Porter rubbed his beard. “No. Clients may take Riddle and Robinson out once a project is over. But never the associates who are doing all the work.”
I looked at myself in the full-length mirror which hung on my small coat closet door in the office. I had on a silk shantung floral shirt, black pencil skirt, and heels. My coordinating blazer was on the chair. I didn’t look bad, but I certainly didn’t look ready for a dinner at one of Atlanta’s most exclusive restaurants. Porter stood behind me as I looked in the mirror.
“Well, I like what I’m seeing back here,” Porter said as he playfully bit down on his bottom lip. We were doing a great job of keeping it aboveboard at work, but Porter sometimes couldn’t help himself with a compliment here or thinly veiled innuendo there. I didn’t mind. If he knew the thoughts that crossed my mind, I’d be in trouble, too.
I put my hands on my hips, exasperated. “Porter! Come on! Be serious. I look like a librarian!”
“A sexy librarian?”
I shot Porter a look, and he threw up his hands. “I joke. You look fine, Ari. You look very chic and conservative. Luckily, I just threw this on.”
Porter had on brown slacks, a burgundy tie and blue pinstriped shirt. I deduced it was probably from Brooks Brothers or Zegna. If that was his version of “I just threw this on,” I hated him. He looked like a GQ model. He could wear a burlap sack and still look amazing.
“Well, do you think they want to dump us?” I asked.
“After the glowing reviews from his team these past weeks? Why would you think that?”
Porter folded his arms, looking at me confused.
“You know how a guy will take a girl out on a nice dinner, only to dump her at the end of the date? I’m just wondering if this is what this is. Ever done that?”
Porter replied, stone-faced. “I’ll neither confirm nor deny that I’ve used the dinner-and-dump tactic.”
“You’ve definitely done it.”
Porter’s face turned faintly red as he cleared his throat. “I highly doubt the Serranos are asking us to a four-course, prix fixe dinner to dump us ceremoniously. Maybe they just have questions or like what we’re doing. Shit, maybe it’s a tax write-off business dinner.”
“Or,” I interrupted, “they want to dump us.” My eyes widened into two giant saucers full of terror. I needed this job. I needed this project. It was one thing to be sacked by the firm, it was another to be sacked by the client. I’d never work in architecture again.
“Do you need me to kiss you again to calm you down?” asked Porter as he inched closer to me. I caught a whiff of his cologne and my stomach clenched.
I recoiled with a shriek. “No! God no! I’m fine.” Although, kissing and maybe a little more would calm me down. Orgasms have been scientifically proven to reduce stress. Porter, by all accounts, seemed like the type of man who really appreciated scientific inquiry.
“James, I’m not going to kiss you,” Porter laughed, putting a comforting arm around my shoulder. “You’re cute when you worry. I’ll get our coats.”
The darkly tinted Escalade pulled into the Star Provisions complex which housed the James Beard award-winning Bacchanalia. I knew this because it was all Porter the foodie could talk about on the drive over. He wanted to distract me with something, anything, other than worrying about the Serranos firing us. After hearing about their menu offerings for thirty minutes straight, I was regretting not asking for that kiss just to shut him up.
Porter opened the door to the dimly lit restaurant. We looked around. The hostess, bartender and some waitstaff were scurrying around like ants, clearly trying to take care of their high-profile patrons. Other than the employees, the place was empty.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I whispered to Porter. “Private dining at this restaurant?!” I clutched my handbag close to my side. This was some super baller shit.
“Yeah,” said Porter. “Luckily, it’s a weeknight. So, not too pricey, I’m sure.” Porter wasn’t that impressed. He must be used to dining this extravagantly. Trust Fund indeed.
We followed the hostess to a private room. As we entered, Paulo and his wife stood, the gorgeous brunette reaching out for a handshake. Porter obviously did not remember that Paulo Serrano was married, probably confusing him with his womanizing older brother, Marco. However, I’d learned in my research that Paulo had been married for eight years to his beautiful wife, Marina. Together, they had two small children, ages six and three.
Porter reached to get my chair, but a waiter seemingly out of nowhere, did it for him. Porter frowned. I slid into the chair, amused at Porter’s annoyance at the waiter for doing something he always did for me when we dined.
“I ordered wine. From our vineyards, of course,” said Paulo, motioning for the sommelier who poured us all glasses of the full-bodied tempranillo. Paulo raised his glass, “Salud!” We all took a sip. I wasn’t a big fan of red wine, but as soon as the first notes hit my palate, I swooned. It was so smooth and rich, with hints of vanilla. The Serranos may have just made me a fan of red wine.
“I’m sure you both are wondering why I asked you to dinner,” said Paulo. “Let me cut to the chase, as you all say. I wanted to just get to know the people who are going to be handling this project. It is so special to me. I want everything perfect. It is our baby.”
“Yes, he loves this stadium like he does his sons!” chimed his wife, Marina. “But yes, I too wanted to meet the team responsible for the design of the stadium. It surprised me to learn that one of them was a woman. It is a pleasure to meet you, Ari. I looked up some of your past projects. I was highly impressed.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Serrano.” The lighting was dim, but anyone with eyes could see that I was flush with nervousness. I’d never been around this much money in one room in my whole life. Their net worth was the GNP of a developing nation. And they liked my work. It was unbelievable.
“Please. It’s Marina!” continued Marina. “And although I love design, my main concern is cost. Marco doesn’t concern himself with those things, but Paulo and I do.”
Paulo smiled. “That’s her degree in economics from Cambridge. It is always about the money.”
Despite my thorough research, I’d forgotten one minor detail—Marina Serrano wasn’t just some former beauty queen; she was brilliant. Marina was an economics genius responsible for crafting policy for the Spanish government. I admired the fact Marina’s beauty, and her intelligence were things that Paulo equally admired about his wife. I wondered if Porter felt the same about me.