Page 34 of The Billionaire Invitation

She poked his shoulder. “Not in a sexual way. I was thinking of meeting with him. What I want to tell him about my program. What he needs to know. I want to cook for him. He could come by my office, and he could bring his wife. What did you say her name was?”

“Isa.”

“Isa, right.” Her brow furrowed. “I’ll have that memorized by then. I want them to have the full experience. To see in person what I’m offering. I could make something simple and elegant, like sheet pan chicken and roasted root vegetables. Oh! And a yummy Greek yogurt dipping sauce with fresh herbs. Do you think soup is too rustic? I make an excellent white bean soup. But I could zhuzh that up. Maybe white chicken chili. Is that too much chicken?”

“Honesty—”

But she had more to say. “I also want to show him how I do prep-ahead meals like overnight oats, chia pudding, and boiled eggs. Not that he would need to taste them, but I want to show off the preparation.” She paused when she noticed him smiling. “What were you going to say?”

“I was going to say that sounds like a lot of work for you.”

Her expression turned worried. “You don’t think he’s going to like my recipes.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Is sheet pan chicken not bougie enough for him?”

“It’s not about being bougie.” He put his hand on her arm to ease the harshness of this next truth. “It’s that Eli doesn’t eat meat.”

“Oh. Well, I offer vegetarian and vegan options. And fish. Does he eat fish?” She covered her forehead with one hand. “I didn’t consider that he didn’t eat meat—which is insane, because ‘Do you have any food restrictions?’ is practically tattooed on my forehead.”

“Breathe, beautiful.” He moved her hand away from her eyes and kissed her palm. “Your first idea was your best one. Design a meal plan or show him a sample menu. No cooking required.”

“When people hear that I’m a nutritionist, they think that the food I recommend is going to be bland and boring. They think chicken and broccoli and rice, chicken and broccoli and rice.” She spoke in a rhythm that hinted she’d heard that a time or three during her career.

“And you don’t want Eli to think chicken and broccoli and rice.”

“No. I want him to be impressed.”

Dante understood that. How many unnecessary hoops had he jumped through when he’d first taken over his grandfather’s foundation? He’d gone out of his way to prove to board members, donors, and even the charities themselves that he was trustworthy and would work hard on their behalf.

“You can test your menu on me,” he suggested. If he could assuage even one of her worries, he would.

“Sorry?”

“I promise to taste everything. That way, whatever Eli mentions from the menu, I can chime in and tell him how much I liked it.”

“Are you and Eli close?”

He seesawed his head in thought. “We’re not not close. But my dad being his uncle, we did see our Chicago-based cousins a handful of times over the years. We’re not strangers. Crane blood runs thick.”

None of them would abandon a Crane in need—or any woman associated with one of them. His father, O, and his uncle, Alex, had raised their kids to be loyal to family. He frowned as he considered how O had been with his mom and other women over the years, always having justified that the relationship had run its course. No wonder his own view of relationships was so fucked up.

“You really wouldn’t mind coming over? It would help me prepare, like mentally. And I will have a lot of food I’ll need help eating. I can take some to my neighbor, Mr. Murphy, but it’ll be too much for the two of us.”

“Are you kidding? I do not pass up homemade meals. Especially yours.”

She gave him a smacking kiss in the center of his mouth, but before he could deepen it, she began ticking menu items off on her fingers, whispering under her breath about this ingredient or that. His attention strayed from her mouth to the sheet covering her breasts. He tugged at it until he revealed one rose-colored nipple, and then the other.

“Hello?” She tugged the sheet to cover herself. “What are you doing? I’m working.”

“What if I help? I don’t want you wasting your energy toiling away over a hot oven. You’ll need your strength for after.”

“Will I?” Her eyebrows raised.

“Yes.”

“Can you cook, Dante Crane?” Her sexy grin would be the death of him.