I nearly fell out of my chair. “Claudio Velez? Of Velez Design Group? Of course, I do. Well, I know of him, of course.” I was grossly downplaying my love of Claudio Velez. His designs were inspirational. Velez was head of one of the top architectural firms in the world, working on a variety of notable buildings that ranged from museums to the homes of the rich and famous. And now, Claudio Velez knew who the hell I was. I could die.
“Good. Well, I told him about your fabulous eye for design. He wants to meet you. You two would work together in Madrid on our next venture: Serrano Resorts. Here is his card.” Paulo pulled out a sleek black-and-gold business card and slid it across my desk. “He’ll be expecting your call next week. After you finish our project, of course. Have you ever been to Madrid, Ari?”
I shook my head, staring at the embossed card. “No. I haven’t, actually.”
Paulo smiled. “You’re going to love it. The work of Antonio Palacios is exquisite. A true master in your field.” He looked down at his Rolex. “I apologize. I must run. I look forward to working with you. Talent like yours doesn’t need to be squandered. You’re bigger than this stadium. Start brushing up on your Spanish, se?orita.” Paulo excused himself and left my office.
You’re bigger than this stadium.
I stared at the card, twirling it through my fingers. Claudio Velez. CEO. Velez Design Group. Madrid. My grandmother used to say when God closes one door, God will open a window. This was more than a window. It was a goddamn retractable roof.
I looked around my office. My heart ached. I thought I had felt at home again—at a job I love, in a house I wanted to keep for generations, in love with someone who cared for me. But I had been wrong about one thing: Riddle and Robinson would never feel like home.
An offer like Paulo Serrano’s was a once-in-a-lifetime thing. Especially for women like me. I put my heels up on my desk, threw my head back, letting out a tremendous sigh. Working with Claudio Velez would make everyone who ever doubted me eat their words. It would be the sweetest revenge and I’d relish in that fact. They could all kiss my ass.
Well, not all of them.
Would I tell Porter? Would it even matter? As a friend and colleague, he’d be happy for me. He’d want me to spread my wings. As the man who loved me more than my heart could take, this would crush him even more than my meltdown had weeks before.
I held the card up to the light, admiring the glint of the gold lettering. The opportunity to design with Claudio Velez for the Serranos seemed to be part of God’s perfect timing.
So why was I feeling like crap?
Chapter Thirty-Two
Porter
I fucking hate Valentine’s Day.
The press, local and national, crowded the front of the stage, out in full force for the groundbreaking of the stadium. The crowd of other spectators was also rather sizable. My mom, Desmond, and Todd showed up as my guests to the groundbreaking. My mom, in her bright yellow suit, gave me a big thumbs-up and blew a kiss. Todd was biting his nails, trying to hide his nervousness.
Today was a monumental day for the firm and possibly for me. Despite me nearly beating Greer down in the hallway, I was still in the running for partner. As weeks went by, I became more indifferent. The thought of being affiliated with the likes of Riddle and Robinson left a sour taste in my mouth. This relentless pursuit of becoming a partner had cost me the one thing I wanted most—Ari. I wanted Ari standing next to me. This was our baby. Without her, it was pointless to be here.
I stood on stage in the unusually early spring heat, in my tailored suit and hard hat. Riddle and Robinson were all smiles with the Serrano brothers, shaking hands furiously. Of course, Greer was there, smiling like a scheming comic supervillain as if he had done all the work. As soon as we’d arrived at the groundbreaking, Greer had said it was “on.” I rolled my eyes. He was far too confident for a guy who was always coming in second. Today was going to be no different.
Paulo and his wife were there, dressed immaculately as if they were the King and Queen of Spain. They smiled warmly at me, and I nodded politely. Marco Serrano was also there, with his new model of the week on his arm and in his signature dark aviators. I admired the man’s commitment to his playboy image.
Suddenly, I felt Sean’s firm hand on my shoulder. I looked at him, dressed in a suit, which was unusual for him. I looked down at his feet and laughed. Yep, still in black Timberland work boots. Sean’s firm had won the bid for construction of the stadium, which was a lucky break for everyone.
“Good to be working with you again, buddy,” said Sean, his wild red hair sticking out of his O’MALLEY BROS. emblazoned hard hat. We both turned and plastered on fake smiles as a photographer motioned for us to get closer for a photo.