The Build Up (4)

He scratched his head of low curls sheepishly. Cute, humble, and awkward, but with the face of an Adonis? Talk about rare.

“My office is across the hall, so holler if you need me, fellow Pirate.” Porter put his hand on my shoulder, then quickly removed it. “I’m going to go. I have another call in a minute. So...let’s meet back up after that? Say thirty minutes?”

I nodded, with a dumb smile plastered on my face, completely transfixed, and trying hard not to look at Porter’s butt as he left my office. It was so perfect that I’m convinced that if you bounced a quarter off it, you’d get five nickels.

I looked at the sticky note and quickly dialed up Ms. Gayle.

“Yes, Ms. James? Those things brought by the courier working out for you?”

“Yes, they are.” I looked across the hall at Porter, who gave me a wave. And...was that a wink? I smiled, then turned my back. Nope. This will not work. Not if I have to work with...all of that. I have too much riding on this.

“Ms. Gayle. Is there any way I can get some blinds on my door? I’d appreciate it.”

“Sure thing, Ms. James.”



Chapter Two


Porter


I stood at the bathroom sink, splashing cold water on my face for the tenth time, replaying everything that just happened—Spike Lee style.

Heat pricked the tips of my ears.

Shit, shit, shit.

She was here.

The girl from the train.

My God, she was gorgeous. Thick legs adorned with modest heels and a fitted (no, tight) black skirt. I’d seen her tug at it this morning, trying to hide the run in her stockings, which had to suck. I didn’t understand how women could wear pantyhose in this heat. All I had to worry about was picking out the right suit and maybe color coordinate my socks. She’d pulled her look together with an ivory shirt that was working overtime to hide an ample bust. The fabric clung to her nipple, which had hardened and was peeking out a bit from under the stain. I’d had to reposition myself in my seat as I felt myself growing wildly uncomfortable in the crotch. She wore her makeup light and beautifully natural, enhancing the deep caramel undertones of her skin.

And Jesus, those lips. The bottom lip was fuller than the top. At least, I think it was. She was nervously biting her bottom lip. This unbearable heat was making her thick hair frizzy. I couldn’t stop staring. I couldn’t stop thinking about running my fingers through her hair. I had to get a hold of myself. But it was proving to be impossible. I never saw women that fine on the train in Atlanta.

Up close, here, in my office, Ari was a magnificent beauty to behold. A thing of movement, magic, and brown-skinned wonderment.

The slamming of the bathroom door snapped me out of my daydream, replaced with the sound of one associate making a loud delivery at the urinal.

I wiped my face with a paper towel and exited the bathroom, passing by the receptionist desk. I leaned over and picked up a few pieces of peppermint out of Ms. Gayle’s candy dish.

Like an annoyed mom, Ms. Gayle slapped my hand, placing a solitary piece of peppermint in my hand. “Take one, Porter! And again, that was real sweet what you did for Ms. James. I tell you; the girl was a wreck. Hobbling on a broken heel. And that awful spill on her shirt. Poor thing.”

When Ms. Gayle had come into my office and whispered that the new junior associate had shown up looking like she’d been in a losing fight with a mud wrestler, I’d simply reached into my wallet and pulled out my black AmEx. Holding the receiver of the phone, I whispered, “Get her whatever she needs.”

Ms. Gayle smiled. “Porter, you’re the sweetest. Do I have a limit?”

I’d raised a brow. “Ms. Gayle, I mean, be reasonable.” I was sweet, but I wasn’t that six-hundred-dollar shoes sweet. Then again, I had no idea how much women’s clothing cost.

Ms. Gayle walked out, chuckling, and waving the credit card in the air, declaring “Prada it is!”

Before I could object, she was already on her cell phone with someone to get the replacements for Ms. James. Fine as hell, Ms. James.

Ms. Gayle snapped her fingers. “Porter? Did you hear me? Don’t keep Riddle waiting.”

I blinked. The call. Shit. I had totally forgotten about the call to Madrid. “Damn. I told Ari, I mean Ms. James we’d meet again in thirty minutes. The call shouldn’t take too long.”

Ms. Gayle tossed me another mint for the road. “I’ll buzz Ms. James and let her know you’re running behind. Go do your thing, Porter.”

As I was heading into my office, Darius Greer blocked my path. The dude made me uncomfortable. One of those smug bastards who looked down on HBCU-educated folks and thought his membership in Skull and Bones was far superior to any Black frat, Greer stood sipping coffee from his Harvard mug. The scholarships to boarding school and going on ski trips with his friends where he was the only brown face had done a number on him. The irony was that he grew up in the tough neighborhood of Compton and tried his best to forget that life ever existed for him. I never understood why he wanted to work at a firm that was Black-owned and led. The only thing that came to mind was that he figured the path to partnership would be easier at Riddle and Robinson. I was standing in the way of that.

“Greer? What can I do for you this fine morning?” I said in my most sarcastic tone, preparing myself for some version of the same tired conversation.