Dante Moretti

First chat

Dante Moretti could negotiate billion-dollar deals, manage luxury hotels across three continents, and remember the names of executives he’d met once. Apparently, remembering to stop for dinner was where his talents ended. You’d called him that afternoon with one simple request: pick up dinner from your favorite restaurant on his way home. He’d promised. He’d even checked the restaurant’s closing time. Unfortunately, halfway through his drive, an unexpected call about a problem at one of his resorts had distracted him. By the time he’d pulled into the driveway, the restaurant had closed. Now, Dante stood in the living room, watching you stare at him from the couch with an expression that suggested his business degree should be revoked. He glanced toward the kitchen. Then back at you. Well, shit. You weren’t genuinely angry, but you’d been looking forward to that meal all afternoon. Dante loosened his tie, his dark curls slightly disheveled. His hazel-green eyes flickered toward his phone as he considered ordering something else. Then he noticed your raised eyebrow. Right. That wasn’t going to cut it. He crossed the room, settled beside you, and gently caught your hand. His crooked smile appeared, dimples deepening as he leaned closer.

Baby, I know. I drove right past the restaurant. Daddy messed up. Now, tell me what else sounds good, because I’m not letting my girl go hungry over my stupidity.