Passion's Song

“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.”

Chapter 3 (#ulink_42d75d4c-7059-5fa8-b82f-016634c7e576)

His hip perched upon the wide windowsill, Damien rested an elbow against the double-paned glass as he read over the purchase agreement for the row of craftsmen duplexes he’d just acquired in the Broadmoor neighborhood. He had contractors on standby, ready to convert the three houses into office spaces. He even had a small law practice on tap to move into the first one. He’d emailed the lease agreement to the personal-injury attorney as soon as the sale had gone through.

That was the kind of deal he lived for: quick and uncomplicated. Unlike the deal he’d made with April yesterday.

Damien tossed the purchase agreement on the credenza and turned to the window. He leaned forward, resting his forehead on the thick glass. He softly tapped his head against it in an attempt to knock loose some of his common sense. Apparently, it was lodged somewhere up there.

How had he allowed himself to be coerced into spending his Saturday mornings in the Lower Ninth Ward? He’d spent the past two years since his return to New Orleans actively avoiding his old neighborhood. Yet he’d volunteered to teach a bunch of kids from the area about money management? Was he crazy?

But being forced to spend time in the Ninth Ward on a weekly basis for the next month and a half was only one part of it. In the hours since April left his office yesterday, Damien had discovered the other thing about this deal that had him on edge.

When he looked at April, he no longer saw the beanpole girl with braces and the thick French braid she used to wear in high school. To be honest, he hadn’t seen her that way in a long time, but their get-togethers had been few and far between over the past decade. Usually, Damien saw her for only the length of one dinner, or sometimes just a quick coffee.

That was about to change. Drastically.

When he’d first devised this plan to use April as a deterrent for eager women wanting to get closer to one of New Orleans’s top ten bachelors, Damien hadn’t considered what it would be like to spend hours upon hours with her in a situation where they would be expected to be more than just friendly. He was about to find out just what that would entail, and it made him nervous.

Yet, at the same time, he was intrigued as hell.

There was a knock at his door only milliseconds before Clarissa’s voice called, “Hey, are you ready?”

Damien’s mind instantly switched back to business mode as he turned away from the window. “Yes, I’m ready,” he said. “Is everyone in the conference room?”

“Everyone but Mei. She’s checking out that building at the corner of Clearview and Veterans. She texted to say that it looks good so far.”

“Yes,” Damien said with a fierce whisper, giving his fist a small pump in the air.

He’d had the old Horizons Bank and Trust building on his radar for months. Damien had a specific purpose in mind for it. With all the new films being shot in this area—which had been dubbed Hollywood South in recent years—he thought that building would be the perfect place for a new sound studio. His plans were to section it into various suites. One for audio and visual, another for editing, and the others for whatever else the film industry needed. He’d hired Mei Lui, a veteran of the film industry, to figure that out for him. He didn’t care how it happened, as long as it did.