I smiled a bit to myself. Ari would be proud that I used a baseball metaphor. Even if I don’t think I used it correctly.
Greer huffed. “Winning? I’m not the one pouting because they lost their girl. See, that’s your problem, Harrison. Instead of reveling in the fact that you designed this monstrosity of a stadium, you’re crying over some bitch. A bitch who apparently lets her partners hit. Glad I got her up out of here. Just a worthless excuse for an architect.”
“What the fuck did you just say?” I stepped to Greer even closer, the smell of his overbearing cologne simultaneously making me sick and enraged. Greer tried to back up, but I met him pace for pace. “Say that shit again. I dare you to.”
“You heard me. She had to go. I told the partners about her Chicago days, and they agreed. She was a liability. Both of you...worthless.” Greer turned his back, attempting to walk away.
I grabbed his arm, turning him around to face me. “And you’re one step below Clarence Thomas, thinking your Harvard degree makes you better than everyone. You’re from Compton, my dude! Cut the bullshit.”
As soon as I stepped an inch closer, I saw Riddle out of the corner of my eye coming to swiftly maneuver between us. A photographer was in tow, standing at attention, ready to snap a few shots.
“Ah. Yes...can you get a picture of me with my senior-most designers here?” Riddle was grabbing my shoulder with a death grip as he turned us around to face the camera.
“You two, cool it,” he said under his breath to us. “Even after our announcement, the two of you still must work together. Understand? We’re a team.”
“Yes, sir,” I said through my teeth which were clenched so hard I was sure I was cracking a crown.
“Of course, Mr. Riddle,” said Greer, his tone saccharine like a scolded child.
“Good,” Riddle said as he patted both of our shoulders, hard. I winced. For a rather small man, his hands packed a punch.
I let out a deep breath and tried to release the anger that was tightly wound in my jaws. I looked out into the crowd and focused on my family. Under ideal circumstances, Ari would have been my center of calm. Luckily, they hadn’t seen me almost coming to blows with Greer in front of hundreds of people. Stay cool, Harrison.
A tap on the microphone quieted the crowd. Mr. Robinson was at the podium, flanked by most of the firm, the mayor, and, of course, the Serranos and their entourage. In front was a long, red ribbon, embossed with the Serrano Group logo, readied for the cutting. I stood reluctantly next to Jacobi, who eyed me with a combination of pity and disgust.
“Greetings,” began Robinson. “We want to thank the City of Atlanta for joining us on this momentous occasion. The Serrano Group and the firm of Riddle and Robinson are proud to bring the city one of the most state-of-the-art soccer stadiums in all Major League Soccer. But first, I’d like to thank the team here at Riddle and Robinson who made it possible. In almost forty years of existence, we haven’t had a finer lot of designers.”
The crowd clapped. My mother was beaming, taking a photo with her phone. I’m sure it would be blurry, and Desmond would have to fix it. I smiled at the thought.
Robinson continued. “I’d like to thank the leadership of my founding partner, Douglas Riddle, for guiding the ship and cultivating a new talent. I’d like to thank the hard work of our senior designer, Porter Harrison, Jr., as well as the talent of our former junior associate and his partner on this massive undertaking, Ms. Ari James. Ms. James is no longer with the firm. We wish her well as she joins the design team at Claudio Velez, Madrid. We wish her the best and are thankful for her vision on this stadium.”
The audience clapped. I tried my best not to roll my eyes. Surely, they didn’t wish her the best. They couldn’t care less where Ari landed. I’m just thankful that Paulo saw something in her that Riddle and Robinson didn’t. She wouldn’t have to deal with the crap of her past anymore. Her future was so bright. Finally.
Once the applause died down, Robinson continued. “Riddle and Robinson are moving into the future. As we break ground on The Marina Center, we break new ground in terms of leadership at our firm. Without further ado, the firm is delighted and honored to name Darius Greer, our newest partner. We’re proud of his tenacity and hard work, always putting the firm first. Darius, if you’d like to say a few words...”
Darius?
My ears began to ring like a church bell. My vision went blurry as the crowd appeared to clap in slow motion. I looked out toward the crowd, my eyes instantly locking on my mother, who covered her mouth with her hands in disbelief. Todd looked as if he wanted to vomit. Desmond’s lips were moving furiously as he gestured toward the stage. I looked over at the Serranos, who were clapping as well. Paulo gave me a sympathetic smile.
I stood frozen. Darius brushed past me with a smug expression and said a few words at the podium. My head was pounding, as if Art Blakely were drumming on a continuous loop. I zoned out during Darius’s self-aggrandizing speech, only snapping out of it as he turned the mic over to the Serrano Group PR team. I took off my hard hat, smoothing my curls down into submission.
Dazed, I turned to Sean. He patted my shoulder. “Dude! This is so fucked up.”
I was numb. Fifteen years of busting my ass late nights and early mornings were pointless. I tried so hard to prove my worth for nothing. I had co-designed an amazing feat of architecture. For what? Nothing. None of it had been worth it. I didn’t have a partnership with the firm. I didn’t have the respect of my peers. And I didn’t have Ari.
I could change that.
I looked at my watch. It was close to 12:00 p.m. I moved through the crowd on the stage, past the partners and toward Paulo Serrano. Paulo turned to me with a sympathetic smile.
“Porter. I’m sorry about the partnership, my friend.”
“What time is she leaving?” I said, the words falling out of my mouth heavy like stones.
“Aye. Who is leaving?” Paulo asked, confused at my line of questioning.
“Ari! Do you know what time she leaves for Madrid?” I was yelling and had to catch myself.
With a slight smile, Paulo looked at me, then turned to his assistant. He spoke in rapid Spanish. Confused, the assistant reluctantly opened her iPad and scrolled for what seemed like ages. Then she responded to Mr. Serrano in Spanish. He nodded, giving her permission to relay the information.
“Ms. James’s flight is at 2:30 p.m., se?or.”
I groaned. “Fuck. Thanks.”
Just as the mayor was about to cut the ribbon for a photo op, I ran, pushing past everyone onstage, including her security. Riddle grabbed my arm.
“Porter, son? Where are you going? We still have some photos to take. Questions to answer.”
Mr. Robinson joined Riddle at his side, his face creased with anger. “Don’t make a scene, Porter. I know things didn’t go as planned but...”