are you going to do?”
“I don’t know. I thought about asking Mama to help—”
Diamond released an unladylike snort. “Good luck with that.” While Genevieve had worked in the offices during the first couple years, she’d been a stay-at-home and run-the-home mother for more than three decades.
“What about Marissa?” Jackson asked, looking at Donovan. After not getting an immediate answer, he swung his head toward his wife. “What do you think, baby? There isn’t going to be anything major happening at my company while I’m away, and—” he turned and continued the thought with Donovan in his line of sight “—whatever your project entails, I’m sure Marissa can handle it. She’s an intelligent woman who catches on quick and has a knack for breaking the big picture into manageable bites. You know what, Donovan? I like the idea. Your project is of a sensitive nature, and I know that Marissa could be trusted with this confidential material. Right, baby?”
Diamond looked at her new husband with a smile. “No doubt. Marissa seems loyal to a fault.”
A scowl passed across Jackson’s face so quickly that Donovan thought he imagined it. “If you give her something to do, she’ll get the job done.”
Diamond took a sip of her champagne. “What do you say, brother? I think Jackson has suggested a solution to your problem, and, while we’ll all not totally rest until Sharon is well, at least this part of your business will only be minimally affected.”
Their conversation was interrupted as their father, Donald Drake, stood to make a toast. Several other toasts followed and the dinner service began. Halfway through the entrée, a delectable combination of Dungeness crab, Kobe beef tenderloin, Bhutanese rice and steamed vegetables, Jackson made a move that had it not been for the deliciousness of the food would have ruined Donovan’s appetite. He requested a pen and pad from one of the floating waiters, then quickly scribbled ten numbers onto the sheet of Drake Resort stationery. Above the numbers was one word: Marissa. And without even thinking about it, Donovan knew that the number on that paper was a game changer. He didn’t know the name of the game or the rules. But he knew who would be playing.
* * *
It was a shame to waste such delicious food, but Marissa couldn’t get a bite of the tender beef or a spear of the perfectly steamed broccoli past the lump in her throat. Didn’t matter. If she had, the food would have just collided with the knot in her stomach. She was seated at a table with other bridesmaids and groomsmen, including Reginald, one of Donovan’s first cousins, who’d been bugging her nonstop ever since they’d been paired up for the walk down the aisle. He wasn’t a bad-looking guy. In fact, he was fine: tall, butterscotch complexion, a pretty boy. Nice enough, too. Another time, another day and she would have been interested. But her thoughts, and eyes, kept shifting to Donovan, who for better or worse was seated directly in her line of vision. She’d watched as her boss conversed with him and Diamond, and she’d also noticed when one of the waiters was summoned. Unfortunately, Reginald, the determined groomsmen from New Orleans, chose this time to begin a lengthy conversation—translated, monologue, because “ums” and head nods could hardly be counted as contributions—about some type of business that was expanding in Asia that later, for the life of her, Marissa would not be able to recall. She tried to split her focus between what her tablemate was saying and what was happening on the dais beyond her but Reginald asked her a question and by the time she answered it and looked up, the waiter was leaving the head table, Jackson was talking to Diamond and Donovan was sitting there with a frown on his face. What had happened?
“Should I take your silence as a no?”
Marissa turned to Reginald. “I’m sorry, my mind—” attention, interest, focus, you name it “—was elsewhere. What did you say?”
“I asked if you’d ever attended the Essence Music Festival.”
“No, I haven’t.”
“But you’ve been to New Orleans before, right?”
“Actually, no.” And if there’s a chance I’ll run into your nonstop chatter, I probably won’t make it down there anytime soon! Marissa immediately felt bad at the thought. Considering that she’d been the oratorical fountain earlier in the day she really was one to, well, talk.
“You should. It’s a very nice event. In fact, we should exchange phone numbers and keep in touch. Our family is quite involved in various entities of the city, and we get VIP tickets to all of the parties and the concerts, of course. Then there are the private affairs that happen around town. I know that place like the back of my hand, could walk the streets in my sleep. Especially the French Quarter with its hotels, clubs, restaurants and impromptu jam sessions all up and down Bourbon Street. Have you ever had a beignet? Because if you haven’t, after you’ve tried one you’ll never look at a donut the same again. They’re crispy on the outside, light and fluffy on the inside and…”
Try as she might to be courteous and attentive, the rest of Reginald’s conversation was a bunch of blah, blah, blah. Thankfully the toasts continued and shortly after they’d taken away the dessert plates, Diamond and Jackson were cutting the cake. Everyone spilled from their places at the tables to witness the traditional cutting and made room on the floor for the newlywed’s first dance. This was the moment Marissa had been waiting for. In between Reginald’s rambling, she’d thought of the perfect way to get Donovan to herself, have him close enough to let him know exactly what was on her mind. But when she mustered up the nerve and crossed over to where she’d last seen him…he was gone.
Chapter 6
“Good morning, son,” Genevieve said, opening the front door and giving Donovan a hug as he entered. “This is a pleasant surprise.”
Until yesterday’s wedding, Diamond had lived in the east wing of the estate. Dexter’s domain was on the west side of the house. His mother insisted on maintaining a room for her eldest on the property, even though four years ago Donovan had purchased a Mediterranean-style, ocean-view home in La Jolla, a tony suburb of San Diego that was about an hour from his parents. For the past two years, until Ms. Widowed had changed her zip code, he’d lived there almost exclusively. During that time, he was a frequent dinner guest at the Drake estate but was rarely seen for breakfast.
Therefore Donovan understood, even expected, her surprise. “Morning, Mom.” He followed her into a sitting room where she’d obviously been having tea.
“Should I pour you a cup, darling? If you’re hungry, there’s plenty of the breakfast casserole left. That’s what we had this morning.”
“Tea sounds good.”
After pouring the tea and, against Donovan’s wishes, retrieving a plate of homemade pastries from the kitchen, Genevieve explained simply, “Your grandmother made these.”
“Oh, well, I definitely can’t turn down her cooking.” Though internal stress over his assistant’s condition and the current workweek had lessened his appetite, he reached for one of the cinnamon rolls, then closed his eyes as he chewed the heavenly goodness. “This is delicious.”
“How is Sharon?” Genevieve asked as she stirred her tea. “Dexter told me that that was why you left early.”
“Yes. I knew how frightened her daughter had to be waiting for family to arrive from back east. Diamond encouraged me to go, and it was the right thing to do.”
“And how is she?”
