Power Play (The Billionaire's Club: New Orleans) by Mallery Malone
Authors: Mallery Malone
Ads: Link
a beautifully appointed kitchen with warm honey oak cabinets and stainless steel appliances. A large dining room and family room lay beyond.
“This floor has the kitchen and dining and entertainment areas as you can see. There’s also a half bath and a room I converted into a personal gym and added a changing room with sauna steamshower. I think the furniture we picked out fits well in here, don’t you?”
She gazed at the large entertainment area and the bright array of colors and fabrics that softened the edges of the natural brick but still gave the room an understated yet elegant air that would be perfect for entertaining friends or business associates. Raphael hadn’t added any personal touches yet.
“It does, but you still need to make it your own, add some personal stuff.”
“You’re right.” He looked around the room. “But this is the public space, so I don’t mind it too much. I think I did a better job upstairs. Come on.”
He guided her over to the wide refurbished staircase and let her precede him to the second floor. It opened into a slight alcove with a window overlooking the courtyard, filling the expansive hallway with plenty of natural light.
She spotted the first photo on the warm sand-colored wall. It was a picture of her, Raphael, and her brothers Josh and Eric covered in dirt. Though she and her brothers were beaming, only a ghost of a smile curved Raphael’s lips. If she remembered correctly, she’d justmet him and his mother had died the month before.
“Oh my God, I remember this picture!” she exclaimed, her fingers lightly touching the frame. “We recruited you to play baseball with us so we’d have an even number. You sucked.”
“Royally.” He smiled, his gaze focused on the photo. “I had a ball I’d found in the bushes by the field at school, and I’d smuggle it out of the house to bounce it against the side of the garage so my father wouldn’t know. I didn’t know how to play catch with other people. You had to teach me.”
“You got the hang of it though, like you do with everything you set your mind to.” She tapped his too-solemn image. “You didn’t want to be in the picture, but I put you in a headlock and dragged you over so Dad could snap it.”
“When he said, ‘Let me get a photo of you kids,’ I assumed he meant just his children,” Raphael explained. “But my little firebrand would have none of it. You declared me your new best friend that day, solely because I made you look good by being so bad.”
“Did you keep the glove, too?” she asked, taking note of the contents in the shadowbox beside the photo. A ragged, well-used baseball glove rested inside, sized to fit a twelve-year-old’s hand.
“Your dad bought me that glove. It was the best gift ever. Until my thirteenth birthday.”
Another frame, another photo. She recognized the Lovelace family kitchen. All of them wore silly birthday hats and grins, even Raphael. In front of him was the gaudiest, most lopsided cake ever created.
A lump formed in her throat. “That was my first attempt at decorating a cake. I was in a rush, because you had mentioned on the way to school that your housekeeper had put chocolate chips in your pancakes and she only did that on your birthday. I wanted to give you somethingspecial, too. Josh and Eric teased me, but you acted like it was the best thing ever.”
“It was,” he said. “My first birthday cake.”
“I got better at it.” She had, because of him. Because she wanted him to always have a special treat to celebrate his birthday.
The walk down memory lane continued. Photo collages from homecoming and prom and high school graduation. Shadowboxes with his tassel, prom tickets. Photos of game nights at home and at college, then college graduation. And always, in every picture they were together. Inseparable.
By the time they made it to the master suite, Macy was in tears. There were more photos here, but they were different. Macy, sitting in
“This floor has the kitchen and dining and entertainment areas as you can see. There’s also a half bath and a room I converted into a personal gym and added a changing room with sauna steamshower. I think the furniture we picked out fits well in here, don’t you?”
She gazed at the large entertainment area and the bright array of colors and fabrics that softened the edges of the natural brick but still gave the room an understated yet elegant air that would be perfect for entertaining friends or business associates. Raphael hadn’t added any personal touches yet.
“It does, but you still need to make it your own, add some personal stuff.”
“You’re right.” He looked around the room. “But this is the public space, so I don’t mind it too much. I think I did a better job upstairs. Come on.”
He guided her over to the wide refurbished staircase and let her precede him to the second floor. It opened into a slight alcove with a window overlooking the courtyard, filling the expansive hallway with plenty of natural light.
She spotted the first photo on the warm sand-colored wall. It was a picture of her, Raphael, and her brothers Josh and Eric covered in dirt. Though she and her brothers were beaming, only a ghost of a smile curved Raphael’s lips. If she remembered correctly, she’d justmet him and his mother had died the month before.
“Oh my God, I remember this picture!” she exclaimed, her fingers lightly touching the frame. “We recruited you to play baseball with us so we’d have an even number. You sucked.”
“Royally.” He smiled, his gaze focused on the photo. “I had a ball I’d found in the bushes by the field at school, and I’d smuggle it out of the house to bounce it against the side of the garage so my father wouldn’t know. I didn’t know how to play catch with other people. You had to teach me.”
“You got the hang of it though, like you do with everything you set your mind to.” She tapped his too-solemn image. “You didn’t want to be in the picture, but I put you in a headlock and dragged you over so Dad could snap it.”
“When he said, ‘Let me get a photo of you kids,’ I assumed he meant just his children,” Raphael explained. “But my little firebrand would have none of it. You declared me your new best friend that day, solely because I made you look good by being so bad.”
“Did you keep the glove, too?” she asked, taking note of the contents in the shadowbox beside the photo. A ragged, well-used baseball glove rested inside, sized to fit a twelve-year-old’s hand.
“Your dad bought me that glove. It was the best gift ever. Until my thirteenth birthday.”
Another frame, another photo. She recognized the Lovelace family kitchen. All of them wore silly birthday hats and grins, even Raphael. In front of him was the gaudiest, most lopsided cake ever created.
A lump formed in her throat. “That was my first attempt at decorating a cake. I was in a rush, because you had mentioned on the way to school that your housekeeper had put chocolate chips in your pancakes and she only did that on your birthday. I wanted to give you somethingspecial, too. Josh and Eric teased me, but you acted like it was the best thing ever.”
“It was,” he said. “My first birthday cake.”
“I got better at it.” She had, because of him. Because she wanted him to always have a special treat to celebrate his birthday.
The walk down memory lane continued. Photo collages from homecoming and prom and high school graduation. Shadowboxes with his tassel, prom tickets. Photos of game nights at home and at college, then college graduation. And always, in every picture they were together. Inseparable.
By the time they made it to the master suite, Macy was in tears. There were more photos here, but they were different. Macy, sitting in
Similar Books
