The veins in my neck pulsated. I wanted to curse him out, but he was lucky that Ari was there, stepping between us.
“Porter. I’d like to have a word, in private,” Ari said, putting a gentle hand on my shoulder, coming between Greer who eventually left without another word.
“I’m sorry, Ari. I did not know Greer would pull a stunt like that. And in front of the partners and client no less.”
Ari rolled her eyes, chuckling. “If I’m being honest, I should have seen this a mile away. I could tell he was a little jealous that he wasn’t in on this. You need to study your enemy better, Harrison. Give me better intel.” She bumped me slightly with her shoulder, winking at me.
Slowly, I felt the tension in my jaw dissipate. “You sound like you have experience in the art of office politics. I need your CliffsNotes because obviously I suck.”
Ari leaned against the table. “Man, you have no idea. Guys like him…” Her voice trailed off, her eyes looking far off into some distant memory. “I’ve worked with my fair share of Greers in my career. The way to beat a guy like Greer is to be three steps ahead. Beat them at their own game. And next time, he won’t catch us slipping. That’s the only way that he’ll respect you. We will have a design so amazing; he’ll have to bow down.”
I smiled, throwing up my hands in faux shock. “You’re gangster, Ari. Let me not mess with you!”
Ari put up her fists in her best Evander Holyfield stance. “I’m from the West Side. Zone 4. You better act like you know!”
We both laughed, then stared at each other for a few beats. I followed her cola-colored eyes until we both looked away.
I blinked, then cleared my throat. “We better get our stuff and head out of here. It’s getting late. I don’t want to hold you up.”
“You’re not.” Ari turned her back to me, fighting with the cord that connected her laptop.
We moved in silence for a few minutes, gathering our presentation materials. I ran my hands through my hair. I’m about to go against all my rules. But what the hell…
“What are you doing tonight? After work?” I asked, my eyes still pretending to examine random papers on the boardroom table.
“Why? No hot date tonight, Porter?”
I folded my arms and leaned against the table, shaking my head. “Now, what makes you think I have a hot date. Maybe you’re the one with the hot date?”
Ari made a “hmph” face with down-turned lips. “Didn’t your mama teach you that making assumptions makes an ass out of you and me?”
I leaned in closer, speaking in a low voice to evade eavesdroppers. “Well, since neither one of us has a hot date, I’m asking you, Ms. Ari James, to go have a drink with me. We must celebrate the minor victories. Blow off some steam. Aside from Greer’s shenanigans, this was a good start. Besides, it’s almost the close of your first month here. Or do you have something better to do on a Friday night?”
Ari leaned against the table just a few inches apart from me. She looked up at the ceiling and tapped her chin as if she was thinking. Even when she was being funny, it was very sexy.
“Hmmm. Idris Elba is out of town. So, I’ll hang out with you. But…only if you promise me one thing, Mr. Harrison?”
Girl, I’d promise you the world. I needed to rein it in because I was sounding like a seventies R&B crooner. “Absolutely. I always keep my promises.”
She turned to me with a mischievous grin. “As long as wherever we go has a great burger to go along with that drink, then I’m game.”
I laughed. “That’s easy! I have the perfect place for that. I know a guy.”
Chapter Seven
Ari
I should kick my ass because I suck at taking my own advice. Yet here I was, on a date with Porter Harrison. Okay, so, maybe calling it a “date” was a bit of a stretch. It was an innocent drink with my colleague to blow off some steam. That’s the point of happy hour, right?
So why was I so damn nervous?
As we drove down the highway toward Decatur, I glanced occasionally at Porter. He looked relaxed in his rolled-up shirtsleeves and slacks, a far cry from all those fancy Italian suits he wore. His hazel-green eyes glistened in the setting sun. As Porter gripped the wheel of his car, I noticed the fine light brown hairs on his arm, wispy like dandelion fluff. His skin was flawless, not a pimple or scratch in sight. Geesh. I wondered if this man ever had an acne breakout as a teenager. He also really liked Jay-Z. I think I heard the entire catalog on the drive. I didn’t want to break his heart and tell him I wasn’t that big of a fan. But for the sake of our budding friendship and work relationship, I’d keep that piece of info to myself. I was more of a Nas fan. Who can deny the genius of a classic battle rap like “Ether”？