"I swear," Poppy said. "Isn't it weird for you sometimes? I mean, if you really sit back and allow yourself to think about it?"

"Think about what?" Across the table from her, William was busy pulling his tablet out of his briefcase. "I try to have a plan for every scenario, if you haven't noticed."

Poppy arched an eyebrow. "I've noticed," she returned coolly. The two of them were seated at a coffee shop a few blocks east from Wildflower Agency headquarters…and a few blocks west of Jameson headquarters. It felt almost Shakespearean: 'two lovers from rival clans sneak out to a hideaway between their strongholds'. Or something like that. Poppy hadn't exactly excelled in classic literature in school. She had always found the majority of it as dry and dusty as the history it hailed from.

No, what she loved most was romance: timeless, sweeping.

Forbidden.

"So am I supposed to assume it was your plan all along that we would collaborate together on…on…" Poppy gestured to the stack of folders between them. "On Conventional Romance?"

"I assure you, Miss Hanniford, I find nothing about our present partnership conventional," William said as he reached for his coffee.

Poppy's cheeks heated. "You can say that again," she muttered. It was the perfect segue into a topic that had been nagging her. There was no good time to bring it up, really, but she still felt as if she needed to clear the air. "William, I want you to know that I—that this interpersonal thing going on between us isn't something I normally encourage."

"Nor I." William squinted at his tablet screen. It was a look of doomed concentration, one that clearly asked: how is everyone else getting on? Why can't I connect to the Wi-Fi?

"William!" Poppy reached over and wrenched the tablet out of his hands. William stared at his empty palms as if he couldn't believe she had just snatched it away. He had been born filthy rich, after all: he had probably never experienced someone taking a toy away from him in his life. "William, I mean it. What I'm trying to say is…" Poppy closed her eyes as she fought for the right words. "…I don't normally do this sort of thing. Like, ever. That came out way more anticlimactic than I wanted, but I hope you know what I mean. I don't normally kiss rival CEOs, especially not those I'm competing against for a job."

"I know what you mean." William met her eyes patiently. "And I mean it when I say that the same goes for me. But you don't believe me, do you?"

"Not for a second." William was way too handsome to have avoided this sort of entanglement in the past. The odds simply weren't in his favor.

"Well, I've never found myself in a working partnership with a rival CEO before," William said as he took his tablet back from her. "So whether or not you believe me is irrelevant. You're the only one, Poppy. I'm as new to this sort of thing as you are."

"Surely you aren't totally new?" Poppy said with a raised eyebrow. William rolled his eyes at the low-hanging fruit, and she stifled a laugh. She had never seen William Jameson roll his eyes before. It must be something he reserved for private moments, she realized, when the eyes of the world were finally off him. She wondered what it meant that he would do it in front of her.

"William…there's something else," she began hesitantly. She had intended to use their meeting today to tell him of her decision to forfeit the job. It was painful to admit it, but Jameson Ad Agency was a better fit for this client. After seeing William in action last weekend, Poppy felt certain of it. The only thing hampering the project going forward was her own team's involvement. Sooner or later, there would be too many people running in too many different directions, and their productivity would tank. Better to back out now, gracefully, and let William…

"… so you understand the conundrum I'm facing, and I'm hoping you can assist me on this," William was saying. Poppy blinked and glanced up. She had been shredding her napkin into little pieces and not listening, but that didn't mean she couldn't set her own agenda aside and rise to the occasion.

"I'd be happy to, William! Only there's just a small caveat: I didn't go to school to be a Jameson's assistant," Poppy said innocently. "Are you sure I'm qualified for the position?"

"Oh, knock it off." William flipped his tablet around and passed it back to her. "Look. The publishing house has just announced what the basis for the convention is going to be this year. They've already selected the book."

"Gone with the Wind!" Poppy exclaimed. Her heart leapt at the sight of the familiar movie poster: Scarlett O'Hara and Rhett Butler, locked in their iconic embrace amid the bright orange fire engulfing the Old South.

William leaned forward. "You know it?"

"Of course I know it! What heartless, cultureless bridge troll hasn't seen Gone with…the…oh," Poppy concluded at William's look. "Well, if it makes you feel any better, I never did get all the way through the book."

"I didn't even know it was a book first," William said blandly. He sat back in his chair and looked thoughtful.

"But I do love the movie. It's one of my all-time favorites," she volunteered. "Well, I don't love the racial slurs. Or other problematic elements."

"Glad to hear it, Poppy." William chuckled. "At least that's one aspect of the story we can agree not to include in our planning for the event."

His emphasis on the word 'our' was enough to make her sit up and take notice. She watched William take a casual sip of his coffee. Evidently he hadn't noticed his own usage of the word. Was he really ready to play ball as part of a team?

Poppy squinted at him. He looked the same as ever: regal, collected, and completely absorbed in the task before him. She couldn't count on seeing a change of heart in William Jameson this early in their collaboration, no matter how much she might like to fantasize about him being a team player. She was sure that would come with time, especially after he got a taste of how easy she was to work with…

But in the meantime, he would never know how effective a team could really be if she backed out now. Poppy doubted anyone in his own agency had the balls to suggest as much to their CEO, much less follow through. More than that, maybe she had the publishing house all wrong. Poppy could admit when she was wrong—especially when her misunderstanding had blinded her to her own advantage. If the convention was using Gone with the Wind as its theme, then the event was obviously seeking to prop up strong women. Poppy had always likened herself to Scarlett O'Hara growing up—to the admirable, tenacious aspects, anyway—and the fact that her potential client had chosen that particular story had to be a sign. They were trying to prop up narratives with strong female characters, strong women, and Poppy had always counted herself among them. She couldn't erase herself from the narrative before it had even really begun.

She couldn't back down and let William take over now.

"What are you smiling about?" William sounded playfully suspicious, but Poppy could hear the smile in his own voice. She shook her head, grinning, and stabbed at her pastry with her fork. "Poppy…"

"What? Nothing! I'm smiling at nothing! I mean, even if I was smiling…" Her grin broadened. "Can't I enjoy a morning out with my rival?"

"I'm enjoying myself too," William acknowledged.

"Enjoying yourself with your tablet!" she teased.

"I'm sorry if I get wrapped up in work." He surprised her by setting the tablet aside and folding his hands. "The best defense I can offer you is that it's my personality type. Always has been. But…it's remarkable to have someone to bounce ideas off of, and get lost in a problem with company."

Poppy shook her head again. "Honestly, William, I'm just giving you a hard time. I really admire your concentration, your dedication. No wonder you're so successful."

"I'm starting to think that success comes with a cost," William murmured. He spoke so quietly that Poppy almost imagined she had misheard him. She blinked, and leaned in a little in case he decided to follow up his words, but he seemed to be talking more to himself than to his tablemate.

"Maybe it doesn't have to." Poppy reached across the table and pulled one of his hands free to hold in hers. She lost herself momentarily in the feeling of his long strong fingers, and the deep crease of his palm. His hand was still warm from the mug of coffee.

"Miss Hanniford. You'll set the gossip columns talking," William whispered, but he didn't pull away. His serious mouth curled in a crooked, mischievous smile, and only one dimple leapt into prominence. Poppy had never seen him wear that version of his smile before. She wondered what a man who smiled like that was secretly capable of, and a rush of warmth flooded through her. Her face suddenly felt hot, hotter than their joined hands. The place between her crossed legs doubly so.

"Do you care?" She was genuinely curious.

William seemed to consider for a moment. His fingers caressed the inside of hers all the while. "I don't," he said finally. "Not in the least. My younger brother has occupied those particular New York columns long enough. Maybe he's overdue for a challenger to his crown."

"Then you'll wear all the crowns in the family," Poppy laughed.

"Are you calling me a king, Miss Hanniford?"

"Like you've never heard that comparison before." Poppy withdrew her hand from William's and rose. She hated that she was the first to notice the time, but he was sitting just below the coffee shop's clock. She enjoyed the momentary look of confusion that passed across his face, and filed it away as a victory.

William Jameson had been so wrapped up in her that he had forgotten the time.

"I propose we meet again at the end of the week," she said as they shouldered their bags and walked out together. "But I get to decide the time and place."

"Done," William said. "I think a follow-up meeting is a good idea. I'll try not to be so distracted next time."

"See that you aren't." Poppy paused on the sidewalk outside and smiled up at him. "Because the meeting I'm proposing could be rife with distractions. I'm inviting you over to watch 'Gone with the Wind', William. Friday night, eight o'clock, my place. Can't serve a client when you're totally ignorant of what they’re looking for, can you?"

"I wouldn't say I'm totally ignorant," William fired back. "Eight o'clock. Text me the address."

Poppy waved and turned. She was surprised when William caught the strap of her messenger bag and reeled her back suddenly. She turned herself around just in time to crash against his chest. She gazed up the length of his expensive tie, totally stricken by the move and trying to hide the fact. He looked down at her, his dark eyes penetrating. For a moment, Poppy thought he was going to capture her mouth in a kiss right then and there, in full view of the interested coffee shop patrons. But William didn't budge, and neither did she. If this was a test, she was determined to pass it. She wouldn't be the first to admit defeat in this particular little battle.

Even if the lips hovering above her looked absolutely irresistible.

"Don't be late," she breathed.

"I wouldn't dream of it," William replied. The arm around her waist relented, and she slipped free of him once more. She took a step back, then turned away again. She tried not to notice the collective look of disappointment on the faces of the coffee shop watchers as she strolled back down the street toward her office. She tried to ignore the way her heart kept beating, fast and irregular, all throughout her morning appointments. She swore it didn't calm down until lunchtime, and a text from William requesting her address started it going all over again.

Maybe it was all the coffee.

Maybe she wasn't as resilient as she thought.