Catering to Billionaires: MMF Menage Romance

By Cari Griffin

When Sofi Conti leaves New York to visit her cousin Isabella in sunny, extravagant Palm Beach, she immediately realizes her life is going nowhere. Between her jerk of a cheating boyfriend, her old-fashioned Italian parents who want her to marry an accountant, and her crappy job slinging breakfasts at 3:00 a.m. for the party crowd in New York, she's failed at everything, including getting her catering business off the ground. Convinced by her cousin to give Palm Beach a try, Sofi sets up a booth at the local farmers' market to give out samples of her delicious Italian pastries. She's ecstatic to find two gorgeous, rich clients on her very first day: a high-profile lawyer and a billionaire financier, who's also an amateur boxer, who hire her to cater a party for their fifth wedding anniversary.

 

Ryan O'Sullivan and Zane Wagner have everything they want. A great relationship, great careers, and all the money they'd ever need. But when they see the voluptuous, curvy Sofi and taste her wares, they both think the same things: A). They need her to cater their anniversary party. And B). They need to get her naked and between them in bed. They'd shared women in the past, but it had been a while since they'd had a real, three-way relationship, and recently, they'd both been thinking of other things. Like finding the perfect surrogate to carry the baby they'd decided it was time to welcome into their lives.

 

But Ryan's not sure Zane is really into starting a family. Zane isn't sure Ryan's ready to put his family before his career. And Sofi isn't sure if she's ready to lose her heart to two men who make her happier than she's ever been, when one wrong move could bring her entire Cinderella story tumbling down…

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wolf Hill Publishing
• Release date: Jul 22, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201709549

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

Sofi

The sun felt spectacular on my skin as Isabella and I walked out onto the sand. It was my last day in ritzy Palm Beach, and I was going to miss the endless, blue seas and the fine, pink sand and the gorgeous, sunny weather. All I had to look forward to back in Brooklyn was cold, gray concrete and standing too close to strangers on the subway and my crappy job at the coffee shop. With Janine.

Isabella walked to an open spot on the sand. Let’s set up here. She took off her sundress revealing a tightly toned bikini body. Isabella and I were the same height, a whopping five foot two, but Isabella was tiny all over. Where I had hips, curves, and a huge bust line, Isabella was like a little ballerina.

My cousin was gorgeous though. And for a petite person, she was full of spunk. She’d been my partner in crime in Brooklyn up until her parents decided to move down to Palm Beach and open a restaurant a decade ago. It had taken me that long to come down and visit her.

Why hadn’t I come sooner? It was paradise.

Oh, yeah. Cuz I was broke. Broke, and too proud to ask my self-made, richy-rich aunt and uncle to pay my way. Even though they would have gladly put me up. But I just didn’t want to look…needy.

We set up our chairs facing the ocean. As I took off my sarong, I looked around at all the people enjoying themselves on the beach and splashing in the water. It wasn’t like New York at all with people hurrying by with their heads down angry or frustrated about one thing or another.

Here, people were smiling and relaxing. They were friendly. Even smiled back at you when you smiled at them.

Who could blame them? The beautiful weather. The even more beautiful people.

It seemed like every person in Palm Beach was gorgeous. Not just the super rich in their designer clothes, but everyone. Valet attendants. Restaurant servers. Bartenders. It was a town brimming with beauty in every way.

I slathered sunscreen on my legs and poked my cousin who was reclined on her chair with her arm draped over her face. Hey. Thanks for putting up with me for the last week.

Isabella peeked over at me with a huge smile. Of course! I’ve been trying to get you come down here for years! It’s amazing, right?

I sighed dreamily, looking at the blue water in front of us and wiggling my recently pedicured and raspberry-polished toes, courtesy of Isabella, in the pale sand. It’s just as amazing as you said it would be. It’s too amazing. I don’t want to go back to New York.

Then don’t.

Right. My phone went off in my beach bag, the alarm to take my pills. I dug through my bag and silenced the phone, then pulled out my birth control packet and a bottle of antibiotics for my sinus infection. I popped the pills into my mouth and washed them down with what was left of my water bottle.

Isabella pointed at the little amber antibiotic vial. You’re still on those?

Massaging my temples with my fingertips, I said, "I feel like I’m constantly on them. In the last year, I’ve gotten five sinus infections." I put everything away and slipped into my beach chair, digging my heels into the warm sand.

In the last year, huh? That’s when you started dating Hugh. Isabella clucked her tongue. My diagnosis is that the misery of being with Hugh brought on emotional stress that weakened your immune system. Basically, the man made you sick. She laid the back of her chair down lower and flipped her hair out from underneath her shoulders. "The man makes me sick, too."

I laughed a little at that. There had never been any love lost between Isabella and Hugh. And she’d never even met him. I lowered the back of my chair a bit more and closed my eyes. The sun beat warm into my face, shining orange through my eyelids, and immediately I felt all tension leave my body, except for the nearly constant sinus pressure behind my eyes. Still, it was amazing to finally be able to go without the sunglasses. I had been starting to feel like a mole, constantly living in the dark. I was starting to think my eyes would disappear altogether.

You think that could really make me sick? Being stressed out?

Isabella snorted. Oh my God, Sofi. Yes. Totally.

Why hadn’t I left him the first time he cheated on me?

Hugh was a charmer, but aren’t all sociopaths charming monsters? He’d convinced me I was the love of his life, the only true connection he’d made with a woman ever. He promised he would change.

Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame, shame, shame on my stupid ass.

I never want to see Hugh again for the rest of my life.

Isabella sighed. Finally, the girl comes to her senses.

A moment later, she touched my shoulder, and I opened my eyes and turned to her.

She was smiling ruefully at me. I’m sorry. That was mean. I shouldn’t judge. I know it’s been hard for you.

I shrugged. Hey. Whattaya gonna do?

She smiled again. At least your black eye is finally faded. That fucking cheating lying asshole! Then, Sorry.

I gingerly touched the orbit of my right eye. It was still a little tender, but with a little makeup, the still -barely-yellow bruise was almost invisible. At least I didn’t have to wear the shades everywhere and hide from my aunt and uncle. If they’d found out, my Uncle Manny would have flown to New York and ended Hugh where he stood.

I’d caught him cheating on me for the second time with a girl I worked with at the coffee shop, Janine. When I’d confronted him, he exploded in anger and hit me square across my face. That had been the last straw.

I called Isabella crying hysterically and telling her everything that had happened since the last time we spoke. She hadn’t wanted me to take him back after the first time he cheated, but of course I hadn’t listened.

Her solution?

Come down to Palm Beach for a vacation to get away from him and clear my head.

I was glad I did. Isabella was right. It was good to be away from New York and park my butt at the beach for a week. I hadn’t felt this relaxed in a long time.

I can’t believe it’s warm and beautiful like this all year round, I said, hoping to turn the focus of the conversation to something more appropriate for the gorgeous setting. Opening the weather app on my phone, I snorted. It’s thirty degrees in Brooklyn and sleeting right now. I really wish I didn’t have to go back.

Stuffing my phone back into my bag, I thought about going back to the coffee shop. Janine would still be there. It’s going to be so awkward working with Janine.

Isabella guffawed theatrically. That bitch? She’s the one who should feel awkward, the homewrecker. Besides, let her have him. She deserves what she’ll eventually get.

I didn’t know Janine very well. We weren’t best friends or anything, just coworkers, but she knew Hugh and I were dating because he would come by the coffee shop every day. If I hadn’t gotten off work early and gone to Hugh’s place—uh, our place, as of last month—I would never have caught them. How long had it been going on? How long would it have gone on? What kind of woman would do that to another woman, and then go to work and make small talk with her the next day?

I felt bad thinking any woman deserved to get hit by a guy, but I couldn’t help but agree with Isabella on this one. If you’re gonna steal someone’s man, you might want to make sure he’s worth stealing.

Didn’t matter. He was dead to me. They both were.

Why don’t you just stay here? Isabella said. We’ve got a million spare rooms, and my parents would love to have you. It’s not like you have anything else in New York. You can get a stupid waitressing job anywhere.

Thanks, I said gloomily.

You know what I mean, she said, reaching out and slapping my arm. Waitressing’s just a job to pay the bills while you work on your catering business. I was thinking about it last night. It would be perfect. You’d have free room and board, and you might not even have to work. Maybe my parents would even help you out with a business loan or something.

I already have a catering business in Brooklyn, I countered. But we both knew calling it a business was putting lipstick on a pig. If my catering business were actually doing anything, I wouldn’t have to wait tables with stupid Janine. Still, even though it was hard to build a clientele when you’re busy wiping down tables and slinging 3:00 a.m. breakfasts to the party crowd, building my own business was still my dream.

I know, Isabella said. But you could grow it. Do some real parties.

Hey! My latest SpongeBob party was a total hit!

I honestly loved little kid birthday parties, mostly for the whimsical themes: princesses, unicorns, superheroes, astronauts. It was fun to bring those ideas to life for an excited little boy or girl. Kids were the very best clients. It was the most fun making food to fit the particular theme: unicorn cupcakes, superhero cakes, meatball asteroids. And in the case of the SpongeBob party, little mini yellow sponge cakes with little blue frosting shorts and candy eyes. Total hit.

Isabella giggled. I’m sure it was the most lit SpongeBob party ever. But… She paused and raised her eyebrows. Here, in Palm Beach, there is real potential to make money catering to billionaires. Don’t worry. You can still throw your SpongeBob parties, but you can throw them for the billionaire kids.

Do billionaire kids even watch SpongeBob?

Isabella snorted. How would I know? We’re just plain old not-quite-millionaires. We actually work for a living.

Walking around Palm Beach all week, I’d seen how much money was in this town. From the luxury cars lining the streets to the designer-clad women drenched in jewels, success dripped off the town’s residents. It would be a dream come true to plan and cook for a party for any of the chic men or women I’d seen on the streets.

I sighed, taking in a deep breath of the salty air. Could you imagine what I could do with a huge budget?

Exactly! Isabella agreed.

My clients in New York were mostly interested in keeping costs down, and I’d perfected how to throw an awesome party on a tight budget. Living in a blue-collar neighborhood with blue-collar parents who owned a barely solvent Italian restaurant didn’t exactly give me the kinds of connections to hit the big time.

If I could somehow meet just one rich client that I could wow with my culinary and party planning skills, that would be my in.

My parents would hate the idea, I said. They didn’t even want me to come down here by myself in case I got kidnapped at the airport by terrorists.

Isabella shrugged. Your parents really need to get out of the city.

I know.

She turned to me again. They hated Hugh. If you tell them you’re turning over a new leaf to get away from him, they’d probably be thrilled to see you go.

Maybe. But my parents don’t even want me focusing on my catering business at all. They want to break the Conti cycle of working in food service. They have a restaurant. Your parents have a restaurant. Uncle Vinnie in California has a restaurant.

Isabella narrowed her eyes. It’s a Conti family tradition! What do they want you to do? We both grew up in a kitchen. What’s wrong with that?

Exactly! I love cooking, but they are dead serious about me not working in food service anymore. That’s why they fired me from the restaurant.

Isabella laughed. They fired you because they couldn’t afford to pay you. No offense. But you can’t stay solvent when you’re just the coffee and gossip shop for the neighborhood.

I know, right?

I don’t get it. What do they want you to do?

I sighed reclining in my chair. They want me to get married and give them lots of little Catholic granddaughters for my mother to made hideous, frilly First Communion dresses for.

Ha! Isabella laughed. Do you remember those? God, I thought I looked like such a beautiful, grown-up lady.

Yeah. Right.

So what’s wrong with getting married and having kids? Embarrassing communion dresses aside.

"Nothing, I guess.