“It’s… very expensive,” she agreed. She looked distracted for a moment, then refocused. “I’m really happy you’re here, Beck. Also, I’ve been nervous for you to see everything.”
“Why?” I asked.
“I wanted you to like it.” Her fingers tugged a tiny braid into existence.
A smile crept up and I didn’t hide it. “Well, I do. It fits you. Is that you?” I asked, pointing to a photo of a very young-looking Luna holding a check. “Your first million or whatever?”
“Something like that.”
I squinted, could just make out the words on the check. “So it was an award you got?”
“It was,” she said. “It’s called the Turner Venture Capitalist Award and I was the first woman who’d ever won. That’s the night of the pitch competition. You basically go through these huge rounds of cuts for two months until the final ten are chosen. I presented my three-minute plan for Wild Heart in front of two hundred and fifty venture capitalists in Silicon Valley.”
I picked up the framed photo—her smile was electric. She was standing with two people I assumed were her parents—she looked just like them.
“That must have been an incredible amount of work,” I said.
“Hard work and a massive amount of luck,” she said. “That and the right connections, which took a while for Wild Heart to develop. That’s initially why I went all out on my role as spokeswoman, putting my entire life all over social media. Connections happen person-to-person, and after a few years, the right people started following me.”
“That’s how you got the money?”
“The start-up capital, yes,” she said. “The first five years sucked. It was basically fundraising twenty-four/seven on a shoestring budget. As you’re well aware.”
I shifted in my chair. “I’m terrible at it. Believe me.”
Luna tilted her head, long hair sliding off her shoulders. “That’s not what I see.”
I handed the picture back to her, unsure of what to do with the compliment.
“I was a very arrogant twenty-two-year-old,” she said. “I told everyone around me who would listen that I had everything figured out. Luckily I had a board and a bunch of mentors in the business community that steered me in the right direction. No major issues. Well, I mean… until recently.”
Her cheeks flushed a little as she put the photo back. But then she spun around with exaggerated movements and held out that envelope I’d seen in the picture she’d texted.
“Ta-da.”
“Um, thanks,” I said, taking it from her and sliding it open. There it was. A check for ten thousand dollars.
I was glad to be sitting down.
“For me?”
“For Lucky Dog,” she said. “Plus we’re closing in on fifteen grand in online donations already.”
“But it’s only been a week,” I said, almost angry. The world of easy money Luna seemed to wade in and out of boggled my mind. Ta-da—ten thousand dollars.
But who was I kidding? The chair I was sitting in probably cost more than my rent.
“Come look,” she said, waving me over. “I want to make sure the posts fit the vibe you were going for.” I stood over her shoulder, trying not to crowd her space. But still I caught the scent of citrus and sunscreen. Literal fucking sunshine is what Luna da Rosa smelled like. She pulled her hair to one side, exposing the side of her throat to me.
“See?” she said. “People are responding to them pretty well.” Her photos of Lucky Dog were happy—motivational, not shameful. Like I’d said I wanted. The picture of her and Jem had a smile spreading across my face. “Not too manipulative, right?”
“No,” I said, surprised.
She tapped her temple. “Told you I’m good at this.”
She pressed the check more firmly into my hand and a surge of ugly pride rose in me.
“Beck,” she said, guiding my attention back. “It’s not wrong to receive this. No one’s using you and no one pities you. It’s because you’re doing great work and people don’t want to see Lucky Dog close.”
I took a step back. “Sorry.”
“You don’t have to apologize,” she said.
“How’d you know?”
“Game recognizes game.” Luna grinned. “Although I think you’re more stubborn than me, but we both like to carve our own path, even if that means clumsily hacking our way through life.”
“I don’t like owing people,” I said.
“You don’t owe me a thing,” she said firmly. “The bigger picture here is rescuing more dogs.”
And your reputation, I almost said. Although that element of distrust was slowly fading away the more time I spent with her.
I looked back at the photos she was showing me. She placed the phone in my palm so I could scroll, read the comments. The panel of images showed Luna’s private moments on a public stage. There she was with friends, dancing, drinking, diving into the ocean or bending into a complicated yoga pose. She was making salads and chatting in videos and conducting board meetings.
Luna was out there in a way that made me terrified just thinking about it.
The comments on the picture she tapped on were positive in the beginning—seems like there were people who had always supported Lucky Dog. I’d had no idea. When you were a young nonprofit, it was easy to feel invisible.
Ugly bitch—that was comment #476. I pointed to it.
“Ignore it,” she said.
“I want to know where this man lives,” I said.
Her eyes met mine. “Oh. That’s super nice of you but it’s really fine. He’s a troll. He’s trash. I don’t know where he lives because their anonymity makes them feel brave when they’re not,” she said.
Grumbling beneath my breath, I kept scrolling. Beneath that, a sentence that jarred me: How do we know the money goes to dogs and not Beck Mason’s shady motorcycle club?
She snatched the phone from me. “And ignore that too.”
“Are you getting comments about the Miami Devils?” I asked, anger rising. “Because you know I have absolutely nothing to do with them anymore. They can’t touch Lucky Dog. I’d never let them.”
Luna fiddled with that tiny braid again. “I’ve gotten… a few comments about the MC. Nothing major. It’s people trying to stir things up because they like drama.”
Was my past going to continue to stomp all over my present and destroy my future? Because I was pretty damn sure the Devils would love to set fire to any bit of happiness I might try to hold on to.
And if anything got in their way—say, a beautiful woman and her successful company—I knew they wouldn’t hesitate to watch that burn too.
“Luna?” We both turned—one of her staff had a giant glass filled with green juice. “I made this for you.”
“Thank you,” she said. “Can you bring an extra straw? I think Mr. Mason would love some.” She glanced at the giant watch on her wrist. “And we officially have four minutes until my next meeting. You should have a little green juice. You look stressed.”
I sat back down—putting me eye-level with Luna, who was still propped against her desk. I turned behind me, made sure that Jasmine woman wasn’t lurking around us.
“Luna,” I started. Hesitated.
“What is it?”
“You’ve already done so much for us,” I started. “But if you really are focused on fixing all this shit…” I hesitated for a moment, “… maybe you shouldn’t work with a person whose family is notorious for violence and drugs in South Beach.”
She turned her head, staring at an old picture near her computer. “No thanks. I’m sticking with you. Now try this.”
I gave her my scariest look.
She returned it with her sweetest smile. “I don’t care about your past.”
I knew she was trying to get off easy with that bewitching grin. “You do though. Or at least you did. There’s no way a billionaire with a fucked-up reputation meets me and doesn’t consider running away.”
/> Luna lifted her chin, tapping her sandal beneath her skirt. A long few seconds ticked by before she finally said, “I didn’t want to work with Lucky Dog at first because of who you were. The complication. You’re right, that is true. And technically my PR director is having several aneurysms a day over comments like the one you just saw.” She worried at her bottom lip. “Sometimes I have given into those same thoughts.”
I was silent. It looked like a battle was going on behind her eyes.
But still.
“You think I’m trash.” I didn’t phrase it as a question.
Luna looked immediately offended. “Never,” she said firmly. “I have never, ever thought that. Your family though? I think they’re utterly vile.”
“They are vile,” I said. “We can agree on that.”
She released her braid, clutching the edge of her desk. She glanced back at that photo one more time. “I’m trying out this new thing where I match my internal and external values. Doing what I say I’m going to do because it’s right and not necessarily safe or easy. For better or worse, you’re stuck with me basically until the end of time, Beck Mason. When we’re both ninety, I’ll still be begging you to take a selfie with me.”
I felt a smile tugging at the corner of my mouth. Maybe the beard would hide it.
“And for what it’s worth, you’re doing incredible work at Lucky Dog. You deserve that money.”
A better man would have walked out the door and ended our partnership before Rip and Georgie Mason stole away this situation.
A smarter man would have been wary of a wealthy woman who’d never known the inside of a jail cell or the pinch of not enough.
But I wasn’t a better man.
And I sure as shit wasn’t a smarter man.
I took the glass from Luna. It was grass-green.
“Are we at… what did you call it, another impasse?” I asked, lightening my tone.
“I think so.” Her lips quirked up.
“What the hell is in this?” I asked.
Luna let out a relieved exhale, sensing my shift in conversation. “Wheatgrass. Lemon. Cucumbers.”
I pre-wrinkled my nose. Sipped it. Enjoyed her playful smirk a little too much.
“Tastes like what comes out the back of a lawnmower.”
“And Heineken tastes like warm piss.”
“That’s blasphemy and you know it.” Then I took another sip.
“You like it,” she teased.
“Two sips don’t mean a thing,” I shot back. But I was suddenly drinking it—whether it was because it tasted all right, or because it kept her smiling, I didn’t want to know. “When did you get into all this hippie stuff?”
I handed the glass back to Luna, who placed her pink lips right where mine had been. She sipped, thought for a moment. “Veganism? My parents were always vegetarian, very eco-conscious and into animal rights. When I was eleven, a neighbor told me how eggs and dairy-products were derived from animals and I plopped down on our kitchen floor and cried very dramatically.”
Her eyes slid toward mine like she was expecting me to make fun of her. But I didn’t want to. I could relate. “There’s nothing wrong with caring about things like that.”
Luna tilted her head, sending her silver earrings shimmering. “That’s true. It’s always how I’ve been.”
“When you were a kid, did you ever get made fun of for being vegan?”
She shrugged. “People make fun of you whenever you take a stand against anything. It wasn’t always easy but not being vegan never felt like an option. This, what’s happening right now, is exponentially worse. Being caught in a mistake that corrupts your most deeply-held values.” She turned her computer screen around. The article looked like it was about her… and it looked mean. “A mistake and a pattern of thinking,” she added.
My nostrils flared. I felt protective of the rainbow billionaire again.
Although, if I hadn’t known her… wouldn’t Elián and I be at the office talking shit about lying rich people right now?
“There isn’t a silver lining here,” I finally said. “Fucking sucks.”
She grasped my arm, squeezed. Heat and sensation shot up my arm. “Thank you for not telling me this is all part of life’s beautiful journey.”
“Not really the type of guy who talks about journeys, Luna.”
“I think I like that about you, Mr. Mason,” she replied.
“Do you think I’m disgusting because I eat meat?
“I doubt anyone finds you disgusting, Beck.”
“Well, you’re not children or the elderly.”
She smiled, running a hand through her hair. “Back in the day… yes. I would have said intense things about you. I care about this; I really think it’s better for the world—for people and for animals—if we could find other ways to live.”
“And now?”
She bit her lip. “I do wish you were a vegan.”
I shifted in my chair, uncomfortable—I’d expected her to say no way in that sunshine-y, sweet way of hers.
“I believe our planet lives in greater harmony when we don’t consume meat, even though I know how unrealistic that is, as many, many people like to point out to me. Meat impacts human rights, the environment, our health, and destroys our ecosystem. I don’t want to be a part of that. I want to live in a world where all beings, human and animal, have more than enough to eat, shelter, love, work, safety and freedom from pain.”
“I won’t ever be a vegan, Luna,” I said—clearly. “But I agree with you on the freedom from pain bit for animals. And for people. The only way I can get out of bed every morning is knowing that the abused animals I work with are getting better. No longer in pain. If not…”
“It’s too dark,” she added.
I flexed my fingers. “Yes.”
She reached forward, her eyes kind. Touched my leather vest and said, “This causes pain, too.”
I opened my mouth. Closed it. “You’re right,” I finally admitted. She was right, really.
I took in Luna’s office—for all of its colorful bohemian-ness, there was wealth in every item.
“How do you feel about a person who has a lot of money that’s spent on things and not charity?” I might have asked it to be shitty, if this was our first meeting. But now I was just curious. Waiting for her response, not trying to piss her off.
But I’d touched a nerve.
She tensed, angry. “I’m assuming you’re talking about me?”
“You’re the only person I know who has a lot of money, Luna.”
Her look almost had me squirming. I imagined she used it on problem employees or annoying board members. It was fierce as hell.
I leaned back in my chair and crossed my arms. If this was Beatrix—snarling and trying to dominate me—I’d do something similar. Loose, open body language with an edge to it.
To her credit, Luna didn’t blink. And neither did I.
“You know,” she said, “when I first started Wild Heart, one of the main goals was to use it to start my own foundation.”
That struck me as very Luna-like.
“And now?”
A tap of her fingernails. She opened her mouth but suddenly Jasmine was at the door. “Luna, we’ve got the emergency meeting with Fischer.”
“I know,” Luna said, eyes still locked with mine.
But then she was smiling at Jasmine and sweeping around the desk, trailing her citrus scent with her. “I was just finishing up with Beck.”
I stood—caught Jasmine in the act of changing her expression from irritated to neutral.
“Hello, Beck,” she said. “Later this week, I’d like to talk damage control for your family members. I’m concerned your background is going to be a—”
“It’s not a problem, Jasmine,” Luna said, scooping up files, a pen and her phone. I could see her morphing back into a CEO—she started reading a document and emailing someone at the same time. She was an efficient bundle of good vibes.
&
nbsp; “All due respect, Luna, but you pay me to manage situations like Beck.”
Luna stopped what she was doing and gave Jasmine an honest-to-god glower that rivaled my own. “Beck is a human, not a situation.”
Jasmine looked away, pissed.
Luna, however, gave me a beautiful, but secretive, smile. “You have your check?”
“Uh, yeah. Is everything okay?”
“It’s probably the worst day of my professional career,” she said. “Which makes twice in two weeks. The work is never done.” She patted me on the shoulder—I felt bad, pushing her on the stuff when clearly she was having a shit day. Why hadn’t she said anything?
“Can I… help?”
“You can help by letting me work with you tomorrow. Say three-ish?”
But she and Jasmine were already moving out the door, gone before I could technically answer. Leaving me alone in her office, holding a green smoothie. I’d never admit it, but it actually tasted delicious.
21
Beck
I leaned against Betty and Veronica’s kennel, my fingers in the grating.
“All the pros,” Wes said to Jimmy. “One. You can take them everywhere in a backpack. Two. That means you have two adventure buddies whenever you want to go on a road trip. Three. They can sleep in bed with you and not take up any space.”
Jimmy held both wiggling balls of fur up to his face. “You think these pups would come on my bike with me?”
Wes turned to me for confirmation.
“You ever think about getting a sidecar for your bike?” I suggested.
Jimmy laughed—a big, booming one. But he considered it. “I guess I would if it makes them happy?”
And that’s how I knew he was the one for them.
A group of well-dressed people was walking toward us from the parking lot. “And, uh, let us know how you feel. But if you want them to go with you, they’re all yours.”
“These balls of fur are going to love you forever, bro,” Wes said.
Jimmy nodded, clapped Wes on the shoulder. “Yeah. I, uh… I don’t get a lot of that in my life right now, you know?” Jimmy said.
“Same here,” Wes said softly. “I get it from this place though.”
WILD OPEN HEARTS: A Bluewater Billionaires Romantic Comedy Page 10
