A desire they never imagined...

New Orleans has always been a musical city, and April Knight quickly fell under its spell. Despite the challenges of poverty and disillusionment, April defied everyone to realize her dream of becoming a celebrated cellist. Buoyed by her success, she’s returned to the Ninth Ward to share her encouragement and enthusiasm with the local youth, unaware of a new passion that awaits.

Years ago, Damien Alexander encouraged April to follow her ambitions, even as he followed his own. Now he has the opportunity to revitalize his old neighborhood, and he needs April’s grace and charm to woo investors. Instead of the platonic arrangement they expected, a swift and intense spark of attraction suddenly changes the dynamic of their relationship. Will they be able to help their community and answer the sweet, sweet melody of love?

When he sat next to her on the cushioned chaise, Damien deliberately sat closer than necessary, so that their thighs rubbed against each other. It was a test of sorts, to see if he’d read her vibe correctly, or if he was completely off base.

He wasn’t.

Instead of moving away, April leaned against him as she sipped her wine.

“Is this why you’re okay not playing with an orchestra?” Damien asked her. “You can get your fix here?”

She shrugged. “I never thought about it that way, but I guess you’re right. I miss the live shows, but I don’t miss the hassle. Traveling from city to city takes its toll on you.”

“You look no worse for the wear,” he said, allowing his eyes to travel the length of her. His mouth watered at the sight of the smooth expanse of thigh peeking through the rip in her jeans.

When his eyes met hers again he noticed the subtle heat staring back at him. Damien traced her bare arm with the backs of his fingers, the caress hovering somewhere between a friendly stroke and something...more.

“Do you ever think about going back out there? Joining another orchestra?”

April’s eyes slid closed. Damien wanted to think it was so she could concentrate on his touch. She took a sip of wine before answering.

Dear Reader,

For years I’ve written books set in my cherished home of south Louisiana, but I’ve shied away from even mentioning the storm that devastated the Gulf South back in 2005. This time, I decided to confront Hurricane Katrina head-on by setting Passion’s Song in New Orleans’s Ninth Ward neighborhood. I wanted to show both the struggles the area is still experiencing and the true courage that many of its residents have displayed as they continue to recover from Katrina’s devastation.

Passion’s Song is a story of strength, resilience and, of course, love. I hope you enjoy April and Damien’s love story. I also hope that it gives you greater insight into the issues that remain a part of everyday life for many in my beloved New Orleans.

Farrah Rochon

Passion’s Song

Farrah Roybiskie

www.millsandboon.co.uk

FARRAH ROCHON had dreams of becoming a fashion designer as a teenager, until she discovered she would be expected to wear something other than jeans to work every day. Thankfully, the coffee shop where she writes does not have a dress code. When Farrah is not penning stories, the USA TODAY bestselling author and avid sports fan feeds her addiction to football by attending New Orleans Saints games.

MILLS & BOON

Before you start reading, why not sign up?

Thank you for downloading this Mills & Boon book. If you want to hear about exclusive discounts, special offers and competitions, sign up to our email newsletter today!

SIGN ME UP!

Or simply visit

signup.millsandboon.co.uk

Mills & Boon emails are completely free to receive and you can unsubscribe at any time via the link in any email we send you.

Dedicated to my fellow Louisiana residents who are still bravely recovering from Hurricane Katrina.

But those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint.

—Isaiah 40:31

Acknowledgments

I’d like to thank Gravier Street Social in downtown New Orleans, local cellist Monica McIntyre and fellow writer Tiffany Monique. All influenced this story in their own special way.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Dear Reader

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Acknowledgments

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Epilogue

Copyright

Chapter 1

“Tonight calls for wine.”

As April Knight surveyed the array of steno pads, highlighters and sticky notes strewn about her living room floor, she had to fight the urge to race to her bedroom and bury her head beneath the covers. There was so much work to do.

“Lots of wine,” she said with a sigh.

Simeon Wilks, who dedicated much of his free time to volunteering with her at A Fresh Start, the teen summer program where she worked in New Orleans’s Lower Ninth Ward, looked up from where he sat on the floor, his back against the sofa.

“I’m not so sure alcohol is the smartest idea,” Simeon said. He tossed the documents he’d been skimming onto his lap. “But what the hell do I know? Bring me a beer.”

“I’ll take a glass of wine and I don’t even drink,” the program’s director, LaDonna Miller, said.

“I’ll be right back,” April told them. “The pizza should be here any minute.”

As if on cue, the doorbell rang.

“I’ll take care of the pizza,” Simeon said, rising from the floor with catlike agility and proving April just in her envy of the under-thirty crowd. She’d actually heard her thirty-five-year-old knees creak when she’d gotten out of bed that morning.

She stepped into the kitchen of the double shotgun house she’d bought when she returned to New Orleans two years ago. It was on the small side, but exactly the right size for her. Despite her urge to pull every bottle from the wine rack, April settled on a single bottle of pinot noir. Tonight was about coming up with solutions, not acquiring hangovers. They all needed to keep clear heads.

She slid two wine stems from the under-the-counter rack, grabbed a bottle of Abita lager from the fridge and lifted extra napkins from the stack she kept on the counter. Just as she started to make her way back to the living room, her phone vibrated in her pocket, signaling an incoming text.

She quickly unloaded the burden from her arms so she could check her phone. She’d been expecting to hear from her agent regarding a payment dispute with the production company she’d worked with back in March.

After traveling the globe for the past ten years as a concert cellist, April had decided she was done with being on the road. She’d found a way to earn a living while still indulging her love of music. Staying in one place had taken some adjustment, but April enjoyed the work she did now, providing music—usually remotely—for movies and television. This current dispute was for a concerto she’d provided for a luxury car brand’s commercial.

However, the text she found when she pulled her phone from her pocket wasn’t from Carlos Munoz, her agent. It was from Damien Alexander.

April’s heart did a rodeo-style gallop within her chest.

Because her heart was a sappy dreamer that ignored insignificant things such as reality.

Damien’s text was simple: Hi. Need to speak with you. Can we meet tomorrow?

April texted back: Hi, stranger. Sure. Meet me at AFS. Building across from Saint Katherine’s Church.

His reply came seconds later. Thanks. Be there at 11 a.m.

April stared at the phone for several long, agonizing moments as she tried to decide if she should reply with a simple thanks or see you then. Would it make her look too eager? Would he think it was rude if she didn’t reply at all?

“Oh, for crying out loud,” April said under her breath.

She shoved the phone back into her pocket and picked up the things she’d set on the counter. Then she made her way back into her living room, where her colleagues were gathered.

Nicole Russell, who taught dance at A Fresh Start, sat on the floor next to Simeon.

“Hey, when did you get here?” April asked. “I thought you had a gig somewhere in Mandeville?”

“I came in with the pizza. My gig was canceled,” Nicole said.

“Aw, I’m sorry,” April said. “I know you were looking forward to it. Let me get another wineglass.”

Nicole held up a soda bottle. “Thanks, but I’m good.”

April placed the wine bottle and glasses next to the pizza box that lay open on the ash oak coffee table she’d picked up at a yard sale. After distributing the drinks, she picked up her slice of pizza and nodded to the whiteboard she’d propped against the back of the chair she’d brought in from the kitchen.

“Okay, let’s hear it,” April said. “How do we save A Fresh Start?”

“A Fresh Start doesn’t need to be saved, does it?” Nicole asked. “The program is still in good shape.”

“If it were in such good shape, we wouldn’t be here tonight,” LaDonna pointed out. Their director had called for tonight’s meeting following their first week of operation for this summer’s program. A Fresh Start might not have been in danger of closing as it had been in years past, but the program was definitely in need of help.

“We lost more than two dozen kids from last year,” April said. “It would be one thing if we’d lost them to other summer programs, but Simeon went on a fact-finding mission yesterday and discovered that’s not the case. Right?” April asked him.

He nodded. “Most of them were just hanging out at home, or around the neighborhood.”

“Why didn’t you grab them and make them come back to the center?” Nicole asked.

“Because that would be kidnapping,” Simeon said around a mouthful of pepperoni.

“We can’t force kids to attend A Fresh Start,” April said. “Nor can we make their parents bring them. But we all know the more we keep them occupied and off the streets this summer, the better chance those kids have of staying out of trouble. We have to do something about this retention problem. We can’t keep losing kids during the school year.”

“I think we all know what the best solution is for keeping kids throughout the school year,” LaDonna said with a resigned sigh.

Yes, they all knew. The problem was that expanding A Fresh Start into a year-round program would require more resources than they had at their disposal.

They were lucky enough to have volunteers who viewed the youth program as an essential part of their lives and not just a feel-good hobby they could drop without a moment’s notice. They were a small group, but they were dedicated. However, manpower was only one part of the equation.

“Haven’t we beaten this dead horse enough already?” Simeon said. “We all know that turning A Fresh Start into a year-round program instead of just a summer program would solve much of this problem, but that calls for money. Something we don’t have.”

He was right, and they all knew it. Keeping A Fresh Start open for at least two to three hours in the afternoon, during those hours between when kids were let out of school and when their parents arrived home from work, was a critical component to retaining the kids they’d managed to keep from last summer.

The program, which currently helped more than fifty children from around the neighborhood, relied on donations and creative budgeting to get by. But their anemic bank account barely had enough funds to cover their expenses for the next ten weeks. Stretching that to cover an entire year of programming?

“We have to figure out a way to make this happen,” April said, her voice solemn. “Last summer Demarco Jackson was one of my most promising violinists. I was concerned when I didn’t see him during our first week back. I found out from one of his schoolmates today that Demarco was picked up for truancy four times during the school year, and just got out of juvenile detention for a street fight he was involved in. Thankfully, it didn’t turn more violent than a fistfight, but it could have gotten out of hand and led to something much more deadly.”

April looked into the faces of each of her colleagues.

“I refuse to lose any of these kids to the streets,” she continued with renewed determination. “We have something good going here. We need to make sure it continues to thrive.”

“You’re preaching to the choir,” Nicole said. “We all know the benefit A Fresh Start brings to the Ninth Ward. But that doesn’t solve the money problem.”

“That’s why we’re here this evening, right?” April said. “We need to figure out how to come up with the funding we need.”

She took a healthy sip from her wineglass, then slid off the sofa and walked over to the whiteboard. Uncapping a dry-erase marker, she scrawled FUND-RAISING across the top and turned to her colleagues.

“Okay,” April said. “Let me have it.”

Her request was met with blank expressions and deafening silence.

April tipped her head back and sighed at the ceiling. “Come on, you guys,” she said. “This cannot be that hard. Just throw out some ideas.”

She wrote bake sale on the whiteboard.

“Really?” came Nicole’s laconic drawl. “You think selling cakes and cookies is going to give us the kind of money we need to turn A Fresh Start into a year-round program?”

“No,” April said. “But this is how you brainstorm. Start with the most obvious and just throw things out there until something sticks.”

“The most obvious is acquiring more benefactors,” Nicole said.

“We’ve hit up our usual donors too much already,” Simeon pointed out. “We have to make this happen ourselves.”

As April captured several of the ideas she, Simeon and Nicole discussed with her dry-erase marker, she noticed LaDonna thumbing through documents in the worn leather messenger bag she always carried around.

“Hello, Ms. Director,” April directed toward LaDonna. “You mind giving a little input?”

Without saying a word, LaDonna slipped a sheaf of papers from the messenger bag and rose from her spot on the couch. She walked over to the whiteboard, picked up the eraser and swiped it back and forth across the list April had written.

Before April could shout the girl, what you doing? that was on the tip of her tongue, LaDonna held up the documents.

“This is all the funding we need,” their director said.

“Is that like a secret code to winning the lottery?” Nicole asked with a laugh.

“And now we all know why you’re a dancer and not a comedian,” LaDonna said. “It’s a new grant being offered by the state, in conjunction with a federal program through the Department of Education. It’s specifically targeted to after-school, weekend and summer programs in impoverished areas.”

“That’s us,” Simeon said.

“It’s also highly selective. If we can prove that A Fresh Start is worthy of a grant, we won’t have to worry about piecemealing our budget together with bake sales or online crowd-funding campaigns.”

April lifted the document from LaDonna’s fingers and flipped through it. “So, how do we go about getting the grant?”

“We make sure we can check off every single criterion listed here, and then we come up with our own set of criteria so that A Fresh Start can stand out.”

April could only stare in amazement as she skimmed over the items the grant would provide. This was it. It was everything they needed.

“Why haven’t you mentioned this to us before?” she asked LaDonna.

“Because I thought I could do it on my own.” The director held a finger up to April. “Don’t say anything. I’m here sharing it with you all now, okay?” She released a sigh. “I’m learning to ask for help, so stop judging me and let’s work on getting this grant.”

“Fine, I’ll judge you later,” April said. “Forget everything else. Including the alcohol,” she said to Simeon as he drained his beer bottle. “We need to stay focused so that we can come up with the best way to earn this grant.”

They had to. There was too much at stake for them to fail.

* * *

Damien Alexander winced as his tire bounced in the unavoidable pothole. It was even deeper than he’d gauged, and caused dirty water to splash all the way up to the driver’s side window of his freshly washed Mercedes M-Class.

“Dammit,” he cursed under his breath.

He swerved again, trying to avoid another crater, but it was nearly impossible in this part of the city. He remembered New Orleans winning the dubious title of the most potholes in a major city a few years ago. It was a wonder it didn’t win every single year.

Damien took a right onto Lamanche, driving several blocks down the street that was less than a mile from the house where he grew up in the Lower Ninth Ward.

Damn, but he didn’t want to be here. He’d rather be anywhere else but here.

When April returned his text with instructions to meet up with her at A Fresh Start, he’d wanted to reply with a counteroffer. But asking her to drive out to downtown New Orleans or closer to where he lived uptown wasn’t fair, especially when he was the one who needed a favor from her.

Still, Damien resented having to come into this part of the city. The memories this place evoked were not happy ones.

The indiscriminate tan brick building across from Saint Katherine’s Catholic Church came into view. The church must have something going on because every parking spot was filled.

Damien made the block, trying to find street parking, but came up empty. As he rounded the building again, he spotted a car pulling out about three spots from the entrance. He parallel parked the Mercedes on the street, engaging the alarm system before taking off for the building.

The boisterous clamor of several dozen teen voices hit him as soon as he opened the doors to the single-story structure that housed A Fresh Start. April had previously explained that the building was once a small Catholic school affiliated with the church. When the school closed years ago, the building then became the church’s offices and community center, but its congregation had dwindled to the point where the extra space was unnecessary. The parish of Saint Katherine’s had generously offered the community-based summer program use of the building at an affordable rent.

There had been nothing like A Fresh Start when Damien had been a young boy running roughshod through the streets of this neighborhood. He hoped these kids appreciated the sacrifice and hard work of April and the other volunteers who ran the program.

He walked down the single corridor, peering into the various rooms where everything from a cooking demonstration to arts and crafts was being held. The hauntingly sweet notes of string instruments guided him toward the rear of the building. He stopped at the open doorway of a room with about a dozen students, each holding some kind of instrument.

April Knight crouched next to a girl who sat with a cello positioned between her spaced knees. The large, slightly scarred instrument dwarfed her, but the teen didn’t seem intimidated. She looked on intently as, with her signature calmness, April corrected whatever misstep the girl had just made on the piece they were practicing. She instructed her on how to glide the bow along the taut strings. The result was a fluid, mesmerizing note that resonated throughout the space.

Once she was done assisting the room’s lone cello player, April returned to the front of the room. When she turned and spotted him, her face lit up with a smile. Several of the students—those who were not engrossed in reading their sheet music—turned to see who had captured their teacher’s attention. April held up a hand and mouthed five minutes.

Damien nodded. Leaning a shoulder along the doorjamb, he folded his arms across his chest, crossed his ankles and studied the woman standing at the helm of the class. It had been months since he’d seen her, not since running into her at a Christmas party that one of his clients had invited him to at a loft in the Warehouse District. That had been what? Six months ago?

He’d arrived late, and April had been on her way out. Their encounter had been nothing more than a quick hug and profuse thanks from April for the donation Damien had given to A Fresh Start. They both promised each other that they would meet for coffee so they could catch up, but whenever he’d thought about calling her over the past six months something else always came up.

Five minutes came and went, but Damien didn’t dare interrupt April as she coached her pupils through a delicate piece. Besides, watching her in action was too entertaining to bring it to an end.

And to Damien’s surprise he was watching her with more interest than he ever remembered watching his friend before. She wore soft yellow capri pants that hit just past her calves, a smart choice on this warm day. She probably had the heat and humidity in mind when she chose to pair it with the white sleeveless button-down blouse, but Damien thought it was the right choice for an entirely different reason.

He studied the way she moved, her toned arms slicing the air as she directed the young musicians. Years of playing the cello had added definition to her muscles, which still managed to look delicate underneath her smooth skin. Her warm brown complexion looked radiant despite the harsh fluorescent lighting above. Her shoulder-length hair had been swept up in a messy bun atop her head, accenting those cheekbones that had always been her most standout feature.

Although, to be honest, everything about her seemed to stand out to him today.

April finally brought the class to an end, instructing the students to properly stow their instruments so that they would be ready for the next class. Once all students had vacated the room, she came up to Damien and wrapped him up in a big hug.

“Long time no see,” she said.

Damien returned the hug, discovering that the toned muscles applied to more than just her arms. That delicate thing she had going on was definitely a facade.

“Thanks for making time for me today,” Damien returned.

“Of course,” April said. “So, how has it been going, Mr. Bachelor of the Year?”

Damien’s head fell back as he released a strained breath. “Please, don’t start.” He looked at her again, one brow pitched upward. “And it isn’t Bachelor of the Year.”

“Oh, that’s right. You’re just one of New Orleans’s top ten bachelors. My bad.”

“Are you finished?” Damien asked. “Or do you want to rub this in just a little more? It’s okay, I can handle anything you dish out.”

“Aw,” April said. “Been a rough one, has it? Okay,” she said, “I promise no more bachelor jokes for the next hour.”

“An entire hour? You’re such a giver, April.”

She laughed again, the sound echoing around the empty room. She grabbed him by the cuff of his light blue button-down and tugged.

“Come on, let’s get some coffee. The new café is finally operational and I cannot wait for you to see it.”

“You were able to make it happen?” Damien asked.

“Along with the kids and other volunteers, of course. But, yes, we made it happen. Thanks in no small part to donations from generous citizens such as yourself,” she said. She stopped and turned. “Did I tell you that I found a college in northern Mississippi that was replacing all of their string instruments?” She pointed over her shoulder, toward the room they’d just left. “Those violins and the double bass you saw the kids playing? All purchased with the money you donated. I can’t thank you enough, Damien.”

Damien could only hope that her giving spirit would still be there when he brought up the reason for his visit.

“Here it is,” April said as they arrived at the newly installed coffee bar and café.

Damien looked around the room, a grin slowly lifting up the corner of his mouth. The building’s rearmost room had been converted into a small eatery. A long counter ran nearly the entire length of the back wall. Behind it sat an industrial espresso/cappuccino maker and a professional blender. Three stainless steel pump-style coffee dispensers labeled Decaf, Medium Roast and Dark Roast sat on the counter next to glass domes that housed various pastries.

There were five small round tables inside, each with a small vase holding a single bud in their center, and two chairs. Just outside, on the brick patio on the rear eastern side of the building, sat three additional seating areas. There also looked to be a small vegetable garden just beyond it.

“You know, when you called asking for a donation from Alexander Properties to help fund this project, I pictured something that was a step above a lemonade stand. But this is a legitimate coffee shop.” He glanced over at April. “I guess I should have known better. When it comes to April Knight, there’s never any half stepping.”

“You got that right,” April said with a sharp nod, followed by that infectious laugh of hers.

When she’d approached him at the end of last summer with the idea for the café, she told him that she wanted it to serve two purposes. First, she assured him that it would be operated strictly by the youth who attended A Fresh Start and used foremost as a teaching tool, giving the kids practical skills that they could use to hopefully gain employment outside the center. And, second, the money provided from the sales would be used to fund other programs.

Damien purchased two large black coffees, leaving a twenty-dollar tip in the tip jar, then followed April to the lone available table.

“It looks as if you all have a bustling business already,” Damien commented as he sat across from her. “Not an empty seat in the house.”

“It’s a symbiotic relationship. This community needed something like this,” April said. “And the kids love it. We—” She paused, looking beyond Damien. “Hey, Simeon, what’s up?”

Damien looked over his shoulder just as a young guy of about twenty-five or so came upon their table. He wore a plaid shirt and slim jeans with cuffs that rolled up above his ankles.

“Sorry to interrupt,” the guy said. “I just wanted to know what time I’m meeting you at your house.”

A dose of unease slithered through Damien’s bones.

Was April dating this guy? Why hadn’t he considered the possibility that she was in a relationship before coming up with his hastily hatched plan?

“Be there for seven,” April told the youngster.

“Awesome. See you then,” he answered, and then left them.

April took a sip of coffee and said, “Sorry about that. Now, what is it that’s so urgent that it brought you to the Ninth Ward? Don’t think that the significance of this visit escaped my attention. It’s been a long time since you came out this way.”

“Yeah, it has,” Damien said. “First, are you seeing someone?”

Her head jerked back as she released a shocked laugh. “What?”

“You know, romantically,” Damien said. “Are you involved with someone?”

He knew he’d caught her off guard. He and April had been friends since high school, but their love lives were rarely discussed. In fact, Damien couldn’t remember either of them ever overtly bringing up the subject.

“I...uh...” She stumbled. Then shook her head. “No,” she finally answered. “No, I’m not seeing anyone.”

Bone-melting relief replaced that earlier unease.

“Great,” Damien said. “Because I have a favor to ask of you. And it’s a big one.”

* * *

April didn’t know what to think as she watched Damien fidget across the table from her. If there was one thing she could usually say about him, it was that he excelled at always appearing to be completely in control.

Not today.

Right now, he seemed unsure. Nervous, even. It was unsettling.

Damien tapped his fingers on the table in an anxious rhythm. “The reason I asked you to meet with me—” he started.

“Hi. Can I get you anything?” Jelissa Cannon, one of the older girls who helped to manage the new café, interrupted.

The teen flashed a huge smile at Damien. Like most of the world’s female population, she seemed totally smitten within a second of setting eyes on him.

April held up her cup. “We already have our drinks, but thanks.”

“Oh.” Jelissa’s smile deflated. Then it brightened again. “Can I get you anything else? Refills, maybe?”

Did that child just bat her eyes?

“Actually, I think we’re good for now,” April answered, infusing a hint of warning into her voice.

“Are you sure?” Jelissa asked Damien.

“Yes,” Damien said, treating her to that megawatt smile that had no choice but to elicit the exact reaction Jelissa displayed. The teen giggled like the schoolgirl she was, her light brown cheeks darkening to a deep crimson.

“If we need refills, I’ll call you over,” April told her. She wiggled her fingers toward the counter. “You have customers to take care of. Why don’t you go and do that?”

April cast a cursory glance around the room and discovered that Jelissa wasn’t the only one with eyes trained on their table. Most of the females in the room were staring openly at them.

It wasn’t as if April could blame them. If there was one thing Damien Alexander had always been, it was easy on the eyes.

April had done her share of looking over the years.

Oh, who was she kidding? She’d nearly sprained her eyes staring at him.

She could remember the way her skin tingled that very first day she saw him, back when the two of them first met as sophomores at George Washington Carver High School. His features had become more refined over the years, but that strong jaw and chin, those thick eyebrows over whiskey-brown eyes, and that sensual dip in his lip had been there from the very beginning. Many a girl had fallen under the spell of those arresting features. Herself included.

Thankfully, April knew better than to act on it.

Oh, she could still appreciate the sheer devastating beauty that was Damien Alexander, but April had managed to tamp down her lustful thoughts where her friend was concerned. While other women openly stared, making downright fools of themselves, she was content to just eye him from afar. It became obvious over the years that she and Damien would always be friends, but nothing more. April had come to both accept and respect that.

Wait, she hadn’t noticed any pigs flying in the sky on her way in here this morning, had she?

Okay, so maybe she wasn’t completely accepting of her relationship with Damien. Or, her lack of a relationship, as it was. But at least she no longer pined for him as she had when they were younger. She would eventually be at peace with the idea of being nothing but a friend. It’s just that the road to peace was long and unwieldy.

April turned her attention back to Damien. “Before we get to the reason you’re here, you must tell me how this top ten bachelor thing came about.”

Damien released an agitated sigh. “Must we?”

“We must,” April answered. “Now spill it. I want to know who managed to talk you into posing for that picture.”

When she’d opened her copy of Get to Know NOLA magazine last week and spotted that picture of Damien in a suit that fit him to perfection, she’d nearly fallen off her kitchen chair. She’d managed to stop herself from tearing it out of the magazine and framing it, but just barely.

“Can’t we talk about this later?” Damien asked.

“Nope. I want the skinny.”

His annoyed look didn’t deter April one bit. One of the benefits—if one could call it that—of being a platonic friend was that she could get away with pushing his buttons. Damien ran a hand down his goatee and took another sip of his black coffee. “This is good, by the way,” he said, holding up the cup.

“Thanks. I’ll make sure the kids know you said so. Now out with it.”

“Bossy, as usual,” Damien said. He took another sip of coffee before continuing. “Someone at the magazine contacted me out of the blue a couple of months ago. And you know me—I’m never one to turn down free publicity, so I said yes. I never thought it would take off the way it did. I mean, who even reads Get to Know NOLA magazine?”

April raised her hand. “I’ve been a faithful reader since it launched a couple of years ago, and after that photo spread, I’ll bet there will be a lot more people reading it. Whoever came up with the top ten bachelors idea is a genius. It’s gone viral. You should be happy, you’re getting the publicity you wanted.”

“No.” Damien shook his head. “This is not the publicity I wanted. This is the exact opposite of what I wanted. When I agreed to do that photo shoot, I thought it would be a way to bring attention to my business. That’s why I insisted the shoot happen in my office instead of out on the lakefront where they first suggested. The goal was for Alexander Properties to get some action, not me.”

“Because you’ve got all the action you can handle, right?” April asked.

It was no secret he’d had his share of beautiful women. It had been that way throughout high school. And even though they’d seen each other only sparingly over the past decade, Damien never failed to have some gorgeous beauty on his arm.

“I’m not in the market for that kind of action right now. Being involved with a woman is a complication I don’t have time for,” he said. “That’s why I’m here to see you.”

“I’ll try not to be offended,” she drawled.

He grimaced. “That didn’t come out right.”

“Forget about it,” April said with a wave of her hand. It wasn’t as if she didn’t know where she stood. “What exactly is it that you need?”

“Let me see if I can set this up for you,” he said. He spread his fingers out over the table. “I hadn’t mentioned anything prior to today because I wasn’t sure if this was going to go through or not. But it did go through, so I can finally talk about it.”

“Can you be any more vague?”

“Have you always been such a smart-ass?”

“Only when it’s warranted,” April answered. “What is the it that you can finally talk about?”

He tapped his fingers on the table, revealing a hint of that nervousness she’d sensed in him earlier.

April reached across the table and covered his hand. “Damien, what’s this all about? It isn’t like you to beat around the bush this way.”

“There’s a huge abandoned lot around North Galvez and Kentucky Streets, not too far from the train tracks.”

“Yeah, I know it. There’s still some blighted houses that way, and a bunch of overgrown lawns,” she said.

“Yeah, that’s it. Well, I own all of it now.”

April’s mouth scrunched up with confusion. “Why?”

“I’m in real estate, April. That’s what I do.”

“Yeah, but you’re in corporate real estate. Do you really think you can convince any of your clients to move their companies from the Central Business District to the Ninth Ward?”

“I have something else in mind for that property,” Damien said. “Something that can potentially be a game changer. But I can’t do it on my own. Alexander Properties does okay, but I’m still small potatoes when it comes to the kind of capital I’ll need to pull this off. It’ll require other investors—several of them—if I’m going to get this project off the ground. And that’s where you come in?”

April’s brow arched. “Just in case you’ve forgotten, you’re the one I come to when A Fresh Start needs some cash,” she said. “I’m just a lowly musician, getting work where I can find it.”

“Yeah, right. You’re turning down work left and right,” Damien said.

That was true. She’d just turned down an offer with an orchestra in Thailand.

“But that’s not the kind of help I need from you,” Damien said. He took another swig of coffee, set the cup back on the table then took both of her hands in his.

With an intense stare directly into her eyes, he said, “I need you to be my girlfriend.”

Chapter 2

April’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.”

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.