Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
Dante had spent years convincing himself that he’d dodged a bullet. That being single had allowed him to run the Moretti Foundation with a level of commitment a wife or girlfriend simply wouldn’t have permitted.
But when Honesty had brought up the day he’d told her he was leaving, and when she’d looked up at him, out of breath after running, raindrops sitting on her cheeks, he’d had no choice but to call himself on his own bullshit.
He’d loved her. He’d thrown that love away like an idiot. And for what? The guise of family loyalty that had come with a wad of money and a built-in purpose so that he wouldn’t have to go looking for one.
“Here we are,” he called over the rain as he pulled the door open to the Crane Hotel. An attendant rushed over with an umbrella, but they were already inside.
As the door whispered shut behind them, the buzz of the city dissipated. It was as if noise wasn’t permitted inside these hallowed glass walls. As if the legendary flagship Crane Hotel forbade it.
“Wow. I’ve seen pictures but…wow.” Wide-eyed, Honesty took in the entryway, which opened up to a lobby with a cathedral ceiling. The windows, streaked with rain, were at least three stories high.
White leather couches and square glass tables were clustered into conversation-style seating areas in the lobby. A shiny white block of marble was a work of modern art functioning as the front desk. Beyond it, tucked discreetly off to one side, was the bar.
He slipped out of his wet jacket. “You’ve never been inside the Crane Hotel?”
“I don’t need a hotel. I’m local. Plus, if I needed a hotel, the Crane wouldn’t be my first choice.” She elbowed him lightly.
“Understood.” His surname held a lot of weight, an advantage—or in this case, disadvantage—he often took for granted.
“Not because you’re a Crane. Everything doesn’t revolve around you, you know.” She rolled her eyes playfully. “Some of us are more frugal than others.” She rubbed her fingertips together—the universal sign for expensive.
“Right.”
She started in the direction of the bar. “That said, I’ve been missing out. It’s beautiful.”
“You should see my penthouse.”
“Your arrogance knows no bounds.” She gave him a cheeky smile that popped one shallow dimple.
“Believe it or not, I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”
“I don’t believe it.”
The bar area honored the style of the hotel—clean lines and glass—but strayed from monochrome white with its long, glossy black counter.
He pulled one of the leather high-back chairs out for her to sit.
There were two businessmen on the opposite side of the bar, lowball glasses in their hands.
Other than them and the bartender, Dante and Honesty were alone.
She slipped one button free on her tailored black jacket and shrugged it off.
Dante took it from her as she swept the length of her hair to one side.
His eyes caressed the delicate curve of her biceps, then followed that line to her forearm, and stopped at the tips of fingers.
She was a work of art in a sleeveless cream-colored top.
A memory stirred. One of her hands on his body. Of her arm resting on his chest while she drew circles on his pecs with her fingers. Of lying in his bed, watching the morning light creep in after a long night of very little sleep—and not because they’d been studying.
He shut his eyes against the memory as loss hollowed out his gut. He silently wished she hadn’t broached the topic of their college years as he hung her jacket and his on the hooks behind them.
He also had to mentally shake off the vision of her wearing far less than she wore now. Which wasn’t something he’d had to do for years.
“Plenty of room for your laptop.” He handed over her bag, hoping the banal conversation starter would put them back on track.
“Yes.” She pulled the laptop out of her bag. “This will work great.”
Her polite business tone was back. He didn’t like it. Which is probably why he threw aside his good sense to lean close and say, “I’m curious. How did you get more beautiful in the two days since I’ve seen you?”
Her smile broke free as he took his seat next to her. There was a light in her eyes that wasn’t the least bit polite, but it shuttered the instant the bartender approached. It was so much better than the distance he’d tried to create a moment ago.
Dante ordered one of his favorite red wines. “1984 if you have it. Leave the bottle.”
The bartender—Lucas, his name tag read—replied with a head nod, served their wine, and didn’t say another word. He’d picked up on the hint to leave them alone, and for that, Dante was grateful. Having to ask always made him feel like a rude asshole.
“That was presumptuous. What if I don’t like red wine?”
He leveled her with a look as they each lifted their glasses. “You used to like red wine. I’m assuming your tastes have only improved since the swill we drank in college. And if that’s the case, and your palate has radically improved, then you are in for a treat.”
“Show off.” But she tipped her head in approval after a sip.
Unfortunately, she turned her attention to her laptop. A sign that she was ready to conduct the business she’d invited him out to discuss. He settled in and gave her his full attention.
An hour later, the wine bottle was empty and their glasses nearly so, with only an inch of red wine left in each.
Honesty sagged in her chair. “I’m as ready as I can be, I guess. That’s a lot of information to retain by lunchtime tomorrow.”
“You’re ready.” He finished off the wine in his glass. Lucas perked up. Before he approached, Dante shook his head. Not yet. “If there’s a question you’re not sure how to answer, tell her that you’ll check with your partner”—he pointed at himself—“and get back with her later.”
“We’re partners now?” One dark eyebrow curved.
“I’m here, aren’t I?”
“So, after I deflect, then what?”
“Shift the conversation back to the good your foundation will do with her generous donation. Don’t use the term ‘ground floor,’ but instead, refer to early adopters.
People love to be first, especially when success is a forgone conclusion.
And that’s how you have to think of it. The success of your to-be-named foundation is a forgone conclusion. ”
“You’re right. I’ve got this.” She sat up straight and squared her shoulders. This was the Honesty he remembered. Confident, driven. She’d always known what she wanted out of life. He envied her for it—then and now.
“Ask her if she wants to write you a check before you pick up the tab,” he said.
“Before I have a place to deposit it?”
“If it’s a forgone conclusion, shouldn’t you have an account?”
“I’ll open one tomorrow morning.” She typed the item onto her running to-do list on the screen. “It’s never too soon to ask for money.”
“You’ve been paying attention.” His eyes roamed over her heart-shaped face and then down to her slim neck.
She was no longer in her twenties. She had grown up, seen difficult times.
She’d built the business of her dreams, was expanding.
He felt an ache in the center of his chest. That wasn’t loss—it was pride.
For years he’d berated himself for leaving her behind. He had assumed she’d frozen in place without him—a still frame in a dorm room wearing a ponytail and a Northwestern hoodie. Honesty had not frozen. She had bloomed into a woman who was sure of herself and who knew what she wanted.
“Eight years ago, when I told you that Arthur had died…” He cleared his throat. Damn wine, he hadn’t meant to go there. “I want to thank you. You were there for me, saying the right things, but still owning your opinion and power. I owe you an apology for—”
“You don’t have to apologize. You were handling things. You were making life-altering decisions, trying to work out logistics. It was bad timing, Dante. That’s all. Just…really bad timing.”
“That’s all?”
“As for me…I was as lost as you. I was trying to piece together what my life would look like after school. Would I work for a hospital or a wellness retreat? Would I be a solopreneur, get married, have kids?”
“And?”
“None of the above.” She finished her wine.
“Same.”
She beckoned the bartender.
“Another bottle,” Dante told Lucas at the same time Honesty said, “We’ll take the check.”
They locked eyes. Dante was aware of Lucas hovering, unsure whether he’d be closing out their tab or uncorking another bottle.
“I can’t drink another glass of wine without eating,” she said.
Which was not a no to more wine.
“We have menus,” Lucas said.
“And excellent room service,” Dante told her.
He didn’t miss the catch in her breath as she considered his offer. Inviting her up was bold, possibly reckless, but he wanted it so badly he could taste it.
He could only hope that was what she wanted, too.