Chapter 12
CHAPTER TWELVE
Before coming to dinner tonight, while she was dressing in her borderline inappropriate outfit, Honesty had made a few rules for herself to follow.
If she was going to enjoy these two weeks with Dante, she would need to set parameters or else she would be screwed. And not in the fun way.
In order to walk away with her heart and brain intact, she had set two ground rules before she’d left home.
Their arrangement was temporary, so the first rule was simple: two weeks, just sex, and no pretending it was anything more. Second, whatever happened between the sheets stayed there and had nothing to do with her business or her nonprofit.
She’d thought offering to pick up the dinner tab tonight might keep those lines from blurring. But she knew him and had expected an argument. Him offering to be her backer, though? Dropping cash into her lap didn’t blur the line so much as obliterate it.
“Except in this case, I would be your fairy godfather,” he said.
She ignored his attempt at humor. “Absolutely not. Just because I gave up the check for dinner without a fight—”
“That’s not what this is about.”
Their waiter, whose timing was questionable, chose then to step up to the table to take their order. She and Dante made quick work of ordering—she chose the fish and risotto. He ordered the duck and vegetables.
When that was done, Dante continued.
“Meet with Eli. Tell him your idea. Rather than launch this nonprofit on your own, why not work with Refurbs for Vets? The veterans they help are living in their own retrofitted homes. They need you in their kitchens. The service you offer will improve their daily lives in a real and meaningful way.”
“Eli…Crane? Why would he help me, other than because you asked?”
“He wouldn’t be doing this as a favor. This fills a gap for the mission of RFV.
” Dante leaned in. “Think about it. His charity installs ramps, lowers countertops, but an accessible kitchen is useless if nobody cooks in it. That’s where you come in.
You teach them how to maneuver in that kitchen.
You teach them the value of cooking healthy meals for themselves.
That’s self-reliance. Independence. Tell me that’s not worth doing. ”
She couldn’t. Because that was exactly what she’d helped Christian realize.
She’d stood in her brother’s kitchen and had shown him how to make easy meals so that he didn’t have to order takeout.
She’d taught him to make enough for a crowd, so that he could entertain—for one or many.
He’d appreciated being able to do things on his own. He’d told her that himself.
“And you think Eli will be open to this.”
“I do.”
She nodded while thinking it through. “So, I would ask for donations from him or—”
“Eli’s the infrastructure, not the money. He is your link to the people. The money will come from elsewhere.” He pointed to himself. “Fairy godfather.”
She and Dante were already swimming around in muddy water.
She didn’t need to compound that problem by being indebted to him too.
Accepting a check from Dante was worse than accepting one from Eli.
If Eli sponsored her nonprofit, it would be a business transaction.
If Dante cut the check, she would feel protected and cared for by him again.
Add in a few rolls in the proverbial hay and she’d be squarely in the Danger Zone.
“I can’t let you do it.”
“You’re going to help a lot of people. I know it. You know it.”
“What’s in it for you?” She had to ask. There had to be something.
“Okay, that’s a fair question. I have been looking for a meaningful foothold in Chicago for the Moretti Foundation. This—you—landed in my lap. I have no reason to look further. You’re reliable, you’re genuine. You need funding. I have that.”
Exactly what she was afraid of—needing him. She didn’t want to be reliant on someone who might not see things through to the end. But that had happened when they’d been in college, and Dante had never been her financier.
“It’s a win for everyone involved.”
Dammit. That was unfortunately true. She shouldn’t consider his offer, but Elijah Crane had access to a lot of people she could help. And Dante had advice and the grant money that would get her nonprofit off the ground.
It wasn’t every day someone offered millions of dollars to aid veterans, no strings attached.
If Christian were sitting at this table, he would hold out his hand to shake on it regardless of Dante’s and Honesty’s history.
Christian had known that people were what mattered.
Little else. Whatever past stood between Dante and Honesty wasn’t as important as the veterans who needed this service.
“Housing, nutrition, daily living support, community reintegration,” she said, running down the list of benefits she would provide.
“Mental health would improve. Lives will be saved.” Her vision was vivid and bright.
The only thing missing was exactly what Dante was offering—and with Eli’s help, she could hit the ground running.
“Yes. And this is a normal practice,” Dante told her. “Private foundations give grants to qualified nonprofits all the time. The Moretti Foundation is the money. Your nonprofit is the mission and the service. I’ll seed the grant, we’ll sign some paperwork. It’s a done deal.”
“The Moretti Foundation could partner with any established charity in Chicago. You have to admit this is a tad messy given our current…arrangement.”
He didn’t flinch. “Not if we don’t let it be. You know the community. You have the service. And you have a personal connection to support what you’re building.”
“Christian.”
“Christian,” he confirmed. “And if we set aside our arrangement, as you called it, we could do a lot of good. This isn’t about me parachuting in to hand you an oversized check and take the credit. This is what I do. This is who I am.”
She smiled softly. He was who he was thanks to him leaving Chicago years ago. That part stung: that everything had improved for him tenfold after he’d left her.
“This is your gig,” he reminded her. “You will be the face of your nonprofit, not me.”
“I don’t care about that.”
“You need to. Donors will want to be associated with you because of your personal connection to this work. They’ll want to brag to their friends about how much they love to support you. They don’t want a talking head in a nice suit.” He gestured to himself.
He was so much more than a talking head in a nice suit. “You make it sound simple. Not so simple if people find out I’m sleeping with the man writing the checks.”
Dante leaned in and lowered his voice. “According to those photos, we already are. And Eli and Isa think it’s great.”
“That we’re sleeping together?” she squeaked, her eyes widening in horror.
“That the photos are circulating,” Dante said through a chuckle. “They understand the power of the press.”
“Oh.” She sat back in her chair and sipped from her wine glass. “And you think he’ll cosign my pilot nonprofit?”
“Yes, but…”
She braced for the other shoe to drop.
“I think you should ask to work with a client. It’ll showcase the model you’re building and give you an organic reason to share about it on social media.”
She sat up straight. “I would love that.”
She’d had enough of tax laws and paperwork and the ambiguous nonsense that went along with building a nonprofit. She wanted to work with people again. She didn’t realize how much she’d missed it until just now.
She spent the rest of their dinner chatting about how much a partnership with Eli’s charity would benefit all of them.
The more she talked, the more opportunities she saw.
She was so excited about her vision, she forgot she was supposed to be keeping her guard up.
By the time the waiter dropped off a dessert menu, she was spilling over with ideas.
“I can’t hold another bite,” she told Dante. “You?”
“You’re all the dessert I need tonight.” He held her eyes, his own flashing with dark, delicious intent. “You know, the Crane has an excellent crème br?lée. We both know how much you enjoy room service.”
It would be so easy to lose herself in his grin. To lose herself in his confidence. But she wouldn’t allow herself to be lost. She would, however, allow him to take her to his room tonight. That suited her and her new rules just fine.
“Thank you,” Dante said when the waiter returned with the black book. As he was scribbling in the tip, her jaw dropped.
“How did you—”
“Slipped him my card when he handed you the dessert menu. You didn’t seriously think I would let you pay, did you?”
“No.”
“I understand that to you, I’m surrounded by caution tape and blaring red sirens. Your nonprofit is my number-one priority. I’m not going to let it fail.”
“We won’t let it fail,” she amended.
“We.” He nodded. “Believe it or not, I need you. The press think I’m fame-starved and money-hungry. And that I show up for the publicity. Which I do. The publicity is what brings in the money. It’s a tricky game.”
“Who cares what they think? They don’t know you.” Dante wasn’t doing this for himself. Even when her defenses had gone up, and she’d asked him what was in it for him, she’d suspected that his focus had been on the greater good.
“And you do know me.” It wasn’t a question, but a confirmation. His eyes locked onto hers, creating an intimate bubble containing just them.
Knowing that his heart was in the right place, that he was doing things for the right reasons, made sleeping with him more risky. But the idea of not sleeping with him was too cruel to contemplate.
She would simply have to separate the fairy-tale version of him—in which he was more of a prince than a fairy anything—from the real-world him: the man who had chosen to walk away from her. And regardless of his reasoning, altruistic or not, he’d broken her heart.
She could do that. She lifted her wine glass. “To the greater good.”
“To the greater good.” He tapped her glass with his.
She took a final drink of her wine, threw caution to the wind, and said, “So, about that crème br?lée…”
His grin turned wicked. “Get your appetite back?”
“Turns out I have room after all.”
They left Villa Moneta, her hand in his. A brief warning flitted through her brain about getting in too deep too soon, or was it about her keeping her guard up?
She couldn’t be sure.
She hadn’t really been listening.