Page 7 of The Billionaire Invitation

“Have you talked about your non-profit with any of the guests tonight?” he asked.

“Oh, no. It’s in the beginning stages. Probably too soon to ask for money.”

“First rule of charity.” He offered his arm. “It’s never too soon to ask for money.”

Honesty woke the next morning convinced that the event last night had been an elaborate dream.

She dressed for work, her eyes on the black garment bag holding the gown she’d have to return. She pulled on a pair of joggers doing double duty as slacks and paired them with a button-down dress shirt. As she applied her foundation, she replayed the rest of the evening—and Dante’s undeniable charm.

Once they’d gone back inside, all clunky conversation had ended. He’d buzzed around that room like he owned the place, naturally segueing from introductions to Honesty’s “pilot charity” that was going to “take Chicago by storm.”

The first time he’d said it, she’d laughed, which had earned a few confused looks. She managed to keep a straight face the rest of the evening. He’d handled incoming questions without issue. Someone had asked the name of her charity and he had replied, “A trademark is forthcoming, so we can’t disclose that yet.”

He’d offered his business card to anyone who had expressed interest, explaining that they could contact him when they were ready to donate.

Smoother than a fresh jar of peanut butter.

On that private corner of the balcony, he’d been the open, curious guy she’d fallen in love with at Northwestern. But inside, he was a shark navigating chummed waters. Dante had handed out answers like Tic Tacs—all in a day’s work for him, she guessed. She hadn’t yet squared the two versions of him in her mind. But damn if she wasn’t attracted to both of them.

A shiver of awareness shook her arms, which made it difficult to fasten the gold chain around her neck. She blew out a steady breath before giving up on the lobster clasp and pulling a beaded necklace over her head instead.

She pulled her hair out of her shirt collar and gave her reflection a stern warning. “We don’t like him like that.”

Not anymore.

She arrived at work thirty minutes later than usual, but had already texted Gabby that she was running late.

Her executive assistant met her at the door, smiling from ear to ear and practically vibrating with excitement. Gabriela Estevez barely cleared five feet tall on a good day, making her at least six inches shorter than Honesty. Gabby was curvy, didn’t mind displaying “the girls” in brightly colored V-neck tops, and always wore red lipstick.

“We’ve had so many emails flood in today, it’s unbelievable!” Gabby said, her words coming fast, and perfectly enunciated. “Karen Watkins called and wants us to advise her chef on the menu for the Ladies Who Lunch event on the twenty-eighth of this month, which is less than a week away. And Andrea Putnam called. She wants a full-time private chef. I told her we don’t typically provide that service, but since you interviewed a private chef last week for the charity, I thought maybe we could use him for this. Or we can start an affiliate program. I know the non-profit thing is taking a lot of bandwidth, but I also…”

Honesty made herself a cup of coffee while Gabby lived up to her name and filled her in on anything and everything that had happened this morning. Her assistant and close friend was often dismissed as bubbly, but Honesty knew the truth: she was whip-smart and damn thorough. Indispensable, really.

Honesty would have an itemized list of everything she was being told in her inbox in ten minutes…if it wasn’t there already.

“Plus, the Instagram DMs for Honest Nutrition are overflowing.” Gabby spread her arms to demonstrate.

Honesty had always loved the name of her business. It was personal, because it was her name, but it also reflected the way she thought about food. She looked at things in an honest way, and she was always truthful with her clients. She had never had an agenda for any specific way of eating. She focused on what was right for her clients. That was her strength. It always had been.

“I’m not sure how to answer those DMs,” Gabby was saying. “Do you have time for a debriefing? After I know the details, I will set up an auto-response. You caused a stir last night, for sure, my gal. All publicity is good publicity, right?”

Coffee mug in hand, Honesty sat down behind her desk. “What publicity? Do you mean my speech?” She’d spoken from the heart about Christian, but a sister missing her brother didn’t seem sticky enough to go viral in today’s social media market.

Gabby, still smiling, dropped her jaw at the same time. She pressed both hands—one wrapped around her oversized cell phone—onto the desk. “No, not your speech! Your photo with Tall, Dark, and Handsome. I’ve seen Eli, who’s hot for an older dude, but my God. Who knew Dante Crane was even a thing? From what woodwork did he crawl? And how did you hook him? Yum!”

Oh, God. What had happened? Did the paparazzi follow Dante around or something? Had they been recorded on the balcony without her knowing? She did a quick mental scan of who’d been around them, and what she could have possibly said that might have garnered this much attention.

“Everyone is saying there is a new Crane in town, and that he has a special lady on his arm. Everyone wants to know more about you, mystery woman! TMZ referred to you as a Cinderella!”

“What?” TMZ? What the hell had happened? She was starting to feel scared. Did she black out and forget causing a scandal?

“They call you a ‘Cinderella who kept her shoes.’ They say you vanished into the night, never to be seen again. Was this an elaborate plan to put Honest Nutrition on the map? If so, well done you. Our boutique company is going to have to hire more staff.” Gabby was beaming. Honesty’s mind was racing. This was a lot of information to process before her first sip of coffee.

She lifted her mug to her lips as Gabby thrust her phone into Honesty’s eye line. “Look!”

In the photo, Dante, who was the epitome of tall, dark, and handsome, stood next to her in front of a backdrop covered with logos. Everyone in attendance had posed in front of that banner for a photo. Dante had walked her over there in between talking to guests. She barely remembered it.

“Your hip is jutted. Your eyes are smiling. Your chin is elevated. And that dress, honey. When I helped you pick it out, I had no idea how hot you’d look in it. I know you didn’t want to add weights to your gym routine, but girl! The gun show is in town.”