“You would be correct.” Her voice was kind. “Which is why you shouldn’t read them.”
“A lot are from fans,” I corrected. “I should read them. One more, please.”
Cameron patted my hand and scrolled. Snorted. “What a fucking idiot. Although now that I know she eats meat, I’d fuck her.”
“Oh my god, I’m not a meat-eater,” I sighed, yanking on my hair. “But I am an idiot.”
Cameron stood, brushing non-existent wrinkles from her skirt. She dropped a kiss on the crown of my head. “You are not an idiot. You are my best friend and I love you.”
“I feel the same way about you, you gorgeous angel.”
“You know I’ve been through this,” she said. “They called me a backstabbing sociopath and accused me of sleeping my way to the top. It’s impossible not to get smeared at some point. And it sucks.”
“Isn’t that the truth?” I sighed. “I assumed it would never be me. But how could I ever uphold a perfect record? I mean, there’s only a dozen potential pitfalls presented to me every single day that I have to say yes, no or maybe to with limited information.” My gut twisted—a reminder. “Although in the case of Ferris Mark, that’s on me. I didn’t do the work that needed to get done. And I still thought I’d be the Special One. The public figure that escaped scandal for her entire career.”
“Don’t we all,” she said. “But you’re owning it now. How do you feel about the statement?”
“Really good, actually,” I said. “Apologizing and owning up to my mistakes is the right thing to do as a leader. And I’m ready to move on. Plus, we made a strategic plan for me to work at this nonprofit called Lucky Dog.”
I showed Beck’s website to her.
“Fits you, Moon,” she said.
“That’s what I think too,” I said.
Her eyes narrowed. “Beck Mason is the director?”
I pulled out my speech for today, waved down Jasmine as she strode towards my office. “You know of him, right?”
“Of course,” she said. “Doesn’t he run the Miami Devils?” Her face was pinched with concern.
“His parents do,” I said, checking my mascara in a hand-mirror. “He has nothing to do with them.” Even so, over the last day, I’d battled equal parts excitement and nerves over partnering with Lucky Dog. Sylvia had been pleased with my choice—because she fully believed it was the right thing.
Jasmine was still pissed at me. And igniting the ire of your PR director during a scandal felt ill-advised, to say the least. But every time those thoughts crept in, I pictured Penelope in that kennel. Beck’s quiet patience with her.
“You’re not concerned about that?” Cameron asked, brow lifted.
She was my best friend, so I felt fine admitting, “Of course I am.”
“I trust your decision though. And you do love animals. Probably too much.”
I snorted. “Not possible. And regardless of his background, I don’t think Beck Mason would hurt a fly. He’s a gentle giant. Although he definitely looks like a terrifying motorcycle gang member.”
“Ah,” Cameron said, a teasing glint in her eye. “A nonprofit hunk, if you will.”
Beck Mason was the farthest thing from a hunk I could imagine. “Not so much,” I clarified. “He was a presumptive bastard in our meeting and he’s going to fight me tooth and nail the whole time. He’s the size of a house with this giant beard, arms covered in scars. Leather everything. But… he rescued Penelope. Which is amazing.”
“Your Penelope?” she asked, eyes wide.
“The one and only. He rescued my girl.”
“Beard and motorcycles, huh?” Cameron said. “Opposite of your type.”
“Completely,” I assured her. She knew that whenever I had the occasion to date, it was usually surf instructors that juiced regularly and wore hemp. They dressed in board shorts and smelled of salt water. Not that I dated often—too busy, too motivated, too on-the-go to really take it seriously.
But still—I’d never been romantically interested in a man like Beck.
Even though Beck’s grin beneath that beard was… intriguing.
“Luna, the camera crews have arrived,” Jasmine said, rapping on my door.
“My cue to leave,” Cameron said. She wrapped me in a tight hug. “You’re going to do great, Moon. This is only temporary, remember that.”
I hugged her back. The cheerful, sunny optimist believed her, believed in the natural ebb and flow of our careers. But I’d also seen the dramatic rise—and terrifying free-fall—of people like me; beloved by fans one minute, vilified for life the next.
“I will,” I said. “And thank you. For everything. As always.”
She squeezed my shoulder, then left.
I shook out my hair and grabbed my apology, prepared to face my attackers with a fierce heart.
“Ready?” Jasmine asked.
“Let’s do this,” I replied—with a confidence I didn’t much feel.
11
Beck
I should have been at the office, working on grants or trying to figure ways to get Lucky Dog fast cash so we could pay our bills.
But this morning I immediately recognized the feeling in my veins.
I needed to ride.
It was a tropical Miami morning as I sped across the Venetian Causeway. Heat shimmered off the road as I tightened my fingers on the throttle.
Speed equaled release. Always had, always would—it was the one thing my family hadn’t taken from me, this love for motorcycles. At first, after I’d done my last stint in juvie, I’d been wary of picking up a bike again. Except there was no separating who I was from being on this bike. And on the bike, I was half-man, half-metal.
My route took me past the old Miami Devils MC headquarters. It’d been long shut down now, the members moving from place to place, always one step ahead of law enforcement. Those headquarters had been my home, although a chop shop filled with gang members wasn’t a safe place to raise a kid. My parents thought I should be a Miami Devil through and through; I was the child of outlaw royalty and I needed to learn the ropes fast.
It was impossible for me to catch the scent of that place—I was going 90 miles an hour with a helmet on. But I smelled it anyway. Leather, grease, cigarette smoke, and tension. The Devils were half-family, half-enemies. Loyalties shifted like shadows depending on the day. As a kid, and later a teenager, the constant fear sent my walls shooting up—it was like being a junkyard dog, constantly on the defensive. I might have been Beck Mason, the future prince, but that didn’t mean I didn’t get fucked with constantly.
Rip and Georgie Mason were the kind of parents who’d toss their kid off the pier into shark-infested waters without swimming lessons. Because they believed that a kid’s survival instincts would kick in and they’d float, not sink.
And that sharks were a part of life.
Once I’d accidentally knocked over an MC member’s beer bottle, spilling the contents everywhere. I’d been eleven, all knees and elbows and height I didn’t know what to do with yet. I was clumsy, angering my parents and anyone around me. When I knocked over that beer bottle, I had turned to apologize immediately.
The member had slapped me across the head.
Laughed. They’d all laughed—my parents too. It was meant to be a roughly affectionate gesture. I’m only messing around with you, kid. Don’t take it so personally.
It had hurt. A lot.
My parents had said nothing.
I knew where I could get money for Lucky Dog—grudges didn’t last in the Devils because it was better to have someone in your debt than not at all. The prodigal son could have returned. The MC could have saved our asses ten times over by now with money that was stolen.
And the price of that ask for help would have been higher than I was willing to pay.
I rode down Ocean Drive, slowing as the ocean arced to my left, expensive shops to my right. The sidewalks were filled with pink and purple umbrellas. Latin music was everyw
here. A line of palm trees led me right to where we’d captured the stray—Penelope—that Luna and I had both been feeding. I wanted to make sure she didn’t have puppies, that we hadn’t accidentally left them behind.
And maybe… I’d wanted to bump into Luna.
Not for any reason. Although Jem had casually mentioned that Luna was giving a press conference this morning outside of her offices, which were right next to where we found Penelope on the beach. And we needed to check for puppies. It had made sense to me at the time.
But I also couldn’t shake Luna from my brain. It was the way she’d looked after Penelope had eaten from her hand. It was an expression of pure joy.
A throng of people stood outside of Wild Heart’s headquarters—an industrial building painted white with Wild Heart spray-painted on the side in magenta. Camera crews, news vans, reporters, tourists… Luna had more celebrity than I’d realized. And behind them, with signs, were protesters. She’d mentioned them yesterday and I thought she was exaggerating. They were grouped together, holding signs that said Animal Killer.
I narrowed my eyes at them. I saw Luna, walking out with confidence and a piece of paper in her hand. She waved to the cameras, looked at the protesters, and shined that mega-watt smile across the beach.
It hit me square in the chest.
I parked my bike, walked toward the audience. I was a head taller than everyone there—so when Luna looked out she caught my eye. I was torn between embarrassment and interest—didn’t want it to seem like I was stalking the rainbow billionaire.
But she waved at me. And against my better judgment… I waved back.
A protester started to make his way past me. I crossed my arms, stared him down.
He fled the other way.
Luna stepped in front of the microphone. Her hair swayed in the breeze and she wore a long pink dress, yellow earrings.
“Thank you, everyone, for coming today,” she started. Her voice was steady. “My name is Luna da Rosa and I am the CEO and founder of Wild Heart. I would like to formally apologize for the role that I played in our relationship with the company Ferris Mark. We now know that they lied to us, as well as other companies, and that they engaged in full-scale animal cruelty as they tested on animals. Wild Heart was founded on the promise that we would always be cruelty-free and eco-friendly. A promise that has made us stand out from our competitors in an industry where beauty standards hold more power than animal rights or human rights; where humane working conditions are valued less than cheap lip gloss. When I founded Wild Heart, it was with an ambition to change those standards, to raise the bar. To do better.”
Luna paused, looked at her notes. “We broke that promise. I broke that promise when I broke my own procedures and fast-tracked our contract with Ferris Mark. If I’d had us perform our due diligence, I think it’s unlikely we would be in this situation right now.”
A smattering of chants from the protesters and the flash of cameras couldn’t drown out the strength in Luna’s voice. It made me feel even shittier for implying yesterday that she wasn’t a hard worker—because what she was doing up there was something I would never, ever be able to do. Yet there she stood, clear and honest.
Bella stood nearby, arms crossed in front. A row of security guards and a handful of police officers were shuffling in, which made me feel better about Luna’s safety. She had downplayed her celebrity, or maybe I hadn’t taken it seriously. She was clearly loved in this city.
Or had been.
“Moving forward, Wild Heart will be even more committed to transparency and we have already started making plans to secure a new supplier. We have also removed any and all products that contained the mislabeled ingredients from both our storefronts and online stores. We will work to regain the trust of our consumers and investors and we thank everyone for their support during this time.”
Jasmine leaned in toward the microphone. “We will not be taking questions at this time. Thank you.”
Reporters surged forward and the protestors’ chants grew louder, angrier. Luna gave a small wave and started to walk around the side of the building. Everything around us suddenly went quiet, which allowed one voice in particular to scream “Murderer” right at Luna.
She turned. For one startling moment, she looked… devastated. But then she shook her head, turned back around and left.
I followed her.
12
Luna
There was no Penelope at the back of our building anymore. She had a new home now, a better one.
But I still needed the peace.
Desperately.
I sank onto the concrete, toes in the sand. Closed my eyes. Tried to block out the outrage in that person’s voice. Murderer. It was overdramatic and not even remotely true—but I couldn’t pretend it didn’t hurt. Couldn’t find the strength to disregard the opinions of strangers anymore. Police officers and security guards were still milling about behind the building, a precaution Jasmine had suggested. I was grateful for them now.
“Ma’am, this gentleman says he knows you?” I looked up to find Beck scowling down at the ground behind a police officer.
“Mr. Mason,” I smiled. I’d been surprisingly bolstered by his sudden appearance in the audience. “You can let him through.”
The officer looked at Beck, then back at me, hand on his police baton. Knowing what I did about Beck’s background, I wondered if the officer recognized him.
“I said let him through,” I said, more sharply, and the officer complied.
Beck rubbed the back of his head, almost sheepish. He gave me an awkward wave. He was dressed in his uniform of jeans, undershirt and leather vest and he was holding a helmet under one arm.
“Um, hello,” he said.
“Hello,” I replied. I held out my hand, nodded at it. “Can you pull me up? It hurts my neck to crane up at your giant head.”
A funny look from Beck, an almost chuckle. But he did as I asked, tugging me gently from the sand. “That’s better,” I said, lightly touching his shoulder. “I was surprised to see you in the audience. Did you come to see my public shaming?”
My voice was shakier than I realized, adrenaline leaving my body replaced by guilt, sadness.
And another feeling I couldn’t quite name.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“Oh, yeah,” I said, throat tight. “Just, you know, it’s a lot right now.”
Beck nodded, the look on his face as comforting as a hug.
“How’d I do?” I struck a pose, chin tilted.
His eyes crinkled at the sides. “I believed you when you said you’re working to change.”
“Thank you.” I cleared my throat. “I mean that. And I meant it.”
“Why did that guy yell that at you?” he asked.
“Oh, the protester calling me a murder?” I said. “It’s an animal rights protest thing. Technically, in their eyes, I sanctioned the murder of lab animals being used for testing.”
“Is it really that bad, what they do to them?” he asked. “I guess I always thought it was no big deal.”
“A lot of people think that,” I admitted. “When I was twenty-one, I toured a lab as part of a business class in college. This company openly tested on animals, it wasn’t a secret. Even though I’d always been a vegan, I didn’t really think seeing it would affect me. It did though.” I lifted a shoulder, attempting to maintain nonchalance so I didn’t break down in front of my new work partner. “If a cosmetics company uses synthetic materials, or materials already safety tested, there’s literally no need to test anything on animals. Because when they do, they put them through a lot of pain.”
“On purpose?” he asked.
“Yes. On purpose. It’s utterly vile. They do this for shampoo, body wash, lipstick, mascara, perfume…” I trailed off. “That’s why that man called me a murderer. Which is probably a taste of my own medicine. I was never that bad but I’ve publicly said nasty things about non-vegans in my early twenties I wish I c
ould take back.”
Beck’s brow furrowed, but he stayed quiet.
“I guess I’ve learned that the world is a more complicated place than vegan versus non-vegan. I even used to call out medical research labs for testing on animals.”
He looked disappointed. I held my palms out. “I’ve changed my opinion on that issue, believe me. I would never begrudge medical miracles for humans, even though that means I don’t fit the stereotype. But I’d hope we could all agree that shampoo and conditioner aren’t life-saving, right?”
“Yes. We can,” Beck said.
And maybe this was all part of it. I was uncertain on how to navigate the world when all of my mistakes and shortcomings were now reflected back on me.
“What are you doing here anyway?” I asked.
“I thought Penelope might have had puppies. I wanted to make sure she didn’t have a den around here.”
“Puppies?” I asked. I bit my lip. “I don’t think so. I’ve been with her for the past six months and she’s never looked pregnant.”
“Good,” he said. “Takes care of that. I’ll see you around, I guess?”
“On Tuesday,” I said, giving him a movie-worthy wink. “I’m your new employee, remember?”
“Right.” He was looking behind me, glowering. I turned—three bikers with vests that had screaming devils stitched into the front were casting a curious gaze our way. Beck’s jaw was tight, nostrils flaring.
“You know those guys?” I asked.
“Not anymore,” he said. One of the guys—massive, tough-looking—gave Beck a sardonic little wave. Every part of Beck’s body tightened.
“Devils, right?” I asked.
He shook his head but didn’t respond. An unspoken communication was happening between the mountain man next to me and the trio of bikers behind me. I couldn’t even begin to parse it.
“It’s been twenty years, but some people are still angry about my choice,” Beck finally said, clearing his throat. His stubbornness yesterday was making more sense—those walls, that lack of trust. I didn’t feel unsafe with the bikers behind me, but the edgy energy in the air was certainly distressing. I couldn’t imagine growing up with this kind of hidden violence.
WILD OPEN HEARTS: A Bluewater Billionaires Romantic Comedy Page 6