Page 24 of Passion’s Song

“No, you haven’t. You do realize that before you walked into A Fresh Start the other day, I hadn’t seen you since Christmas, right?”

Damien nodded. He did realize that. And he felt awful about it.

“I’m as much to blame as you are,” April said, as if she’d read his thoughts. A wan smile lifted the corner of her mouth. “Your number is saved in my contact list. I could just as easily call you. We need to make more of an effort to stay in touch, especially now that we’re both living back home.”

“Well, now that we’re going to be spending so much time together this summer, it won’t take as much effort. In a few weeks you’ll probably be hiding from me.”

Her eyes shone with a flash of raw heat. “I doubt that,” she said.

There it was again. That current of electricity. It sparked between them, filling the small kitchen with an energy he couldn’t describe.

“So, your project?” April asked.

“Uh, yeah, the project,” Damien said. When was the last time he’d found himself feeling so flustered? “I want to build a residential complex,” he said.

Her eyes blinked several times, her head tilting to the side in confusion. “In the Ninth Ward?”

“Yes. On the land I just bought. I want to help bring residents back by providing housing.”

“That’s wonderful, Damien.” April’s face softened and he felt as if he’d just been handed the entire world. “I had no idea that’s what you were doing.”

Pride swelled within his chest.

It was the look that was in her eyes right that second that had compelled him to want to be a better person. The look that said that he’d made her happy, that he’d given her a reason to be proud of him. That look used to fuel nearly everything he did back when he was in high school.

One would think that making his mother proud would be the thing that kept him going, but after his dad died, his mother had always been too busy to pay much attention to what he was doing.

It was an uneasy truth, but a truth nonetheless. A single mother working two jobs to supplement the meager survivor’s benefits they received following his dad’s off-duty murder didn’t have time to dole out praise for each and every little achievement. As long as he and Kurt came home every night and didn’t wind up in jail or the morgue, his mother was happy.

April was the person Damien wanted to impress. April was the one who was there to give him high fives when he aced a test, or got good marks on term papers.

And just as it had been back in those days at Carver High School, Damien wanted to impress her now.

He shrugged, as if putting that smile on her face wasn’t a big deal. “I figured I’m in the perfect position to do it,” he said.

“You’re also the perfect person to do it,” April replied. “Residents are far more likely to support this development if it’s someone from the neighborhood who’s driving it.”

“I can’t do it alone, though,” Damien said. “Which is why I need investors. I researched potential partners, and the McGowan Group is by far the best match for what I have in mind. I just need to convince them that they want to work with me.”

“You’re pretty good at convincing people to bend to your will when you put your mind to it,” she said. “I don’t think you’ll have a problem winning them over.”

“I like your confidence in me.”

She took his hands and clasped them between her own. “I mean it, Damien. You can do this.”

The smile in her eyes did more for him than any of those motivational posters his old boss used to plaster around the office.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” he said.

“Anytime and every time. Now, let’s go,” April said. She gave his hands a light squeeze. “I’m ready to see you in action.”

By the time they arrived in the Warehouse District, the street parking was completely taken up. Damien pulled into a covered garage two blocks from Julia Street and started for the area known to locals as Gallery Row.

A three-block stretch of Julia had been blocked off to traffic. Lights were strung from one side of the street to the other, the pale blue bulbs casting an ethereal hue over the crowd of sharply dressed patrons. White-jacketed waiters freely handed out champagne, courtesy of the event’s corporate sponsors. The McGowan Group’s logo—the letter M encased in a square—adorned the champagne bottles and paper napkins.

Conversation and laughter lit up the air, which shouldn’t have been a surprise to anyone in attendance. This was New Orleans, after all. And if there was one thing the Big Easy knew how to do, it was throw a party.

Walking a step ahead of him, though still holding on to his hand, April looked at Damien over her nearly bare shoulder. Her smooth skin had already developed a slight sheen from the humidity hanging heavily in the air.