Page 78 of The Billionaire Invitation

“Like the one he gave me eight years ago?”

“Well. Why not?”

“You’re right.”

Gabby had laid out the exact problem. Honesty should have said what she was thinking on Brody and Reagan’s wedding night. But then she’d gone to Dante’s penthouse and they’d started kissing. Once they were in the shower, well…it was hard to think straight when his tongue was between her legs.

But that was over now. Or it would be soon enough. Everything between them—the charity, the sex—would wrap up soon.

“I can handle anything you need regarding Long Live Food.” Gabby was nodding. “And I can handle communications with him if you want to cut him off.”

“No. I won’t do that.” Honesty wasn’t afraid to face him. It was more that she’d been afraid to face herself and her own mixed feelings about him. “I’ll meet with him this evening. Over drinks. Somewhere neutral.”

“I’ll set it up. Seven o’clock? Do you have a preferred location?”

“Anywhere except the Crane Hotel bar.” She wasn’t going to step foot in that place tonight.

Maybe never again.

Dante’s feet pounded the pavement, his mind on whether or not today would be the day he died from overexertion. The sun was high in the sky, the lake was sparkling, and the faint but present breeze wasn’t enough to cool the sweat beading on his brow.

“You’re quiet.” Zander, who kept pace next to him, wasn’t even breathing hard.

“I’m trying not to die,” Dante panted. Brody had warned him that Zander was a running nut, and not to exercise with him. But Dante was only in town another week and right now was the most open window for both their schedules.

Zander slowed his pace, allowing Dante’s flagging steps to regain a more natural and steady rhythm. “You’re out of shape.”

“Am not. I lift weights all the time.” Dante glanced down at his arms—muscular, fit. His lungs were apparently another story. It’d been at least six months since he’d run, and that had been at the airport, sprinting for his life to catch a first class flight to Dallas. Now, fifteen minutes on this lakefront path was about to drop him to his ass. “It’s the Chicago air. It’s, you know, thicker.”

Zander tilted his head. “Thicker than LA smog? I highly doubt that. Everything good? Since the wedding?”

“Fine.” His brother was fishing, but Dante didn’t want to talk about their dad.

“How’s the charity dinner shaping up? Honesty doing okay with everything?”

Dante narrowed his eyes. It was out of character for his pragmatic brother to prod him for answers. “What are you getting at?”

Zander looked pained when he admitted, “Chloe told me to ask about Honesty. She refused to give me context. I’m doing my best.”

This morning with Honesty at his penthouse, he’d felt a niggling of…something. She hadn’t seemed upset, smiling easily over coffee while chatting about what the week would bring. The night before had been a blur of soapy shower orgasms. While he’d washed her hair in the shower, she’d shared how happy she was for Reagan and Brody. When they’d dried off and crawled into bed, her final sleepy words were, “You and your dad are going to be okay. Give it time. At least he’s still here.”

Unlike Christian, she had implied. He’d fallen asleep feeling like his chest had caved in. He wished he could have been there to comfort her when her brother had died. Or at least attended the funeral.

“I’m fine. Honesty is fine,” Dante told his brother.

“You sure about that?”

“No,” he grumbled. “Everything seems fine, but I’m not sure it is.”

“Ah.” Zander picked up the pace again.

When Dante caught up, he managed around labored breaths, “What do you mean ‘Ah’?”

“Nothing.”

“Something.”

“What did you say to her that is making you worried things might not be fine?”