The Build Up (3)

I hurried and covered myself, holding my shirt together so tight I feared I’d rip off a button.

“Oh, dear God! I’m so sorry!” Porter squinted, closing his eyes tightly, unsure of where to look while his face was turning a bright shade of apricot.

“Well, can you turn around, please? So, I can finish changing my shirt.”

“Oh sure. Do your thing!”

Porter turned quickly to face the corner of the office while I quickly buttoned my shirt and tucked it into my skirt in record time. I prayed the zipper would hold under the increasing pressure building up in my midsection. I could see why the man didn’t have a photo on the company website or social media. He was too fine for public consumption.

I inhaled a deep breath before responding in my most professional voice. “Mr. Harrison. You may turn around now.”

My mouth went dry as I took in his alarmingly good looks. It was a face that I would steer clear of under all circumstances. There was no way that this man was real, standing in front of me. Dude had the looks of an Instagram model. An impeccably dressed man, Porter wore a tailored gray suit and maroon tie. Too focused on his eyes, I almost missed when Porter extended his hand to me. I wiped my sweaty, quivering hand on my skirt and extended it toward him.

Porter, realizing that he was still holding my hand a beat too long, finally let go. “Wow...you’re here. I mean. Sorry. Don’t get up. I’m so sorry for the wait. I was on a call and I couldn’t get them off the phone. Forgive me, Ms. James. Let’s sit.”

I slid back down in the chair nearest to me, unsure if I was melting or just obeying. “Ari. Ari is fine,” I stammered. His voice had a twang that reminded me of candy-coated paint jobs, bayous, and Texas heat. A sweet, sticky heat.

Porter smiled a smile that was toothpaste-commercial ready. “Ari it is. Just call me Porter.”

He sat down in the chair next to me. My skirt was so tight that I knew crossing my legs would cut off circulation and lead to my death. A death witnessed by this handsome man in the well-tailored suit.

Porter continued. “Mr. Riddle has told me such great things about you. Your work is top-notch.”

My eyes darted away from the intensity of his gaze. “Seems that I can say the same about you.”

Porter’s lips curled up into a shy smile as he smoothed his tie. “I’m excited to work with you on our upcoming projects. The Serrano Group soccer stadium is going to be big for the firm. The crown jewel. Are these some of your conceptual designs?” He pointed to the black portfolio on the table.

As I watched him slide the portfolio toward his side of the table, the hair in my now frizzy kitchen stood on end.

Porter’s fingers flipped through my designs with a slow sensualness. “Your résumé is impressive. Northwestern for graduate school. Hampton for undergrad. Which is crazy because I also went to Hampton. When did you graduate?”

“2001.”

“Wow, I graduated in 1999. Funny. I wonder why we never ran into each other. Our department was so small, it’s a miracle we never had a class together. Everyone knew everyone.”

I swallowed. “Apparently not everyone.” There was no way a man this fine would have been in any circle I was in. The extent of my collegiate life was the library, architectural studio, watching Anime, and singing in the Gospel choir. I was semi-reclusive.

Porter looked up. “Guess not. Do you attend homecoming? I mean, I would have remembered running into you there.”

“I haven’t been to homecoming in a while,” I confessed. “Major projects have kept me busy these past years.” I realized Riddle’s emphasis on commonalities was something Porter had taken to heart. Hampton homecoming was legendary, but there was no way he’d recognize me in a sea of thousands.

“Did you pledge anything?” Porter asked. “A sorority, that is.”

“No,” I said flatly. Now, it seemed, he was grasping at straws. I hoped he wasn’t one of those snobby, entitled, party-all-weekend frat boys I used to see running around campus. Porter looked like the type of dude on campus who went to all the frat parties, was on the sailing team, summered in Martha’s Vineyard, went horseback riding, and had a ton of well-connected, old-money friends. Guys like that were not checking for me back then.

Porter folded his arms. “Oh...it’s just so weird we’ve never run into each other. Not in the department. At an alumni event. Nothing. I feel like... Never mind.”

What was this dude getting at? I watched as Porter continued to peruse my designs with his rather large and capable hands. Great, now I wondered how he looked holding well-worn leather reins.

“I was in Gospel Choir,” I blurted out, trying not to think about...horseback riding.

Porter scratched his temple. “Oh. Okay. I didn’t know anyone in choir. Partying on Saturday night with my frat brothers kind of took precedence over the Lord. You know how it is!” He let out a little chortle.

Well, he was indeed a frat boy. But the snorting? A pleasantly awkward, adorable surprise that came from a devilishly handsome face. The jury was still out on the “snobby and entitled” part.

I forced a smile on my face and Porter, following my lead, did the same. The difference was that his smile was genuine and reached his eyes. It was an incredibly gorgeous fucking smile, making me clench my abs.

“Anyway,” Porter continued, closing my portfolio. “We have all the time in the world to get to know each other better. I’ll let you get settled. Welcome home... I mean...well... You know what I mean.”