Читать книгу Passion's Song - Farrah Rochon - Страница 11
ОглавлениеApril’s mouth dropped opened.
Seconds stretched between them as she continued to stare at him, her expression unreadable.
“Let me explain,” Damien said.
“Uh, yes,” she said. “Maybe you should.”
But before Damien could elaborate, there was a huge crash on the other side of the room. He and April both jumped. He looked over his shoulder and spotted one of the small round café tables on its side. Two girls were going at it, arms and thick hair braids swinging.
A group of kids swarmed the girls, egging them on, yelling, “Fight! Fight!”
Damien jumped up from his seat, but before he could break up the fight, April was already there. She stepped in between the two girls, her arms splayed wide, her chest heaving with the deep breaths she pulled in.
“Break it up! Break. It. Up,” April said.
The girl with the deep purple hair braids took another swing, nearly clipping April’s face.
Damien took an automatic step toward them, but April held him back with a hand.
“I’ve got this,” she said. She pointed at the crowd of kids still surrounding them. “The rest of you, get back to wherever you’re supposed to be right now. If it’s the café, find somewhere else to be until I say you can return.”
She turned to the girls who had been fighting. Bracing both hands on her hips, April blasted them with a glare that made Damien want to take a step back.
“What’s going on here?” she asked.
Silence followed.
The glare intensified. “Someone had better start talking. You’re only making it worse on yourselves.”
Still, silence ensued.
Damien noticed the first chink in her armor as she looked at the girls, who now both stood with their heads bowed, staring at the floor. April’s crestfallen expression showed him how hard this was for her.
“Dammit, Cressida and Makayla,” April said. “You both know there is a zero-tolerance policy when it comes to fighting.”
“You’re going to kick us out?” the girl with normal-colored hair asked.
“Do you understand what zero tolerance means?” April asked her. “It means that if you do not abide by the rules, you do not get to stay. End of story.”
“But, Ms. April,” the girl started, but April stopped her. She put her hand up.
“It’s not my call. Ms. LaDonna will make all decisions. Go to her office and explain what this fight was about. She will decide whether or not you both deserve to stay.”
Their heads hanging, the girls lumbered away as if part of a funeral procession.
A round of applause broke out around the room from the patrons who occupied the other tables.
April released a weary laugh and bowed, accepting their praise.
“I’m sorry for the interruption,” she said in a voice that carried around the room.
She turned to Damien. She looked as if she’d just gone ten rounds with a heavyweight fighter, though he sensed that her exhaustion had more to do with those girls potentially getting kicked out of the program than the physical exertion of breaking up the fight.
“How often are you required to play referee?” Damien asked.
“Thankfully, not that often,” she said. “This is only the second fight this year. It’s a part of my job that I’m not all that fond of, but it has to be done.”
“You do it well,” Damien said. “Of course, you had practice. So maybe I should take some credit after all.”
“Oh, believe me, I remember,” April said with a laugh.
She’d been witness to many of the skirmishes Damien had found himself in while growing up in these streets. She’d never gotten in the middle of them the way she had today, but afterward, while she helped clean whatever scrapes he’d amassed during the fight, she would let him know how disappointed she was in him. It was the knowledge that he disappointed her that eventually quelled Damien’s desire to engage in that kind of behavior.
April Knight made him want to be a better person. She always had.
“Will those girls really be kicked out of the program?” Damien asked as they returned to their table.
She nodded. “For the rest of the summer. They can apply to gain entrance next summer.”
“So A Fresh Start actually adheres to its zero-tolerance policy, huh?”
“It wasn’t always that way,” April said with a laugh. “Let’s just say that I’m not the only sucker for puppy-dog eyes and apologies around here. We have a staff full of bleeding hearts, but once we noticed that the amount of infractions was increasing instead of decreasing, we finally put our collective feet down.
“We’ve discovered that a strictly enforced zero-tolerance policy is a lot more effective than paying lip service. And the more activities we add to the program, the more it makes kids want to stick to the rules so they can continue to participate.”
April folded her hands one on top of the other, and said, “So, exactly what were you saying before we were interrupted?”
Damien nodded. “As I mentioned before, Alexander Properties now owns a large square of real estate in the Lower Ninth Ward, but in order to develop it I’ll need investors. There are several social events happening over the summer that will put me in the same space with some of the New Orleans area’s most prominent business owners. The key word in all of that is social.”
“Okay,” April said, dragging the word out. “And I fit in where?”
“I don’t want to show up stag at any of these events, but I also don’t want to deal with any messy relationship crap. This top ten bachelor thing will just make it worse. My focus has to be on business, not on worrying about whether or not my date is entertained.”
April sat back in her chair and folded her arms across her chest.
“Is this the sales pitch you prepared? Because if so, you suck at this selling thing. I’m surprised your business is as successful as it is.”
Damien put both hands up. “Okay, so maybe that didn’t come out exactly the way I thought it would.”
“Let me see if I understand,” April said. “You basically want me to be a warm body in a pretty dress who can fend off other women so that you can concentrate on business.”
Damien’s shoulders lifted in a hapless shrug. “Basically, yeah.”
She caught the lone sugar packet on the table and flipped it between her fingers. “Why me?” April asked. “If there is one area where you are not lacking, it’s the old girlfriend department. At least one of those relationships had to have ended amicably enough for you to call in a favor.”
“If I asked any of my old girlfriends, they would take it the wrong way, probably thinking that I wanted a reconciliation or something.” He looked over at her, hoping to infuse as much pleading into his expression as possible. “Please, April. I promise not to take up too much of your time. We’re talking three to four events, tops. Maybe five if I’m able to score tickets to the charity auction for the Children’s Hospital.”
“You don’t expect me to answer right away, do you?”
Actually, he had. Kinda.
“No,” Damien said, shaking his head. “I figured you’d need some time to think about it. It’s just that, um, the first event is Friday night, so I’ll need to know pretty soon.”
Damien reached over and covered the hand that still toyed around with the sugar packet. He gave it a light squeeze.
“Please, April,” he pleaded. “At least think about it. And then say yes.”
Several moments stretched between them before she said, “I’ll think about it. I’ve got another music class starting in a few minutes, so I need to go, but I’ll get back to you later today.”
Damien stood, a smile drawing across his face. “I guess that’ll have to be good enough for now,” he said. He leaned over and placed a kiss on her cheek. “I’ll talk to you later. Thanks for considering this, April.”
He winked at her, then started for the exit, feeling a whole lot better than he had when he’d first walked through these doors.
* * *
I need you to be my girlfriend.
Her stupid heart gave a stupid leap of joy as April replayed Damien’s words in her mind, even after discovering just what he’d meant by that. He needed her to be his fake girlfriend. A pretend love interest. A phony plaything he could drape on his arm so that he wouldn’t have to deal with any of the women who—if he were not tied up with this special project of his—would actually be candidates to be his real girlfriend. Damn him for giving her those few brief seconds of hope.
She snapped the lid closed on the violin case with more force than necessary.
“You’re an idiot,” April said with a disgruntled sigh. “But at least you broke up that fight today before any limbs were lost, so you’re not completely pathetic.”
“You talking to yourself again?”
April yelped and swung around, finding Nicole standing in the doorway.
“Girl!” April yelled, holding her hand to her chest.
“Sorry.” Nicole laughed. “I couldn’t help it.” The twenty-five-year-old sauntered into the room where April had just finished up her intermediate music class. Nicole grabbed the handles of two of the violin cases and followed April to the closet where the instruments were stored at the end of the day.
“Thanks,” April said over her shoulder. She locked the door then turned to find Nicole standing there with her arms crossed.
“So,” Nicole said, a cagey smile tipping up the corners of her lips. “Looks as if you’ve been holding out on us.”
“I have? How so?” She gathered the last of the sheet music into a pile and used the mug from her desk as a paperweight.
“Uh, hellooo!” Nicole sang. “Was that not Damien Alexander who came to see you today? You never told me that you knew him.”
April tilted her head to the side and touched her finger to her chin. “Funny, but I can’t recall telling you even a tenth of the people I know. I’m not sure why I would tell you about Damien.”
“Whatever,” Nicole said with an eye roll to rival those of the teens who walked the halls. “So, how do you know him? More importantly, how well do you know him, if you catch my drift.” She lifted her eyebrows suggestively.
“Get your mind out of the gutter,” April said with a laugh. “Damien and I went to high school together. We’ve been friends for years.”
“So you’re just friends?”
“Just friends,” April said. “Nothing more.”
She would ignore the pang of disappointment that attempted to seep into her skin.
“Awesome,” Nicole said. “That means you wouldn’t have a problem introducing me to him.”
“Believe me, the one thing Damien isn’t looking for right now is to be introduced to a woman. In fact, that’s the exact opposite of what he wants.”
“Don’t tell me he’s gay,” Nicole said in a shocked voice.
April barked out a laugh. “No, he isn’t. He just has no interest in dating right now.”
“So he came to see you? Yikes.”
“I already told you that we’re friends. There’s no reason for me to be upset or offended.”
So what if most women would be offended if a handsome, sought-after bachelor called on them because they were not interested in getting involved with anyone. She was bigger than that, wasn’t she?
No. No, she was not.
But she would save the wall-kicking and raging at the ceiling for tonight, when she was in the sanctuary of her own home with copious amounts of chocolate, wine and Nurse Jackie binge watching to keep her company.
“Whatever you say,” Nicole said. “Oh, I’m doubling up on my hip-hop dance class tomorrow because a bunch of the kids are going to Saint Michael’s Youth Day thing on Friday.”
“Oh, that’s this weekend?”
“Yeah, there’s a bus bringing them over to the Northshore.”
“Hi, ladies.” LaDonna stuck her head in the door. “I heard Damien Alexander stopped in today. Is he still here?”
April threw her hands in the air. “Oh, for crying out loud. Did someone send out a group text as soon as he walked through the door?”
“It was a Snapchat video,” LaDonna said, coming into the room. “Get with the times.”
“I don’t even know what Snapchat is,” April said. She barely remembered to check her Facebook page. “But, to answer your question, no, Damien isn’t here. He had to get back to his office. He was only here because he wanted to ask a favor of me.”
“I’m sorry I missed seeing him,” LaDonna said. “I would have liked to thank him personally for his donation last year.”
“Too bad you missed it. He was something to see,” Nicole said, fanning herself.
April rolled her eyes. “Don’t you have to go break Simeon’s heart again?”
“Hey,” Nicole said with affront. “It’s not my fault he’s still trying even after I told him I wasn’t interested.”
“Maybe if you weren’t giving him all these mixed signals,” April said.
“I do not!”
“Yes, you do,” April and LaDonna said at the same time.
“Case in point, the meeting at my house the other night,” April said. “I know my living room isn’t big, but don’t you think you could have found somewhere else to sit? There was no need for you to plant your behind right next to him on the floor.”
Nicole’s lips scrunched up in a frown. “Fine. No more mixed signals. But it shouldn’t count if I don’t even realize I’m doing it.”
LaDonna put a hand up. “I’m tired of this conversation. Back to Damien Alexander. How well do you know him?” she asked April.
“Well enough. We went to high school together. I used to tutor him in English.”
LaDonna perched her hip on the desk. “This may be just wishful thinking on my part, but do you think there’s any chance you can get him to join us here at A Fresh Start?”
“As in...?”
“As in volunteering,” LaDonna said.
April shook her head. “He has a business to run. He can’t—”
“I know he’s busy,” LaDonna said, cutting her off. “And I’m not talking about full-time, everyday volunteering. I’m talking about an hour a week, maybe on Saturday mornings.
“I’ve been reading all these blogs about ways to increase your chances of winning a grant, and having a well-rounded program seems to be key. We have a nice assortment of recreational programs for the kids, but think of how it would look on our grant application if we had a prominent businessman teaching the kids about money management.”
“A money management class?”
“Think about it,” LaDonna said. “We’re teaching them job skills with the new café and there are a number of the older kids who have part-time jobs this summer. But many of them don’t know anything about savings or taxes. These are life skills.”
April couldn’t deny that it was definitely needed. Just yesterday she’d had to explain what FICA was to a group of kids who were comparing their first pay stubs. Rashad Parker said he’d borrowed money to buy a new video game from his uncle based on his hourly wage, not realizing that he wouldn’t get the entire amount in his paycheck.
This foray into the work world was a first for many of the kids there. They had a lot to learn, and Damien was well equipped to teach them.
But to convince Damien to come out to the Ninth Ward on a weekly basis?
April still couldn’t believe he’d made the trek to this part of town this morning. He may have purchased land here, but she knew better than to think it would change his feelings about their old neighborhood. Damien had deep-rooted disdain for this area, and for good reason. These streets had taken an awful toll on his family.
She’d tried to explain to him over the two years since they’d both returned to New Orleans that this neighborhood had changed for the better, yet it was as if he suddenly lost his hearing whenever she started. He supported her efforts to make a difference in the lives of the kids who lived here; however, donating money seemed to be the extent of what he was willing to do. April doubted she could ever convince Damien to voluntarily spend time here.
Unless...
A smile tipped up the corners of April’s lips. Why hadn’t she thought of this before?
“Give me a day or two, ladies. I just might have the perfect way to convince Damien Alexander to volunteer at A Fresh Start.”
* * *
April made a left onto South Peters and then a quick right, driving up to the towering parking garage at One Canal Place. She knew Alexander Properties was located in the high-rise at the base of Canal Street, but it wasn’t until she’d had to look it up on Google to find the suite number that it occurred to April that, in the two years since Damien moved his real estate firm from Houston to New Orleans, she hadn’t once visited his office.
High-end retailers, the ones she used to patronize back when she played some of the most prestigious music halls in the world and was required to wear ball gowns to work, occupied the first two floors of the building. April much preferred her current dress code.
The elevator bank that led to the attached office building was packed with business-attired people all staring intently at the descending numbers above the elevator doors. April would have taken the stairs if Damien weren’t on the very top floor. Although, considering the amount of people waiting for the elevator, it would probably take the same amount of time to reach his office.
After seeing three elevators come and go before she could finally squeeze into one, April still had to wait through more than a dozen stops as they ascended to the thirty-first floor.
She should be grateful for the long trek to Damien’s office. It gave her time to mull over the proposition she would soon present to him. April was fully prepared for Damien to send her marching out of his office—figuratively, at least. Even though he said he didn’t want to go the ex-girlfriend route, she knew he had his pick of other women he could call on to accompany him to events this summer.
But she’d sensed desperation in his eyes when he’d come to see her at A Fresh Start this morning. Something in the way he’d pleaded with her said that this went deeper than just having a woman on his arm. April planned to make that desperation work to her advantage.
She was the elevator’s sole occupant by the time it arrived on the top floor. She made her way down the hallway to the suite bearing the Alexander Properties logo, with the capital A and P overlapping. April allowed herself to indulge in a moment of pride. She’d helped Damien pick this logo five years ago, when he branched off from the national real estate firm he’d worked for since graduating from college and started his own company.
The door opened before she could reach for the handle, and a plump Melissa McCarthy lookalike with hot-pink horn-rimmed glasses and bright red lipstick came out.
“Oh, hello there,” she greeted. “Can I help you?”
“Yes, I’m here to see Damien Alexander,” April said.
The woman’s eyes narrowed in suspicion, and it occurred to April that this office might have experienced an uptick in women showing up at the door to see Damien since the release of that top ten bachelors article.
“Oh!” The woman snapped her fingers. “Now I remember who you are! You’re on that magazine cover.”
April’s head jerked back in surprise. “Me?”
“Yeah. You’re the cellist. Ms. Knight, right?”
“Yes. April,” she said.
The woman held out her hand. “I’m Clarissa, the office manager here. You were on the cover of some classical-music magazine a few years back. Damien has a copy he keeps on the credenza in his office.”
April’s heart skipped a beat. An array of emotions cascaded through her at the thought of Damien holding on to a copy of the obscure magazine she’d been featured in years ago. She didn’t realize he’d even run across it, seeing as only true classical music devotees normally read it.
Clarissa held up a finger. “Give me just one sec.” She looked past April. “Hi, Ryan.”
A young blond guy in his early twenties walked toward them, a bicycle helmet tucked under one arm and a messenger bag slung over his shoulder. Right Away Courier Services was embroidered across the front flap.
Clarissa signed the form attached to a clipboard, then took the sealed envelope that was handed to her. “Thanks, Ryan. I’ll see you again next week.”
She stared at the blond as he retreated down the hallway, her eyes clearly focused on a certain part of his anatomy.
Clarissa clucked her tongue. “God, I love summer. The khaki pants just don’t fit him as well as those butt-hugging shorts do.” She nodded toward the door. “Follow me. Damien’s on a conference call but he should be done in a minute.”
Upon entering the office, April declined a seat on the white suede-like love seat, choosing instead to stand while she perused the sparse yet elegant lobby area. The receptionist’s desk was a huge semicircle that encompassed most of the small entryway, done in what looked like the aluminum roofing that was used on older houses when April was growing up. It was topped with beautiful jade-tinted frosted glass.
April was a bit surprised by the decor. She’d pegged Damien as one who would prefer rich, dark wood over glass-and-steel ultramodern furnishings. But then it occurred to her that she had not spent enough time with him over the years to know if this was his style or not.
The realization caused a pang of sadness to ring through her. Their lives had turned out so differently from those teenage fantasies she used to indulge in, back when she imagined herself and Damien married with two-point-five kids, living in a nice house in Old Metairie or in Algiers Point. She’d imagined herself as a member of the Louisiana Philharmonic Orchestra while Damien played football for the New Orleans Saints.
At least she’d had the opportunity to perform as a soloist with the LPO at Gallier Hall years ago. It was the closest she’d come to living out at least one part of those long-ago dreams.
Clarissa disconnected from the call she’d taken the moment they walked into the office.
“Let me buzz Damien for you,” she said. “His conference call should have ended by now.”
“If he’s busy, I can wait. I don’t have an appointment, so I don’t want to infringe on his time if he’s in the middle of something.”
And wouldn’t that be a great excuse to back out of the deal she was preparing to propose?
Clarissa nodded as she spoke into the small microphone attached to her headset.
Moments later, Damien rounded the wall that led to the lobby area.
“Hey,” he greeted April with a curious lift to his brow. “Did I miss a text from you or something?”
“No, no. I’m sorry for not calling first, but I’m hoping I can steal a few minutes of your time.”
“Do you have an answer to the favor I asked for earlier?” he asked, hopefulness pushing away that earlier curiosity.
“I do,” April said. She looked over at Clarissa, who was blatantly hanging on to every word. “Is there somewhere we can go to discuss it?”
Damien’s eyes flashed to his receptionist. “Yeah, sure,” he said. “We can go to my office.”
April followed him into a spacious office done in the same modern furnishings as the rest of the suite. He pointed to a small sitting area. “Have a seat. Can I get you some coffee? Water?”
“No, thanks,” April said.
He poured himself a cup of water from a glass pitcher.
“Okay, so are you going to help me out?” Damien asked.
April clasped her hands and released a deep breath before saying, “Yes, I will.” Relief washed over Damien’s face. “But, there’s a catch,” she tacked on.
His relief turned to suspicion. “A catch?”
“Maybe catch is the wrong word,” she said. “Think of it as an agreement between the two of us. You’ll get what you want, and I will get what I want.”
“Why do I sense a Knight ambush coming on?” Damien asked.
“There is no such thing as a Knight ambush,” April countered.
“Are you serious? You’re the queen of ambushes. Do you remember all those surprise study sessions you used to spring on me? They still give me nightmares.”
“But those study sessions helped you in the end, didn’t they?”
The corner of his mouth curled in that sexy little smile that made April’s stomach flutter.
“Yeah, they did,” Damien admitted. He perched his backside on the edge of the desk and crossed his feet at the ankles. “Okay, so what exactly is it that you want out of this bargain?”
“Let me just start out by saying that you’ve been an amazing financial contributor to A Fresh Start. Whenever I’ve asked you to donate, you’ve given without hesitating, and it goes without saying that the program wouldn’t be the success it is today without the support of Alexander Properties and other local businesses like yours.”
“Can we get to the catch?” Damien asked. “Not to rush you or anything, but I can actually feel myself growing older by the minute.”
“Nice to know that sense of humor is still as abysmal as always,” she said.
He laughed. “Come on, April. Just lay it out for me.”
“Well, the financial support is wonderful, but it takes more than money to run a program like A Fresh Start. It takes warm bodies,” she said. “And not just any warm bodies, but ones the kids can relate to.”
His eyes narrowed. “You can’t possibly mean me,” Damien said.
“Of course I mean you,” she said.
“You think a bunch of teenagers can relate to me? I don’t even like kids.”
“It doesn’t matter how you feel about them now. What matters is that you were a smart-mouthed knucklehead back when you were these kids’ ages.”
“So sweet of you to bring that up.”
“I bring it up because you’re not a knucklehead anymore, although that smart mouth seems to have remained.” April rose from her chair and walked over to his desk. She leaned against it, mimicking his pose. “These kids need to see that someone who was once running the hundred-yard dash down the wrong path could change his life around so drastically. They need to see that there is a different way out of the Lower Ninth Ward besides being the next rapper or playing football.”
“But it was football that initially got me out of there. Without football, I wouldn’t have gotten that scholarship to Alcorn State.”
“The scholarship was your foot in the door, but you worked your butt off to earn your degree.”
“With the help of a certain music major helping me every step of the way,” he said.
The gratitude in his words warmed her from the inside out.
“You were well worth the effort,” April said. “And so are many of these kids.”
He folded his arms across his chest. “So, what is it you want from me?”
“I want you to teach a course on money management at A Fresh Start. Nothing too intense, just something to start the kids on the right path when it comes to handling money. Many of them have summer jobs, and with the addition of the café, we’re giving even more of them skills to make them employable. They need to learn the importance of not blowing all their hard-earned money all at once on payday.”
Damien groaned. “Do you know how busy I am?”
“And you think I’m not? You want me to accompany you to all of these fancy events. Do you have any idea what that entails? I’ll have to do hair, makeup, try on at least a half-dozen dresses until I decide to go with my first choice—”
He put his hands up. “Okay, okay.”
“Everyone is busy, Damien. All I’m asking for is an hour of your time once a week for the next six weeks. Think about how valuable something like this would have been back when you had your first job bagging groceries at the Winn-Dixie supermarket.”
He expelled the kind of put-out sigh that made it seem as if she were demanding his firstborn.
“Really, Damien, would it be so hard to give up just one hour a week? I’ll even help plan the classes. In fact, I’ll help you come up with a syllabus. I’ve been thinking about ideas since I left A Fresh Start. For example, I think some kind of game centered around investing would be fun—”
“Wait, wait, wait,” Damien said, holding up both hands. “I haven’t even agreed to do this yet.”
“Okay,” April said. “But you should know that if you want me to join you at all your little fancy shindigs, you have to teach the class.”
His mouth fell open. “I can’t believe you’re really going to blackmail me.”
“This isn’t blackmail.”
“Yes, it is. You refuse to help me unless I cave to your demands.”
“This is a business negotiation, Damien. You should be well versed in how the game is played.”
“Oh, I’ve played the game,” he said. He started to pace back and forth in front of her. “I just never thought my own friend would be my opponent.”
“Well, think again,” April said. “This class may play a key role in something we’re planning for A Fresh Start, and if I have to blackmail you in order to make sure it happens, then that’s what I’ll do.”
“I thought it wasn’t blackmail?”
“Can we please stop fighting over semantics and get on with it? You’re getting older by the minute, remember?”
Damien chuckled. “When did you get to be so feisty? I think I like this side of you, despite the fact that you’re blackmailing me.”
April ordered her cheeks not to blush, for all the good that did. She could feel her skin warming.
Damien finished off the water he’d poured earlier, then walked over to the credenza and refilled his glass. Turning back to face her, he slid one hand in his pocket and gestured toward her with his glass.
“Before I agree to this, I want to know about this plan of yours. What exactly would this class play a key role in?”
She hadn’t planned on discussing the grant, but April realized it was easier to just put everything out there than to evade the conversation.
“We’re putting together a grant proposal,” she started. “LaDonna Miller, our director, stumbled upon this grant that provides government funding for community programs like A Fresh Start. We’re hoping to turn A Fresh Start into a year-round program.”
Damien’s eyes widened. “I can’t teach this seminar year-round. It’s going to be hard enough to make time for it over the next six weeks.”
“You don’t have to teach it year-round,” she said. “As long as we have your class as a part of the curriculum during the period when we file the paperwork—which will be in about a month—it will serve its purpose. We can always say that something came up and you had to pull out of the program. But it won’t matter then because we’ll already have the grant.”
A smile drew across Damien’s face. “Is Miss Goody-Two-Shoes actually considering lying on a grant application?”
“Stop it,” April said. She could feel that damn blush making a return appearance. If anyone could make her skin flush, it was the man standing before her. He’d always had a horribly easy time of pushing her buttons.
“It wouldn’t be a total lie as long as you don’t tell me that you won’t be able to continue teaching year round until after we file for the grant.”
Damien let out a low, deep chuckle. “Do you know how adorable you are when you do that?”
She actively ignored the tingles that raced through her blood just at the thought of him thinking of her as adorable. Teddy bears were adorable. So were hamsters. Would she still get butterflies if he called her a hamster?
“When I do what?” April asked.
“When you try to justify doing anything that might seem remotely inappropriate.” He pointed at her with the water glass again. “Remember when a bunch of us skipped school to go down to the Riverwalk? You said that you were helping the economy by supporting the local business, so it really wasn’t that bad.” He leaned forward, and in a hushed voice, said, “It’s okay to walk on the wild side every now and then, April. It can even be fun.”
Oh, forget it. There was no use in trying to ignore those tingles now. Not when she could physically feel his teasing voice flowing over her skin like warm honey. Why did he continue to have this effect on her after all these years?
“Are you going to accept my bargain, or what?”
“Not until we discuss your side of the bargain,” he said. “Our first event is Friday.”
“As in tomorrow night?” April asked.
He nodded.
“So you came to see me this morning knowing that the first event would be tomorrow night?”
“I wasn’t sure if I’d be in town—I was originally scheduled to fly up to Minneapolis tomorrow morning, but the deal fell through. It’s just as well. I’d rather attend the Art for Autism in the Warehouse District anyway. It’s the unofficial kickoff of a string of summer fund-raising soirees.”
“I’m pretty sure I heard about that. Isn’t it a fund-raiser to support autism awareness? They’re asking everyone to wear blue, right?”
“Yes. One of the associates here has a son who suffers from the disorder, so Alexander Properties is already a supporter of the national nonprofit. However, tomorrow night’s event isn’t associated with the national group. It’s the brainchild of a group of local activists. They’re sectioning off several blocks of Julia Street, and all the museums and art galleries will be opened.
“I received word from a credible source that Michael Berger, a partner with the McGowan Group, will be there.”
“The McGowan Group is the one that owns the minor-league baseball franchise, right? What does he have to do with any of this?”
“You know about them?” Damien asked.
“I work for a nonprofit. Of course I know about them. They’re huge philanthropists. Never mind the fact that they also own several fast-food franchises and hotels.”
“Yes, they’re huge proponents in building up the infrastructure of the city. They are the ones I’m targeting to invest in the project I have planned for the property I just bought in the Ninth Ward. In order to do so, I need someone like you—intelligent, cultured and nonclingy—on my arm.”
Damien came to stand in front of her once again. “So, do we have a deal? I agree to teach the money management class for six weeks and you’ll agree to be my date to these events for the same time frame?”
April stared at his outstretched hand, noticing the nicks and scratches marring his skin. He wore that tailored suit as though he’d been born in it, but one only had to look just below the surface to catch a glimpse of that rough-and-tumble boy who used to run the streets.
She wanted to spend time with that boy she used to know more than she would ever dare to admit. And he’d just given her a way to do so.
She clasped his hand.
“Deal.”
