“We will be there shortly. Porter and I were just going over some last-minute talking points.”
Ms. Gayle nodded and closed the door with a sly smile on her face.
Porter smiled. “I’m over the top, huh?”
I folded my arms, giving him my best homegirl neck roll. “You know you are, Porter!”
Porter nodded with a grin. “I better leave. I’ll see you in the boardroom.”
As he turned to exit, I put a hand on his shoulder to stop him.
“Porter?”
Porter turned to me with concern. “Yes, Ari?”
“My favorite color is pink. Roses are cool, but next time, if you were to get me flowers, you know, as a friend, get stargazer lilies. Those are my favorite.”
Porter smiled, then nodded with a wink. “Duly noted, Ms. James.”
Chapter Fifteen
Ari
“I’ll wait for you.”
Despite those words being forever burned in my psyche, I knew where I stood with Porter. We were solid in our friendship. There had been no more vases of flowers. No declaration of feelings. Yet, every time I was alone with Porter, I found myself staring at him, losing track of time in his eyes. I’d memorized every line on his face and was keenly aware of the smell of a new cologne. When he spoke, I paid more attention to the movement of his mouth, than his words. I had to remind myself that I was the one that wanted to be friends. I was the one who had more to lose in going there with him. Would he really wait for me? Would I ever be ready?
The week after our botched presentation, Porter and I remained focused enough to create an exquisite layout for the LED display. One that could rival the Dallas stadium, creating an immersive soccer experience. Porter left room for there to be a standing-room only fan area which had a magnificent view of the screen. During the end-of-week meeting, the partners along with the Serrano Group representative, nodded their heads in approval. We were back on track.
September was here with fall around the corner. We were reminded that the Serranos’ primary focus in the fall months was the harvesting of grapes for their wine production, therefore, they wanted to see more designs that we could take from the conceptual phase to design phase by the end of harvest. Greer and Jacobi had already presented the Serrano Group with several options that seemed to meet some of the Serranos’ exacting standards. They liked some of our design ideas as well. Some wasn’t good enough. Porter and I were working at a breakneck pace to get our designs for the Serranos up to par. We were going over every detail with a fine-toothed comb. We had calls and conferences all day, mostly with representatives of the Serrano Group who had questions or suggestions about several design choices. It was arduous but nothing we couldn’t handle. Porter and I didn’t take lunch away from our desks instead of taking a break to try some new restaurant Porter had no doubt salivated over on Instagram. Instead, it was takeout from some quick, casual spot Ms. Gayle chose at random. I’d never eaten standing up so much in all my life. I was starting to believe that if I ate standing up, it burned calories faster.
As we pored over the owner’s suite layout in my office, Ms. Gayle knocked on the door.
“You two have a call. It’s from the Serrano Group.”
Porter and I stared at each other, a little confused. “We just talked to them earlier this morning. Why would they want to talk to us again?” asked Porter.
“She didn’t say,” said Ms. Gayle. “I’ll patch the call in, but since it’s unexpected, I thought I’d give you a heads-up.”
“Thanks, Ms. Gayle,” I said.
Porter and I looked at each other, puzzled. We weren’t due to meet again for a few weeks, so phone calls out of the blue, directly to us, could only mean a few things: they had radical changes or complaints. Or worse, they wanted to fire us. The phone line rang. Nervously, I put it on speaker.
“Ari James here.”
“And Porter Harrison,” Porter chimed in.
“Ms. James. Mr. Harrison,” the familiar female voice of Paulo Serrano’s assistant said in a soothing Spanish accent. “Mr. Serrano has asked you all to join him and his wife tonight for dinner. At Bacchanalia. 7:00 p.m. Are you available?”
Porter and I looked at each other. It was almost six. In midtown traffic, it would be damn near impossible to get there on time. Plus, my attire wasn’t exactly five-star restaurant appropriate. I was shaking my head with a vehement “no,” but Porter panicked.
“Sure,” he blurted out with a shrug. I hit him on the arm, and he winced playfully.