I walked to the closet inside of my office and grabbed my duffle bag then headed down the hall to the bathroom. Quickly, I changed into some black stretch pants, my hotel uniform top, and slipped on my black sneakers. Once I was dressed, I walked back to my office to place my things inside before heading up to the penthouse suites.
When I walked inside Mr. Porter’s room, the scent of him hit me instantly, and my God, it smelled good. I was taken aback because there were paintings leaning against the wall and they took my breath away. I stepped closer to one, my fingers hovering just above the canvas. It was a beautiful Black woman, and she had a single tear falling from her eye. I wasn’t sure what was going on, but staring at the picture just made me so sad and emotional.
I finally snapped out of it, but before I turned to walk away, I took a picture of the painting. I quickly grabbed the linen and duvet that was left for us to change his bedding, and I replaced the washcloths and towels in the bathroom. I decided to go ahead and turn his bedding down for the evening since I was already here. Normally, his concierge would be the one to do it for him. Taking one last look at the room, I was pleased withthe outcome. One thing was for sure— this man had taste, and rich taste at that. I wanted to make sure I was out of his suite before he came back, so I hurriedly rushed out of the room with the bedding and towels in hand. A wave of nausea hit me the moment I stepped out the room as I braced myself up against the wall to gather myself. As good as I was at cleaning, these days it took a lot out of me whenever I overexerted myself. What used to take me thirty minutes to do now easily took me an extra fifteen minutes.
After gathering myself, I dumped the items in the laundry chute, then proceeded back down to my office. It was already going on six, and I had to pick up Hanii from Jaz’s house. I packed up my things and was out the door. When I made it out to my car, I heard music coming from the car next to me. The windows were tinted, so I couldn’t really see who it was. However, for some reason, I felt like the person was staring back at me. I peered in that direction again, and it was him—Legacy Porter. My God, this man’s presence made me nervous as hell, and I don’t even know him. He nodded, and I gave a half smile and quickly got into my car. I’m not sure what this was that I was going through, but I hope I get over it soon.
2 /LEGACY
Since birth,it was a known fact that I was destined for greatness. Coming from a multigenerational line of successful, strong, Black men and women, they wouldn’t have it any other way. My grandfather, Richard Porter Jr., was one of the most prominent judges in Pennsylvania and had served on the bench for well over twenty years before retiring. Naturally, my father, Richard Porter III, followed in his footsteps and became one of the youngest senators in the U.S. at just 40 years old. We were currently coming to the end of his second term, and it was already a known fact that he’d be reelected yet again because he was so well-liked.
My mother, Alexandra Porter, was the Attorney General of Pennsylvania, and together, she and my father were damn near the Barack and Michelle of Pennsylvania, running shit with a tight fist. Coming from a line of greatness, I guess it was already understood that I’d become a political figure in one way or another, but me being me, I wasn’t going for that shit; it just wasn’t in me. I wanted to stand on my own. I didn’t want my life being reduced to serving the people and discussing foreign policies. Needless to say, I shook the damn table when I decided to forge my own path outside of the family tradition. My popscouldn’t believe that me, aPorter,had taken a liking to art. It was such a gamechanger that my baby brother, Logic, didn’t even have a choicebutto go to law school. In my pops’ eyes, at least one of his sons had to continue the family legacy, and honestly, I’d much rather it be Logic than me.
What started off as a hobby is now slowly transforming into something lucrative, and not to brag too much, but I was definitelyhim.My art spoke for itself and placed me in rooms that I still had yet to personally walk into. I teetered the line of paradoxical and abstract but kept that sense of realism which made my shit unique. Not to mention, none of my paintings went for a dollar less than 10k. I was at the start of becoming a household name, and according to my agent, another year or two and I’d be one of the, if nottheebiggest on the East Coast. That said a lot for a nigga like me who’d gambled everything to bet on myself. Don’t get it fucked up though; while a large portion of my income came from art, I moved different than the men in my family. I didn’t walk the straight and narrow lines, I swerved them muthafuckas in my own direction. Art was my profession on the surface; it gave me a professional feel. I loved that shit, but there was another side to me. A side that played no games, a side that nobody wanted to fuck with. I’m the head of one of the biggest, remunerative drug organizations in the tristate.
To protect my family name, I didn’t deal with the day-to-day operations,. Instead, my right hand, Gizelle, was the face of the organization. Only a handful of people knew who I was and the role I played which made it easier for me to safeguard my family tiesandeffectively run my empire. So, it was safe to say that I loved Zelly more than anything in this world and trusted her with my whole life. Most niggas would find it challenging working side by side with a woman, especially one as fine as Zelly. Not me. If anything, I fucked with her more because shewas a woman. In my experience, women didn’t have the same jealousy as men. They didn’t care about the money or moving up the chain and were able to see shit that most men were too arrogant to notice.
Zelly was cold as fuck with it too. She was harder than most niggas I knew and would kill a muthafucka in the blink of an eye for playing with me. Shit between us was platonic, and we’d never crossed the line with each other. Like I said though, Zelly was bad as hell in every sense of the word. She had a rare beauty that was so damn stunning, you couldn’t help but stare. Not to mention, she had the body of a fuckin’ stallion. Add in her gunplay and she was a hood niggas dream and nightmare, all at the same damn time.
“So, everything went smooth? No hiccups with check-in, right?” Zelly asked as I finished unpacking my bags. I was going to do it last night, but I was tired as hell when I made it back to the hotel. That’s why I was sitting in my car when Ms. Lady was getting in her car. I had to shake my head just thinking about shorty, because that woman is beautiful as fuck. If I had time to entertain another woman on my roster, it would damn sure be her, but I don’t. So, that’s the end of that thought.
This presidential suite here at The Luxe was on point. I had to make sure I called my brother to thank him for having our travel assistant book it for me. I’ve stayed at The Luxe in other cities, but never here in New York. He said every time he came to the city this was where he stayed, and I could easily see why. I mean, I wasn’t a stranger to luxury hotels and suites, considering I was always on the go. Wanting to get that homely feeling and my own privacy, presidential suites were all that I booked. The level of hospitality here was top-tier, and every time I visited New York, this would be where I stayed. I was here for business with the Prestige Art Gallery and planned to be herefor a week. So, my comfortability was something that I never wanted to be concerned with.
“Yeah, everything was straight.”
“You brought your sheets, right?” Zelly questioned, and I laughed into the phone because she knew me so damn well.
“Yes, I brought my sheets, girl. Damn. What’s with the third degree?”
“Nothing,” she said. “You just…you seem a little bit off.”
“I do? Damn. This shit got me a little bit nervous, Zell. Ion know why either; it’s not like I’m new to this. I’ve been painting for years now, but the anxiety is killing me, man.”
“Well, that’s because this is a major deal. Not to mention a multimillion-dollar one, at that. PAG has the ability to showcase your art on a level that hasn’t been reachable. This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, Legacy. They see something in your work, and with the connections they have, they can take you to the next level. So, those nerves you’re feeling are perfectly normal; that just means that you know what’s all at stake and that this is real. But you’ve got this. Remember who the fuck you are—you’re Legacy muthafuckin’ Porter.”
“That part.” I smiled and tightened my tie around my neck.
“Damn straight. Call me as soon as the meeting is over. Good luck,” Zelly told me, and I nodded like she could see me.
“Thanks, homegirl. I’ll hit you later.”
“Okay.”
After disconnecting the call, I gave myself a once-over in the closet mirror and nodded in approval. I chose to wear a black-on-black Armani suit with Armani leather dress shoes. My AP watch sparkled on my wrist, while an iced-out Cuban link chain hung around my neck. I had my barber, Sly, get me right, so my line-up was crisp and razor blade sharp while my waves were heavily on swim. Looking and feeling like a million bucks, Igrabbed my phone and wallet, then headed out of my suite after letting my driver know to pull up to the front.
New York traffic was totally different than Philly’s. It was like the stoplights were only a few seconds and everyone was rushing to get through that bitch. Luckily, the restaurant that we were meeting at was only a few blocks away, so we made it there in just under fifteen minutes. Walking in, I buttoned my suit jacket and scanned the upscale restaurant for my lawyer’s face and found her seated in the back. We locked eyes just as I walked up to the table and Aubrey immediately stood up with a bright smile.
“Legacy. Right on time.” She smiled.
“Yeah, my apologies. I wasn’t expecting traffic to be so heavy this early in the day.”
“No worries. You’re right on time. I’m Jack and I represent Prestige Art Gallery. Well, the New York location at least,” he said, shaking my hand nice and firm.
“Legacy Porter; it’s nice to meet you, Jack.” We all took our seats as I unfastened my suit jacket.
“Did you want a drink or an appetizer?”
“No, I’m good. Thanks.”
