The Build Up (79)

I could feel my heart swelling three times bigger at his words. I pressed a chaste kiss against his lips, then leaned against his shoulder as he ran his finger through my tangled mass of hair.

We sat there on the floor of the loft, in front of the windows, and listened to the rain play us a private concerto.



Chapter Twenty-Eight


Ari


Porter and I sat dumbfounded in Conference Room B as the partners relayed the news.

“February?” I repeated, still unable to wrap my brain around it. “The Serranos want to break ground in February? Final designs were supposed to be due in late spring. What happened to the May/June start date for construction?” It was a week and a half before Christmas. Our offices would be closed soon for the holidays. I could feel beads of sweat dampening my hands. How the hell would we be ready before February? A design project of this scope usually took a year, sometimes more. Right now, we were squarely in the conceptual phase, with the Serranos having seen a number of designs from the firm. Were they ready to decide right now?

“Yeah. Paulo Serrano said he wants to break ground on the stadium as a gift to his wife. Or something foolish of that nature. I’m guessing this is more of a publicity stunt than anything. I don’t understand these billionaires,” said Robinson, who wore his usual expressionless countenance. “It’s foolish if you ask me. I think you’d both benefit with more time. You haven’t even had a chance to talk to the engineers, for goodness’ sakes!”

Porter put his hands on the table. “Look, this is a shock. I mean, Ari and I are more than ready. It’s just...” Robinson held his hand up. He looked over at Mr. Riddle, who sighed, then nodded.

“This isn’t how we normally operate,” finished Riddle. “But we must listen to our client. If he wants to break ground in February, then so be it. We’ll just have to rush the request for tender. Although it’s going to take well over a year and a half to complete, beginning construction in the cooler months would be ideal for this climate. I’ve seen what you’ve come up with thus far, and it’s brilliant. You two have pleased the Serranos with your work. Your work has pleased us as well. Naturally, if your design is chosen, you two will still be involved. But I believe you two are more than ready. I wouldn’t have agreed to this rushed timeline if I didn’t think so.”

“What about submittals?” asked Porter, his eyes crinkling with worry.

Robinson waved a hand. “We can let some junior associates handle that. They’d be more than happy to do the grunt work.”

I let out a breath and looked at Porter, who smiled warily. “That is great, Mr. Riddle. But when do we need to present our final design? After the New Year is pushing it.”

“Well,” chimed in Robinson. “I suggested next week.”

“Next week?” I squealed, uncharacteristically. My heart felt like it was beating outside of my chest. I felt like I was in an episode of some reality show where the host was throwing in a monkey wrench to see who could stand the heat. It was risky. We were catapulting from conceptual phase to final design in record time.

Robinson looked over his glasses. “Is that going to be a problem, Ms. James? Riddle here seems to have faith in the two of you.”

I shook my head. “No, sir.”

Riddle cleared his throat. “Good. In the meantime, get your best stuff together. Over the past few weeks, you’ve presented some amazing work. You two will be presenting after Greer and Jacobi.”

Internally, I groaned. I was sick and tired of playing this game with Greer, being subjected to his criticism every time we presented our designs. Our designs were getting better every week. Greer’s designs hadn’t been the greatest but nevertheless, he had convinced the partners that this was some sort of pissing contest between him and Porter to sew up the partnership. We couldn’t let that happen.

“Very well. You’ll be ready. Both of you will, I’m sure.” Mr. Riddle smiled.

“We will,” we said in unison, rising from our seats. The partners looked at us and gave us cautiously optimistic smiles.

Porter and I walked down the hall toward his office, passing a leering Greer and Jacobi as they talked in hushed tones with other associates. I ignored Greer’s impending scowl and turned toward Porter.

“A week? Porter, I don’t know about this. There is too much room for error. We cannot fuck this up,” I whispered.

“We won’t. We got this,” Porter whispered, leaning in so close I could feel the heat of his breath. “We’ll knock this out. I’ll get this partnership. You’ll be a senior associate in no time. Especially if I have anything to do with it.”

I smiled. “Wouldn’t that be a conflict of interest? Given that we’re, you know...”

Porter looked over at me with a smirk. “Why would it? Your talent alone proves you have a place here at the firm. Besides, by that time, Ari, we’ll disclose our relationship to the partners, right?” Porter’s eyes skirted over my face. “I told you, no secrets.”

“Of course,” I said, reassuring him. “But I want to earn my place here. Not because of our relationship.”

“I understand. Now let’s go in here and lock this thing up, partner!” He extended his fist for a bump. At that moment, I realized I didn’t have my iPad with me.