51
Beck
“I look normal, right? I’m worried I look like the Hulk pretending to be a rich person.”
Elián, Wes and I were in the administrative offices at Lucky Dog. They’d both gone emergency suit shopping with me immediately after Luna had invited me as her date to this event. I’d been desperate for their company, a distraction from the anxiety I felt after seeing her video. That old picture of me.
The truth was I wanted to see Luna give that speech. And I was scared shitless to be around people who probably thought of me as garbage.
“I believe the word girls would use to describe you is total babe,” Wes said, with exaggerated air quotes and absolute sincerity.
Elián hid a smile.
“A babe?” I asked dryly.
“Oh, yeah,” Wes said, drumming on his knees. “Luna’s gonna be fucking psyched you’re her date, boss.”
I tugged at the tight tie, wondering how people wore these to work every damn day. It made me feel like I was choking.
“Luna said there might be potential donors there tonight?” Elián asked, right to business. I nodded.
“You gonna schmooze ’em?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said firmly. “With Luna there, I feel like I can do anything.”
The words tumbled out freely—I was helpless to stop them.
“You got it bad, bro.” Wes grinned. “But we all saw it coming from a mile away. Right, Elián?”
Elián chuckled. “There was water cooler talk.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I said, trying to shrug it off. “More donations came in today, right?” I asked Wes.
“Yeah, they did. But, uh, I don’t know. They’re kind of trickling off. Still more than we ever got. But I think we’re hitting the end of it, maybe.”
I exchanged a look with Elián, who lifted a shoulder. “I agree with Wes. There’s only so much attention people are willing to give through Luna. I think it’s time the donors become our donors. Our relationships.”
“Which means talking to them,” I finished.
“Which you can do now,” Elián said. “We dodged the gap. It’s been 30 days and we’re doing really well actually. It’s time to move on, think of the future, you know?”
I blew out a breath. “Okay. Anything come in the mail I can use for stories?” I found that if I focused on an exchange like I’d seen between Jimmy and Wes that day, being vulnerable felt easier somehow. It was a truth I was revealing, not a half-lie to manipulate someone into giving me money I’d owe them for.
“I’m glad you asked, boss,” Wes exclaimed. “Check out this shit.”
He walked over, bobbing his head as usual, and handed me a card from New York City. The return address label said “Quinn-Cavendish III.”
“We have any adoptive families this far away?” I asked.
Elián shook his head. “Not that I remember.”
I opened the card—it said “thank you” on the front. Inside was a picture of a dog I remembered well.
Matilda.
She’d been a huge pitbull; craggy face, giant body. We’d found her abandoned here but were completely out of space. I couldn’t just let her go and I refused to send her to a shelter where I knew she’d be a candidate for euthanasia. We’d been in extreme luck—a friend of Jem’s, Sasha, had been in town and mentioned she worked at the Manhattan Island Animal Rescue shelter. She escorted Matilda back to New York City, but that was two years ago. Last I’d heard, she was still in the shelter, waiting to be adopted.
A picture fell out. A wealthy-looking man in a suit stood with his arms wrapped around Matilda. Behind them, with a matching smile, was a woman who looked like the lead singer in a punk band. Partially shaved head, tattoos everywhere. The couple didn’t fit, at least at first glance.
But the love they had for each other would have been obvious to anyone.
And they were holding Matilda—our Matilda—like she was their most prized possession.
Dear Lucky Dog, the note began. My extremely brilliant—and incredibly convincing—girlfriend Roxy forced me to adopt Matilda one night early on in our courtship. To say this dog has changed my life irrevocably would be an understatement. She has brought me an unconditional love I have never experienced before. We heard recently from Sasha that Matilda came from your fine establishment, so on this first anniversary of her joining our family, please let us extend our sincerest gratitude. You have made our lives wonderful.
The bottom was signed: Best regards, Edward Christopher Cavendish III.
Elián grabbed the picture. “Matilda. I thought she’d be in that shelter forever.”
“Me too,” I said, throat tightening. I knew the story I could share now if someone asked me.
“Oh, and that fancy dude sent this too.” Wes dug in his pockets and pulled out a check.
Edward Christopher Cavendish the whatever had sent us five grand. A sticky note was stuck to it that read: My rich boyfriend is extremely rich. Don’t worry. I’ll make sure he sends even more next time.—Roxy Quinn.
“What a mismatched couple,” I muttered. But the check felt right. The check was ours, not from Luna.
Elián pinned the card next to a picture that Buzz had sent us a few days ago—Jack Sparrow looked right at home on Buzz’s boat. He was not dressed in a full sailor costume. But he proudly wore a bandana covered in tiny fish.
“Think I’ve got a few stories,” I said, clearing my throat.
As Wes left to respond to emails, I turned to Elián, crossed my arms. Fidgeted a little in my jacket. “I guess it is time for you and me to start making a five-year plan or whatever. Do… investments.”
He cracked a smile. “Yeah, we gotta do those investments.”
“You know what I mean. You’re right. Luna’s not going to be helping us forever.”
“I don’t know about that,” he said slyly. “She fucking loves it here. She even seems to like the grumpy douche who stomps around grumbling all day.”
I pinned him with a serious look. “You, uh… you think she actually does, though? Like me?”
“Luna?” Elián said. “She’s been walking around with hearts for eyes ever since she met you. She’s almost as obsessed as you are. Look, and now she’s taking you to be her fancy date. You mean a lot to her.”
“Think she understands I’ve never, ever been invited to be in a room full of people like this tonight?”
He lifted a shoulder. “Who cares? You’re going now.”
I knew why I was feeling this way—I was entering Luna’s world tonight. And not the world I usually saw her in—kneeling in the dirt so she could pet Penelope or working on mock-ups with her staff at her office. This was billionaire shit. The next level.
“I’m not sure I measure up,” I admitted.
“You measure way the hell up,” Elián said, clapping me on the shoulder. “Don’t ever forget it.”
I hoped I did. Really fucking hoped.
Because I was pretty damn sure I was madly in love with Luna.
52
Beck
I parked about a mile from Luna’s event, needing the air. Needing a walk to clear the crop of worries that had invaded my thoughts. Worries that I loved Luna and she couldn’t possibly love me back.
Worried that we’d always be too different to ever be anything more. Worried that her pet project—Lucky Dog—was merely a means to an end and she’d drop me like a hot potato.
I hated giving these thoughts power. But they were loud. Louder than normal. Which was why as I walked along the sidewalk I didn’t notice the group of motorcycles and riders beneath a palm tree.
Or my mother.
“Evenin’, son,” she said, in a voice like steel.
I stopped, mid-stride—turning slowly.
Time had not been kind to my mother—although she still gave off a dangerous air I was sure terrified the younger recruits. People assumed it was Rip, my father, who handled the Miami Devils with an iron fist.
&n
bsp; They couldn’t have been more wrong.
Georgie wore her leather vest. Seven other MC members stood behind her with a coolness that didn’t hide their intent. They were here to intimidate.
I was standing there in a three-piece suit on my way to see my billionaire girlfriend. From the smirk on Georgie’s face, she caught the irony.
I debated walking past—ignoring the problem—but something told me they wouldn’t let me off that easy. And the last thing I wanted was them showing up at Luna’s event.
My old instincts rose immediately. But I wasn’t a scared, desperate kid anymore. I was a forty-year-old man who’d spent two decades building the life I wanted. I didn’t look down. Didn’t cower or hunch my shoulders.
I strode up to my mother with a quiet fury. One I’m sure she recognized.
“What the fuck are you doing here, Georgie?” I asked as soon as I reached them.
My mother actually winced at her given name. But I hadn’t called my parents “Mom” or “Dad” since I was fifteen. I wouldn’t start now.
“We ride on Friday nights down here, you know that,” she said with a sniff. “Certainly didn’t think I’d see my son heading towards those lights over there in a monkey suit. Must be that new rich girl of yours.”
Fire burned up my spine. I knew it. Knew they were keeping tabs on me and Luna. How could they not? She was one of the wealthiest women in the city, for fuck’s sake. A mark.
“How have the past two decades been?” She tried a motherly smile I didn’t buy.
“You need to leave us alone,” I said, voice low.
“And you don’t belong here,” she spat out, dropping the act.
“You don’t know shit, Georgie,” I snapped.
She looked impressed with my temper. “There’s a lot of work for you in the MC, Beck. We can forgive your twenty-year dalliance. Especially if you bring all that money the rich girl’s been giving you.”
“That money’s nonprofit,” I said.
The guys standing around her all smirked. As did she. “Right,” she said, as if we were all in on the joke.
I took a step closer—registered the other members fully taking in my size for the first time. I’d always been tall, but I was carrying fifty pounds more muscle than I had at eighteen.
“If you come near me or Luna ever again, I’ll call the cops and have you all fucking arrested,” I said softly. Dangerously. “Do not threaten my new life, Georgie. You’ll lose.”
Her face looked exactly like it had the day I’d asked her about applying for community college. You really think they’ll let you in?
I was turning on my heel, fists clenched at my sides, when she said one last thing. “You honestly think you fit in this new life?”
I stopped. Hated myself for it.
“You’re a Mason. Which means you’re goddamn motorcycle trash. These new rich people in your life, your new girlfriend included, will never, ever think of you as anything more.”
What had I said to Wes and Jem the other day? Never forget your value. I’d said it because of this moment right here, because holding tight to your value was hard when people who were supposed to love you called you trash.
“And if you think that woman doesn’t secretly feel the same way, you have another thing coming, son.”
I walked the hell away. Because Georgie Mason didn’t deserve a response.
Because this situation didn’t deserve my time.
Because I didn’t want the Miami Devils to see how much my mother’s words affected me.
53
Luna
The event was Miami’s Business Woman of the Year award and it was a glitzy, glamorous affair held at the country club right on Miami Beach. Tables draped with white tablecloths sat on the beach and local elite business folk mingled with piña coladas in their hands. News stations and camera crews were out, covering the event since it boasted some of the wealthiest members of our community. The organizer was a woman named Alissa Hendrix and she was currently walking toward me in a white suit. She was a tall black woman, about ten years older than me, and she radiated competence.
“You’ve had the worst month,” she said, lips curved into a graceful smile. She kissed my cheek and squeezed my hands.
“It’ll be okay,” I promised. “I can’t tell you what it means that you invited me to do this. The attendees aren’t going to storm the podium with pitchforks, are they?”
“Nope,” she said. “When our speaker got sick late last night, I thought of you immediately. I understand the complications of your situation, believe me. And I think you’re a model for how leaders move forward after scandal. By re-orienting their values and placing them at the center of their decision-making. Admitting wrongdoing, taking responsibility. It’s not easy. You could have taken several much easier ways out. Many leaders do.”
“I… I guess I never even considered that,” I said.
“Exactly,” Alissa said. “That’s why you’re here, Luna. Also, there’s an incredibly handsome man in a suit staring at you right now.”
When I turned around and saw Beck Mason in a tailored, dark-blue suit, my body went up in flames. “Oh, that’s… well, you know who that is, right?”
“The man who runs Lucky Dog.” She didn’t say, the ex-con with a criminal family. And I was pretty sure it was on purpose.
“Beck’s my date tonight.”
“Lucky you,” she mused. “Come find me in a few minutes and we’ll get you up on that stage.”
Beck moved through a crowd that naturally parted for him. Lucky me indeed. Beck Mason in a suit was a sight that could have stopped rush-hour traffic. He looked even taller, the blue suit made his eyes stand out even more. Hair combed, beard neat and trimmed, hands in his pockets like he wasn’t sure what to do with them.
I knew what I wanted him to do with them.
“You look so handsome,” I said as he approached. Unable to stop myself.
“You look… perfect,” he said softly.
I fingered my dress. My gown was orange, floor-length, completely open in the back with a high neck. I’d pinned my hair all the way up.
I’d dressed for Beck, one hundred percent.
“Can I kiss you here?” he asked.
“I’d expect nothing less.”
He stepped forward. Smoothed a palm down my spine, tugging me into his chest. Caressed his lips over mine. A tease.
I gripped his beard and kissed him hard.
When he pulled back, there were shadows in his eyes I hadn’t seen before—it felt like he was memorizing my face—like he’d never see me again.
“Are you okay?” I asked, hand on his chest.
“Yeah,” he said. “I’m fine.”
But it had a note of falsehood I didn’t like.
“Are you nervous?” he asked.
“Less now that you’re here,” I said. Which was a lie—Beck watching me speak gave me gigantic butterflies; telling him later tonight that I loved him had me so nervous I worried I might float away.
Strangely—that false note in his voice had me nervous too.
“You’re going to dazzle them,” he said.
I gave him a kiss on the cheek and smoothed down his tie. “Thank you. And you look like the respected executive director of an up-and-coming nonprofit. Go get those donations.”
Beck nodded at me. Squeezed my fingers with that same shadowed look again. “I’ll see you up there, sweetheart.”
He moved through the crowd, stopping to chat with a small group of people at the bar. Beck was stepping into his leadership and I couldn’t have been happier or prouder. From the stage, Alissa waved me over and Jasmine gave me a wry look from behind one of the tables. I lifted my chin, walked right past her. A few news vans had shown up, cameras blinking. The coverage would be positive regardless—a hopeful sign that Wild Heart was regaining its footing.
I was going to give this damn speech from my heart. Not take the easy way out.
And then take t
he hottie in the suit home and tell him I was in love with him.
54
Beck
I held a beer and watched the woman of my dreams climb the steps to a small stage in the middle of the beach. Luna da Rosa looked extraordinary—strong, confident, brilliant.
I couldn’t help but feel like an outsider. A fake, pretending to fit in this society I’d never once belonged to. The group of businesspeople I’d just spoken to had been polite but prissy. Almost dismissive. They dripped with Rolexes and diamonds and designer labels—and when I told them I was Beck Mason, executive director of Lucky Dog, I’d caught a shared look between them all. So I’d stumbled through the elevator pitch Elián had been helping me with, fucking it up halfway through, and I wasn’t surprised when they made their excuses to leave.
You’re a Mason. Which means you’re goddamn motorcycle trash.
I swallowed a growl of frustration. Knew Elián and Wes and Jem and all the dogs were counting on me. And the last thing I needed was Georgie Mason’s bullshit making me feel bad for no reason.
As if sensing I needed her, Luna caught my eye from the stage. Like she’d done for me when I’d made the video, I placed my palm over my heart. She caught the gesture. Beamed at me like she’d done the first day we’d met.
“Good evening, Beck,” Jasmine said. She wore her usual sour expression.
“Hey,” I said, taking a sip of beer. Luna was talking on-stage with a tall woman, both gesturing excitedly.
“I’d still like to set up that meeting with you. To discuss your image.”
I looked at her. “Luna said it wasn’t a problem weeks ago. It still isn’t.”
Just a reminder who Luna da Rosa’s boyfriend is.
“Will you continue seeing her?” she asked.
“Yes,” I said firmly, before nerves could get the best of me. “Of course.”
“Then this is always going to be a problem.” Jasmine held out her phone to show me a random tabloid article. I should have ignored it.
WILD OPEN HEARTS: A Bluewater Billionaires Romantic Comedy Page 26
