Page 52 of The Billionaire Invitation

“Sure. But it’s going to cost her a hell of a lot more than fifty K.”

She had to smile. Agreeing to accept the grant from the Moretti Foundation had given her options. She’d be jumping through hoops for Beatrice if it wasn’t for Dante.

She thought about her own story of the butterfly’s wings and hoped she wasn’t weakening her own resolve by accepting his help. But then she remembered what Gabby was always telling her: it was safe to accept help from others. And wasn’t that exactly what Long Live Food had been built around? Veterans accepting help?

Dante and Eli were helping her walk so that she could run. She’d take that help.

The logistical issues, contracts and forms, legal issues—she would figure them out. She had support and was surrounded by people who had gone before her.

“You’ve made amazing headway today. How about lunch?” Dante asked.

“Definitely.”

They strode to the front door and she locked up behind them. He folded his fingers around hers. “Since we both drove, how do you want to do this?”

“I guess that depends on where we’re going to eat. Any ideas?”

He slid her a glance suggesting that there was no way he would leave that to chance. “I’ll drive. We’ll pick up your car tomorrow.”

“What are you implying, sir?” She playfully propped her hand on her hip.

“That didn’t sound like a no.” He slid his eyes over to her as he smiled.

It wasn’t a no. And they both knew it.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

After a short, but traffic-filled drive from her office to downtown, Dante pulled to a stop in front of a valet. At street level, the two-story glass-and-stone building looked more like a museum than a restaurant.

He held the door open for her, and she entered a cool, quiet lobby. In addition to designer furniture—like the long pea-green sofa and a rust-orange circle chair—paintings hung on the walls. Mostly abstracts, the color palette various shades of green, smoke blue, and gold.

Dante led them away from the home design showroom to the right, where a tidy concierge desk stood next to an elevator. A shiny brass plaque beside the doors read: The Perch.

“I have a reservation for two,” Dante told the woman behind the desk.

“Certainly, Mr. Crane.”

The woman stood and walked the short distance to the elevator, where she selected the floor for them and told them to enjoy their lunch.

As the doors slid shut, Honesty peered up at her date. “This is pretty impressive, Mr. Crane.”

“I aim to please, Ms. Benitez.”

A shiver climbed her spine at the low resonance of his voice. She almost chastised herself for it, but she was tired of hearing her own warnings of impending doom. She was going to enjoy herself, dammit.

When the elevator doors parted, an older gentleman with graying hair and a kind smile greeted them. He invited them to follow. As they weaved through the room, Honesty gawped at her surroundings. A dramatic glass roof curved overhead, black steel ribs separating the blue, blue sky into rectangles. Diners sat at tables or in large, curved booths near the windows or next to massive potted hydrangeas. Tall, live trees stood sentinel over the restaurant, as if keeping a close eye to make sure everyone had eaten their vegetables.

Nestled between tall city buildings, The Perch had earned its name. And beyond downtown, Lake Michigan stretched out like a watery blanket.

At four o’clock, the dining room was about a third full. It was too late for lunch and too early for dinner. She managed to clap her mouth shut as they were seated at their table, a window seat overlooking both the city and the water. The view was nothing short of breathtaking.

Dante offered a smug smile as he unrolled his silverware.

She gave him a slow blink. “Okay, billionaire vibes.”

“Don’t act like you’re not impressed.”

She laughed at the familiar quote from the movie Anchorman, the throwback reminding her of laughing with Dante more often than not.