There it was—a gleam of victory in her eyes.
“Which I’m guessing might have been your plan for this evening all along.”
“Like you two were going to last?” She laughed, but with me, like I was going to join her. Like we were going to cackle the night away, laughing at poor Beck. “You can be real with me, Luna. You don’t have to pretend anymore.”
I tapped my fingers on the door. Tilted my head like a hawk. “Okay. I won’t pretend anymore. You’re fired, Jasmine.”
Her face registered total shock. “Excuse me?”
“We’re on different journeys,” I said with mock sympathy. “I don’t want you on mine. Love and light.” I flashed her a peace sign and slipped into the car. She was outraged, yelling at me as we drove away.
“Can you take me to my house, please?” I asked my driver. But my voice broke on house.
I sat back. Let the tears fall freely.
You’ll be here soon, Emily had texted. We’ve got you.
Which I needed, desperately. Because the only man I’d ever loved didn’t love me back.
And when we finally pulled up, they were standing there, like they had that night three weeks ago. The Charlie’s Angels of Friendship. They scooped me up and took me inside, listening to my tale of woe. Our breakup. Beck’s face in the crowd. The audience applause. His mother. Jasmine.
They ran me a hot bath and plopped me right into it. Poured me a glass of wine. Held my hands as I cried.
“I’m already prepping the yacht with corn chips and spin instructors with vegetable names,” Daisy said. I half-giggled, half-sobbed. “Just say the word. You ever been to a private island owned by a European prince? I’ll take you and your spin instructors there.”
“Corn chips sound nice,” I hiccupped.
“Shhhh,” Cameron said, handing me an open bag. “We’ll go spend way too much money on lingerie tomorrow, okay?”
I nodded. Ate a corn chip. Felt worse.
“I know you abhor violence, Moon. But the three of us will junk-punch anyone you tell us to.” Emily stroked my hair in a gesture so maternal it caused another wave of tears. “You want to make a list? We’ll clear our morning schedules.”
“I love you guys,” I said.
“We love you forever,” Cameron promised.
58
Luna
Two weeks later
The Wilson Family Center was a cheerful-looking building with a white picket fence outside and a wildflower garden spilling over with blossoms. A row of palm trees in the front gave it a sense of privacy from the busy street out front.
Christian, the program manager, waited with Sylvia and me while my driver came to grab us.
“We’re really happy you both could make it,” he said. “The kids here love Wild Heart. They’re big followers of yours on social media. It’d be extra special if the funding we need for our new kitchen came from the Wild Heart Foundation.”
“I agree,” I said. “Submit your application by next month and I’ll have the board take an extra special look at it. Also, the makeup skills displayed in this tiny house put me to shame.”
The Wilson Family Center was a twelve-bed shelter for homeless youth in Miami and their kitchen was in dire need of repair. The kids couldn’t cook or take cooking classes without it. The visit today was merely to verify what I’d already learned—they were doing incredible work that deserved long-term support.
I’d also donated almost all of my kitchen supplies to them (minus the blender Cam had rigged that could have been a military-grade weapon) and a handful of other furniture pieces for their lounge. I’d been slowly stripping my mansion of items over the past two weeks—I had more than enough, and there were plenty of nonprofits nearby who told me they could use new tables or better chairs or artwork to brighten up play areas for children.
I was happy to oblige.
I’d been dazzled by all the kids at the Wilson Family Center showing off their different makeup styles to me, their hair colors, their vibrantly-painted nails and clothing. It was a place of joyful, warm spaces that helped youth transform from isolated to embraced. Art as healing was at the center of their programming, and that artistry extended out into the way they dressed and accessorized their bodies.
Christian also might have mentioned last week how much the kids loved makeup. And I might have sent like a one-year supply of products their way ahead of time.
“Well, we appreciate it. We’ve also been looking into starting a therapy animal program, to help the kids when they’re first with us, before they start to feel safe. I know you worked with that nonprofit Lucky Dog. Do you think the director over there might have any contacts?”
All the air left my lungs.
“Beck Mason, you mean?” I didn’t need to clarify with his name. But I was suddenly desperate to say it out loud. To hear it spoken.
“Yeah. I know his nonprofit works with rescue dogs, but I thought he might know who in Miami is running therapy dog programs. The kids would love it.” I could see it in my mind’s eye clearly, how perfectly therapy animals would augment this program. The unconditional love, the sense of caring for a living thing. It was like the program Beck had done when he was in the detention center.
“You should definitely call him,” I said. “He’s great. Like really great. A truly beautiful soul, you know?”
Sylvia was giving me an odd look—sympathetic but also confused.
“Oh. Cool,” Christian said. “I’ll give him a call, tell him you sent me his way.”
“Sure.” I faked a big smile, feeling itchy. “Well, our ride is here.” I took Christian’s hand, shook it. “Please send in the application. I look forward to reading it.”
Christian waved at us as we drove off.
“I’m really, really happy we did that,” I said, noting the total happiness I was feeling in the moment, even with the mention of Beck. “I know we’ve both been busy with Wild Heart stuff but—”
“It’s important,” Sylvia replied. “It’s the mission moments that keep you going. And you got to see the benefit of your foundation and makeup. A twofer.”
“I did,” I said, looking out the window. “The only hard part is wanting to give all the money to all the nonprofits everywhere.”
Sylvia smiled, but she looked tired. We both were. Tired but weirdly energized—working with a purpose. The last two weeks we’d been hard at work crafting the structure of the foundation, hiring staff, working with the accountant. We still needed to hire a director and program managers. It was daunting. Thrilling.
Funding wouldn’t be available for months, but I was doing some early site visits for qualified candidates, learning what they needed and the best way our program could truly help. It was the perfect distraction from the other work I was doing—rebuilding Wild Heart’s reputation from the ground up, basically. There was a flurry of positive press after my speech and announcement, but now I mostly ignored, well, any form of media that came my way.
The only way out was through—the only way out was dedication to why Wild Heart had been founded in the first place. We re-signed with our original supplier and took tours of their facilities to confirm their promise. Started new production. Wild Heart formally signed an in-store contract with Ruby’s Closet, and as soon as we had enough product, it’d be rolling out in Alissa’s stores. Our footprint would be smaller for a while, but I was okay with that.
At least we were back to doing the right thing. I’d never been more at peace. Professionally-speaking.
By day I buried myself in hard work.
By night I was completely and utterly miserable. Heartbroken in every sense of the word. I couldn’t meditate. Couldn’t focus long enough to do yoga. Feeding Steve brought me no joy and our continually horny dolphins only brought out a strange jealousy in me. At least they get to have love.
Daisy, Cameron and Emily kept me busy and affirmed. We ate vegan ice cream and watched bad movies. They brought me donuts and let me cr
y for no reason. Daisy even took me out on her yacht one night, where we drank a bottle of champagne each while bemoaning our single life. And maybe she convinced me to jump naked into the ocean with her too.
It all helped—in that I needed soothing and comfort and platonic love to keep me going.
But my heart stayed broken and missing Beck so much it felt like I couldn’t breathe. I thought breaking up meant that the love you felt for that person abated slowly over time, as you accepted that you weren’t to be. You weren’t soul mates or forever companions or life partners. You were done, broken up.
That wasn’t happening for me. I loved Beck, fully, the same as I did the night we ended. Every second, every minute, every hour. My heart beat Beck and my pulse beat Beck and my body ached and yearned and craved Beck.
And my Instagram posts were capital “s” Sad. I didn’t say we’d broken up, but I did take a lot of pictures of sad, empty ice cream containers or shared lonely lines of poetry. If people wanted the real Luna da Rosa—well, she was heartbroken.
“Can we talk about the email you sent late last night?” Sylvia asked.
“Of course,” I said, expecting it. “Does that sound like it will work? I have a meeting with my accountant tomorrow to work out the logistics.”
She gave me a long look. “It does work. I think it’s the right thing to do. You think the person you were the night I met you is gone. But that’s not true at all, Luna. That twenty-two-year-old visionary is sitting right in front of me.”
I looked out the window at Miami Beach, shimmering blue. “That means more to me than I can say,” I said, tears in my throat. “It wasn’t a hard choice in the end. Just had to listen to the right voice.”
She was talking about the email I’d sent letting her know that ninety percent of my CEO salary would now be directed to the Wild Heart Foundation as a private gift. I didn’t want it to be received with the perception of strings or make the staff give me more power. But it was the right place for it to go. It’s where it belonged.
“You’ll be okay? Financially?” she asked.
“I’m a billionaire,” I said. “Ten percent of my salary is still more than enough. The rest of that money is sitting there, being spent on worthless things. This community deserves that money.”
“If Jasmine still worked here,” she said slowly, “she would tell you to issue a press release, announcing your charitable gift. This would garner you an immense amount of good media.”
“No thanks,” I said, voice clear. “Sometimes we need to do good things just to do them.”
“Spoken like an extraordinary woman,” Sylvia said.
I squeezed her hand, tears in her eyes.
“You know, I never asked you,” I finally said, throat tight, “why did you give me Lucky Dog to work for? Was there any reason beyond you thought they looked like the right fit for me?”
Her smile was mysterious. “Charlotte and I adopted our dog from them four years ago, when they’d recently opened. I met Beck then, was incredibly impressed with his heart and his spirit. I could see how little money they had and always wanted to do more for them.” She shrugged. “Our dog, Betsy, is the best thing that’s ever happened to us, besides getting married, of course.”
“I didn’t know Betsy came from Lucky Dog,” I said, happy to hear it. “That place really is special.” I was surprised I’d gotten the words out. My eyes were already filling with tears at the memory of standing on that campus. Seeing Beck with Penelope for the first time.
Sylvia was still staring at me. “It is. And I know you, Luna. I knew you’d love it.”
We were pulling up to Wild Heart, slowing down to the curb. She opened the car door and said, “And for what it’s worth, Charlotte and I are total opposites in every sense of the word. So different that a lot of people around us laughed when we got together. Swore we’d never make it.” She lifted a shoulder gracefully. “Of course we’ve been together for twenty-five years now, so what do they know?”
She slipped out of the car and I stared back at her, open-mouthed. She had been playing nonprofit-fairy-godmother and matchmaker.
It would have made me laugh with delight if I didn’t want to curl up in the fetal position and cry.
My phone buzzed.
Jem. She’d texted me a picture.
Biting my lip, I opened it. Heart racing. We hadn’t talked since the night Beck and I had broken up. Missing my little Lucky Dog family was like the shitty icing on the shitty cake. But I didn’t want to impose—wasn’t sure what Beck had told them.
Thought you’d want to see this, Jem said. It was a picture of her and Wes, smiling at the beach, holding rainbow sno-cones.
GIRL WHAT I texted.
Dating for two weeks now! She wrote back. We miss you!
Me too. I miss you like crazy, I sent before I could stop myself. My phone had about a thousand draft text messages to Beck that I didn’t send. I love you. I’m sorry. I miss you. Please take me back.
I don’t know if this is still on the table, but Penelope is officially available for adoption starting today, she wrote. Do you still want to submit an application for her?
I did. Desperately. I wanted a dog and I wanted Penelope specifically.
But fear held me back. Fear that I’d never be able to stop thinking about Beck when I looked at Penelope, since Beck was the man who’d rescued her.
I need to think about it. I’ll let you know, promise. I said.
Jem didn’t respond.
59
Beck
Elián and I had been looking at designs for the expansion we were now planning on our campus—adding another fifteen kennels and a second training space. At the rate new funds were coming in, I was going to be able to hire at least four new trainers and another two administrative staff to help Wes. We were already scouting out our second location near the Redlands.
It had been the most financially successful two weeks of my entire life.
It had also been the worst two weeks of my entire life.
I hadn’t truly smiled since the night of Luna’s speech, and had spent so much time grunting in response to things, Jem had thrown up her hands and said, “You have to speak with words, not sounds, Beck.” Then she’d stomped off to see Wes, which I didn’t blame her for.
The pair had been dating since Luna and I had broken up. Maybe their new love was one of the reasons why I couldn’t seem to do anything but grumble, growl and throw things around my office.
But it was Friday—exactly fourteen days after I’d broken up with Luna—and I was exhausted. I wanted a beer and my bike and the high-speed of a solitary ride to drown out my thoughts.
Instead, I was being surprised by the Carlise Foundation again.
“Albert’s not here,” the older black woman from before said, coming through my office door. “It’s just me this time. I’m Justine. I’m sorry Albert’s a giant asshole.”
I barked out a surprised laugh and she chuckled. “It’s true. I thought you’d been made aware of our arrival or I wouldn’t have hassled you with those questions. And I know I’m dropping in on you now. But it’s purely to apologize. Our visit didn’t sit right with me.
I reached forward, shook her hand. “Apologies not necessary. I was looking at our expansion plans. Elián and I were going to walk the grounds in a minute. Want to come along?”
“Please,” she said. “Lead the way.”
Although I’d been glowering about like a bastard, this was actually my fifth tour this week—and I’d spoken at a church, a synagogue and a Girl Scout troop. Each time it was hard; each time it also got a little bit easier.
“We are investing now,” I said, walking her past Penelope’s kennel. My throat tightened and I had to look away before I lost it. “We’ve had three new board members come on who have been lending their experience to set up our… stock portfolios.” That wasn’t entirely the right word but I threw out a phrase I hoped sounded smart. Justine seemed impressed and I was g
rateful I didn’t have to explain the nitty-gritty details. Which I didn’t really get yet, but I was happy we had experts helping me learn. “Our first strategic plan will begin in November.”
“Wonderful. You’re really not that far behind for being a grassroots nonprofit,” she said. “You’re right on target. The Wild Heart exposure certainly helped, I’m sure.”
We reached the end of the field and I stuck my hands in my pockets. “Luna da Rosa is a very generous person.”
“That she is,” Justine said. “I’ve always admired her.”
I’m madly in love with her.
“I admired her too,” I said quickly. The only reason I’d been able to stick to my decision to break us up was that it seemed like everything was getting better for Luna and Wild Heart. Her foundation was getting attention and I’d seen her on the news, making a call for nonprofits to start sending in proposals.
Without me in her life, she was rising. I’d been the one holding her back.
That is categorically untrue and you know it, Beck Mason.
Well—except that Luna’s voice was in my head constantly. Begging me to change my mind.
“The kennels will be built in a semi-circle here. I’d like to put in a state-of-the-art training facility right there, where the edge of those trees are,” I said, pointing things out to Justine. “Building offices will need to go in so we’re not in trailers anymore, but I might save that cost after we expand. We’re also looking at a second site near the Redlands, since it’s a stray dog dumping ground. We could have an emergency triage area for those new dogs and then funnel them to our program, others, an emergency vet.”
“And five years out?” Justine asked.
“Five more staff. Salaries increased fifty percent across the board. Better benefits. I’d love for our board to be stable at fifteen members, we only have six right now.”
We were strolling back through the cages—Beatrix, looking mournful. Penelope, looking like she missed Luna. Sunshine was panting happily as Elián led her through a few last exercises—she’d made big strides and would be ready for her forever home any day now.
WILD OPEN HEARTS: A Bluewater Billionaires Romantic Comedy Page 28
