“After you, Ms. James,” I said, trying my best to focus on anything other than Ari’s ass. It was a very nice ass, though.
“Like I said, it’s Ari…” she said, looking back at me with that smile again. Seems like my goal of getting her to smile more at me was on target.
“Right! Ari… Let’s get to work, partner-in-design!” Wow, Porter, real smooth, brother.
Ari laughed. “Partner-in-design. That’s funny! Are you always this funny?”
I shrugged, embarrassed. “Not always.” Funny isn’t a word people would associate with me. But a woman who laughed at my jokes, despite them being corny? Be still my beating heart…
I watched as Ari walked across the hall into my office and began laying her designs on my drafting table.
Porter, you don’t date coworkers. You don’t date coworkers. You want to be partner. You don’t date coworkers, Porter.
I closed the door to my office. We had work to do.
Chapter Three
Ari
Porter Harrison’s office was meticulous. With its leather couches and gorgeous, industrial art pieces, his space was very modern. His Hampton and NYU diplomas hung on the steely gray walls. On a shelf was a photo of people that I presume were his family. Next to it was a portrait of a man in a military uniform who was the spitting image of Porter. Next to what I guessed was his father’s photo was a photo of an older, near-identical man, shaking hands with former President Carter. His grandfather, I presumed. Along the shelves behind his mahogany desk were a plethora of vinyl records. His Instagram was spot-on. He could open a record store with the number of albums he owned.
Along the far side of the wall was a large drafting desk and stool, along with a nice, bright lamp. Above the drafting desk were several paintings that were very modern and abstract. The paintings were a lot like Porter: a mix of old and new, with an expert eye for design. I liked it.
I bent over the drafting desk and spread out all my designs. I turned to address Porter, but he was right there next to me. Startled, I jumped, and papers flew across the desk. We both reached for the papers, attempting to put them in order.
“Sorry,” Porter said. “I was just eager to see…everything.”
There was something about the way he said “everything” that made me hot between my newly pantyhose-less thighs. His voice was like butter on a hot pan.
“Here are my designs. I was thinking of a retractable roof. I was looking at some old designs of the Rio Olympics soccer stadium by Claudio Velez and I wanted to play on that. The south is a new market for soccer, so we should give them elements that work with the climate since we usually have glorious weather during soccer season.”
Porter nodded and pointed at another design. “And this one?” he said flatly.
Oh Jesus, maybe he hated it. So much for me trying to be innovative.
“Well, are you familiar with where the Toronto Blue Jays play?”
“The Rogers Centre. Sure,” he said, smiling. “Do you like baseball?”
I smiled. “I love baseball. Ever since the Braves went to their first World Series in 1991. I was twelve and crazy about David Justice.”
He laughed. “That’s pretty dope… I mean… That’s interesting.” He folded his arms and inched closer to me. He smelled amazing. At that moment, I was also glad that I put on extra deodorant because I could feel sweat percolating under my pits.
“Well, um. This design plays off the existing design of Rogers and its retractable roof, but see here, there is some extra room here for the dimensions of the soccer field and an interactive area here for the fans and soccer clubs, so they can feel close to the game.”
Porter looked closely and then nodded. “I like it, but…it feels a bit cramped. Like right here.” He pointed, and the sleeve of his arm inched up to reveal a vintage diamond-encrusted Chopard watch that had to cost a fortune. My daddy used to say you can tell a lot by a man and his watch. And this man had exquisite taste.
“But I do like where you’re going. It’s a good start, Ari,” Porter continued. “Better than what I had. They hated my initial ideas. But you’ve really done your homework.”
“Thanks. I’ve studied the aesthetics of the firm. I wanted to be in line with what you all do. But…”
“You also have to be yourself. Put a bit of you in every design that you do, right?” he said, nearly completing my thought, eyes twinkling. Green eyes on Black men must be the Lord’s way of making people even more jealous of their handsomeness.