Page 51 of The Billionaire Invitation

“How’d that go? Did you have a chance to reach out yet?”

“I’ve called three times.” She picked up her phone to check the screen to see if there were any missed calls or messages—nothing. “I also sent two texts and left a voicemail.”

Dante didn’t hesitate. “What if we offer to give him groceries for a year and have them delivered?”

She smiled. He was trying to solve a problem that didn’t need to be solved. “Have you heard that if you help a butterfly out of its cocoon it will die?”

He frowned.

“The struggle to free themselves strengthens their wings. Michael needs to strengthen his wings. And in order to do that, he has to believe this will work for him.”

“You sure you don’t want another prospect? I can call Eli.”

“No. I’m not giving up on him.” She needed to show Michael that her program was about more than sheet pan dinners. This was about his autonomy. His belief in himself. He could focus on creating something rather than what the injury had taken from him.

Dante’s dark eyes were trained on her face when he said, “You’re incredible, did you know that?”

All of her warmed at the compliment. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” The air sizzled between them until he blinked. He glanced back down at his list. “There’s one thing left to do, and that’s name your charity. And the best name is already taken.” He tipped his head toward the frosted door where Honest Nutrition was etched into the glass.

“I came up with a list of ideas. Some of them are…not great, but you need context.”

“Hit me.”

She rattled off a list of a dozen options, some of which included Welcome Home, The Freedom Plate, and Ready, Set, Nourish. Dante gave her a dubious look when he heard that one.

“Don’t panic. I have a favorite.” She cleared her throat. “Long Live Food.”

Dante nodded. “Long Live Food. It’s perfect.”

She’d named it for Christian.

Back when he was still learning to cook, she’d handed him a veggie chopper and he’d scowled at the box. “You’re already missing part of your leg. Let’s not add missing fingers to the mix,” she’d told him.

He’d laughed until tears streamed down his cheeks. Then he’d bowed at the waist and said, “Long live the queen.”

“No, long live food.” She hadn’t had the idea for a nonprofit at the time, but the memory stuck. She wished he were here to see it come to fruition.

“The name allows you to expand,” Dante said now. “If you ever want to create different branches. We don’t want to pigeonhole you, because this could be huge.”

“Don’t say that. Huge scares me. This is about all I can handle.”

“You’ll grow with your business. Trust me. If you built this”—he gestured at her office—“from scratch, this pilot is going to soar.”

“Because of my billionaire backers?” she teased.

“Because of you. The vision is the glue that holds everything together. You keep that in mind, the rest will work itself out.”

She had started from almost nothing. A dream and business cards she’d designed herself. To go from that to her first ten clients had been thrilling. She’d found a building to lease, had gutted and decorated it with the help of her parents. Then came Gabby, and contracted employees. And now, Long Live Food.

In a way, she’d created her own universe.

“Next stop, put a board in place,” she said.

“And assign someone you trust to run it.”

“Not Beatrice Banks?”