, and running the family—which you claim to be one and the same—but with this project. In my experience, female-dominated companies don't respond well to the 'man in charge' angle. Even the ones who make a fortune publishing BDSM," Trinity said as an afterthought to herself.
"But I am the man in charge," William pointed out. "By inviting me to continue with them, they've effectively put me in charge. It's what they're paying for, Trinity."
Trinity shook her head. "They're paying for your unique perspective,…but what none of those women will find unique is some alpha male New York CEO trying to tell them what's best for them. And anyway, need I remind you, you're not the one in charge. Even if the two of you are locked in competition for the contract, you still agreed to share responsibilities with Poppy Hanniford. You think she's going to let you walk all over her?"
She might. William doubted if Trinity had ever met Poppy in person, much less found herself on the end of the other woman's cheerleading. It was an exercise in self-defeat… but then why did he always wind up losing to her?
He couldn't get her out of his head. Trinity was right: Poppy Hanniford was in his mind and under his skin. Maybe that was exactly what the woman had intended all along…maybe she played the game by a set of rules that even William, in all his years as an ad exec, hadn't had the chance to learn. Not yet, anyway.
But he would learn. He would watch Poppy like a hawk. He would let his eyes linger on her curves; her lush mouth; her scented sweep of hair. He would let her know in the space of a disinterested glance just how disinterested he was in her win-by-losing tactic—regardless of the fact that he couldn't figure out how she had even managed it in the first place. By every law he and the rest of the sensible world subscribed to, a person shouldn't tie in any competition by throwing the game. He would get to the bottom of her act and expose it for what he was certain it was: a new spin on an old tactic. He just didn't know which tactic yet.
But he intended to find out.
"William? Are you sure you're all right?" Trinity was looking at him. The wryly amused expression she had worn for most of their meeting gave way to one of thoughtful concern.
William leaned against the table and took a bland sip of his coffee. "Of course. Never better. Why do you ask?"
Trinity just shook her head. "You know, for a brother-in-law who professes to weigh everything I tell him, you really don't like it when I tell you you're making a mistake."
"Am I making a mistake?" The word may as well have existed in a foreign language for all the times it had been relevant to his life. William set his Styrofoam cup down and straightened his tie. "What I think I'm making is a play to win."
"The agency wins all the time" Trinity pointed out. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you just want to see Wildflower Agency lose."
I want to see Poppy Hanniford lose, William thought.
He didn't know why, but making the unflappable blonde writhe was foremost on his mind.
Chapter Four
Poppy
Poppy stared at the huge wooden desk in wonder. She had never seen a piece of furniture so mighty. It hulked like a mythical four-legged beast before her, crouched and ready to pounce should any trespasser attempt to leave a meeting unexcused. It seemed like everyone assembled was deliberately ignoring it, but there it was.
William Jameson sat enshrined behind it. His presence wasn't dwarfed by his desk, but rather he seemed to loom even larger and more formidably for it, like a king at his dais in the receiving room.
It was on the tip of Poppy's tongue to make some clever remark about his choice of furniture, but she kept it to herself. The desk was overkill, but that didn't mean it didn't suit the man, the office, the…everything. It seemed way too ancient for him, though. She wondered if it was a holdover from the time when his father, or even his grandfather, lorded over Jameson Ad Agency in his place.
Anyway, she didn't like to imagine that William Jameson had anything to compensate for. Not that she made it a habit of imagining William at all, especially not in the recent days since meeting him. Still, it would serve him right if she called his prowess into question now. She couldn't imagine that his insistence on holding the meeting in his office was anything more than a power play.
And she was determined to get out ahead of it.
So this is how the other half lives, Poppy thought as she took a turn about the room. Jameson Agency benefited from its history; Wildflower from its moxie and innovation. They were bound to find out by the end of all this which was the best side of the coin to be on.
"What do you think of my domain, Miss Hanniford?"
Poppy almost jumped, but managed to play it cool at the last second. William had risen from his desk to come up behind her while she was preoccupied. She glanced sidelong at him as he stood behind her, gazing out at the same cityscape she was drinking in. She doubted it interested him as much as he pretended. This latest maneuver was all about her, and she was well aware of it. Hard to ignore the way he stood at her back.
"'Domain' is certainly the word I would use," she agreed. She didn't turn, or give ground. Defying all laws of personal space, William stepped closer to her. Every nerve screamed with awareness of him. The fine hairs on the back of her neck stood on end, as if straining toward the electricity that sizzled between them.
