Page 58 of Passion’s Song

“How did you do this?” April asked. “I’ve read that the guy who operates the gondola is booked up months in advance.”

“I’m not revealing my secrets,” Damien said.

Besides, he’d rather keep her guessing than admit that it was luck, a last-minute cancellation and an extra hundred bucks that made this happen.

After parking, he rounded the car and opened her door for her. Holding out a hand, he said, “Your boat ride awaits.”

Less than five minutes into their ride, Damien decided that the gondola operator had not only earned the extra hundred bucks, but would get a hefty tip once the hour-long ride was over. He’d made it so that Damien and April rode in style. They gently sliced through the calm waters of the lagoon, with soft music playing through speakers hidden somewhere behind them in the long boat, and a bottle of champagne on ice for their enjoyment.

April snuggled up next to him, her head resting on his shoulder.

“This is perfect,” she said to him. “Better than Venice.”

“I wouldn’t say that.” Damien laughed. “Not that I’ve been before, but from everything I’ve seen in movies and pictures, Venice is one of the most romantic cities in the world.”

“So is New Orleans,” she countered. She scooted even closer, her back leaning against his chest. “Besides, it’s not the city that makes it romantic, it’s the company.” She looked up at him. “It’s still unbelievable to think that I’m here with you like this.”

“It’s not so hard for me to believe,” he said. “In fact, I don’t know of anything that could be more right than being here with you like this.” He nuzzled her neck. “I look forward to evenings like this for a long, long time to come.”

But as he thought about spending evenings like this with April for years to come, Damien couldn’t help but think about how it would affect them if he went through with Alexander Quarters. Would April finally come around, or would it drive a wedge between them?

Maybe there wouldn’t be anything to come between them.

Over the past few days, the more Damien thought about his project, the less his original vision appealed to him. He’d be the first to admit that he was stubborn, but these past few weeks had gotten through even his stubborn head. There was merit to everything April had said to him. He could do more for the Ninth Ward by helping the people here with a place that would provide safe, affordable housing than something that would price them out.

Damien still wasn’t sure if this was exactly what he wanted to do. He’d already put so much into his plans, but with every passing day all he could think about was how much he would be hurting the people of the Ninth Ward instead of helping them.

And how much he didn’t want to disappoint the woman resting in his arms.

* * *

Damien stood just outside the dark cherrywood doors with matching gold-plated handles. He’d gotten the call from Michael Berger just after nine this morning, asking if he could meet with the McGowan Group at their offices to discuss Alexander Quarters.

The project had been on his mind all night. After his gondola ride with April, followed by the most pleasurable thank-you he’d ever received in his life, Damien had arrived back at his house only to find that he was too wired to sleep. Instead, he’d spent much of the night tweaking his original plans, working into the wee hours of the morning. He’d come to the realization that what he’d envisioned for the Ninth Ward could still be achieved, and without the stain of gentrification blemishing his project. It just took looking at it in a different way.

The blueprint of the building would stand as is, with a few adjustments to the scope in order to make up for the reduction in the cost of rent. Brazilian cherrywood floors and a waterfall treatment in the lobby would have been nice, but they were not necessities. It was those types of minor tweaks that would make a huge difference in cutting costs.

It was possible that he could still draw in some new people to the area, but that was no longer his main goal. He didn’t want to price people out of the neighborhood. He wanted to build a safe, aesthetically pleasing residential and retail building that could serve the people who’d lived in the Ninth Ward all their lives, and who were committed to making the neighborhood the best it could be.

The door opened and a woman dressed in a severe gray suit with curly black hair poked her head out and said, “Mr. Alexander, you may come in.”

Upon entering the room, Damien was surprised to discover that it wasn’t as enormous as he would have expected. It was only medium-sized, with an eight-seater conference table done in a rich wood much like the door. There was a stately secretary desk in the corner, and another table with a silver coffeepot and tea service.

“Damien,” Michael Berger called as he came into the office from a door on the opposite end. “Sorry we couldn’t meet in the conference room. It’s being used. My office will have to do.”

This was his office? Damn, talk about life goals.

“This is fine,” Damien said, as if he had meetings in offices the size of Alexander Properties’ entire suite everyday.

“Can I get you some coffee? Tea? Water?” Berger asked.

“Thanks. Black, one sugar,” Damien answered.

He actually made his own coffee? Nice.

Bringing the coffee to the conference table, he set a mug before Damien and took the seat kitty-corner to his.

“Langley will be in shortly,” the other man said.