WILD OPEN HEARTS: A Bluewater Billionaires Romantic Comedy

by Nolan, Kathryn

  If Luna was here, maybe I’d even want her to capture this somehow. Because she could do it right. She’d know how.

  Maybe I could even be the one speaking in the video.

  You could do this.

  “Excuse me, Mr. Mason?”

  I turned around to that group of sharply dressed people. “Hey,” I said, a little too gruffly. I cleared my throat. “Can I help you? Are you lost?”

  The man in front—white with dark hair, a little older than me—gave me an odd look. “No, not at all. We’re with the Carlisle Foundation and we found out about your nonprofit from Ms. da Rosa. You’re her favorite place right now.”

  “Oh,” I said. “Um… sure. She sent you here?”

  “No. We decided to pop in. We were in the area. We always find it nice to see nonprofits on a typical day, see how things are really done.”

  That sounded like rich person code for catch you off guard.

  “Sure,” I said, wiping my fingers on the back of my jeans. I thought about shaking their hands, but the body language in front of me was as cool as ice. “What do you want to know?”

  Their suits and their facial expressions didn’t technically mean jack shit. But my brain shouted they’re smarter than you, drowning out my ability to think clearly.

  “Perhaps a tour?” an older black woman with white hair asked.

  “Yeah, uh, this way.” I’d done a bit of this, but not for a while. I’d always had time to prep—to practice my speech and make sure Lucky Dog appeared to be in working order. But our field was a wreck and all the dogs were barking, and Jem was leading Beatrix through a training session that wasn’t going well. The group stared at Wes, Jimmy and Jem—who were all tattooed and spiked and mohawked.

  “Wes and Jem are two of my staff members—trained behavioral specialists—and Jimmy is a potential adopter.” Wes and Jem were cheery as they shook hands, while Jimmy stood off to the side. The Carlisle people asked questions about the dogs, about Beatrix—Wes and Jem both did great answering them. But they really were specialists, like I’d said. I was just some guy.

  “And, Beck, tell us more about your strategic vision for Lucky Dog,” the first man asked. “What’s your long-term plan for this place?”

  “Build more kennels and rescue more dogs,” I said. “Miami has become a dumping ground for dogs people don’t want and strays are out of control. But they don’t have to be euthanized. Rehabilitation is the answer. Also—” I stopped, thought about what I’d witnessed. “What we do is also match. Dog to human. Dog to family. The love that grows between the two is powerful, I think.”

  Behind them, Wes was giving me two thumbs up.

  “But how?” the man asked. “We like to see nonprofits have a longstanding vision. It takes a lot to stay afloat in this financially risky environment. I’m sure you understand, Mr. Mason.”

  There was a condescending edge when he said the word Mason.

  “Yeah, I get what you’re saying,” I said. “The how is build more kennels. Save more dogs. Partner up with some inmate programs potentially.” I crossed my arms over my chest. “That’s about it.”

  The woman was writing something on a legal pad, which pissed me off. Because I hadn’t even known they were coming, so it felt fucked up that I was now being graded.

  “How is Lucky Dog invested?” the man asked. “Mutual funds? Bonds? CDs?”

  I didn’t have a clue. Our board was small—only three members, and Elián and I were working to grow it. But we didn’t have investments. Yet.

  A flash of color caught my eye—Luna, here for her three o’clock shift.

  “I, uh, I don’t know.”

  “The executive director doesn’t know what his company’s investment portfolio looks like?” the man asked.

  “I’m not sure we have one,” I said. I didn’t know what a mutual fund was and I wasn’t going to let this asshole in on that juicy tidbit. “I guess, in my mind, the most important focus is right now. Like what we’re going to do for these dogs in the moment. It’s a crisis and we’re trying to help as many dogs as we can.” Half of the group was staring off, looking down, like they were embarrassed for me. And now I was embarrassed. I cleared my throat. “But I guess I could get that information for you from my board.”

  “It’s more impressive when the executive director knows it offhand,” the man said.

  “And it’s nice when foundations let nonprofits know when they’re coming,” said a voice that I recognized.

  I whirled around. Luna, in colorful yoga pants. She propped her hands on her hips. “Albert, when you spoke to my staff earlier today, you mentioned coming to Lucky Dog next week. Not on a surprise visit.” She seemed as cheerful as ever, but her back was straight and her tone was icier than normal.

  Albert flared his nostrils at her. “We thought a surprise would be more fun.”

  “Or disrespectful of Mr. Mason’s time,” Luna shot back. I couldn’t stop the surprised look that came over my face. But Luna wasn’t looking at me. She was staring at Albert. “If you have questions he can’t answer, it’s probably because he was busy saving a dog’s life twenty minutes before you got here.”

  I’d actually been trying to figure out a financial report that contained far too little money for my liking. Luna’s donations couldn’t come fast enough—rent was due. And payroll. And health insurance.

  “Since you are sponsoring this nonprofit, do you have anything to say about their stock portfolio?”

  For a second, Luna looked like she had an idea about where Albert could stick that stock portfolio. But instead she said, “When I founded Wild Heart, all of our cash went into immediate needs. We had no savings and I’m not ashamed to say that. We certainly didn’t have anything left over to invest. Beck’s in the same position, which is why I’m trying to raise him money so that they can stabilize. Do you know a lot of four-year-old nonprofits with robust stock portfolios?”

  I wasn’t sure what was happening to me—my pride was shrinking the more time I spent around Luna. A few weeks ago, I would have hated being saved like this. I’d never liked that—in the MC, needing help was a sign of weakness. And the members were all too willing to beat weakness out of you. But it wasn’t pride that rushed through my nerve endings.

  It was lust. I’d written off my attraction to the rainbow billionaire as a curiosity. Luna was like a tropical flower in a bed of weeds. I was just… interested in her.

  Except the way you handled flowers was delicately.

  What I wanted to do to Luna right now wasn’t delicate.

  Not that I’d had much in the way of sex the past couple years. I was usually a one-night-stand-after-the-bar kind of guy. And Lucky Dog had consumed my energy, drained me of any desire other than to work. I hadn’t had the privilege of a writhing woman beneath my body in a long, long time.

  Right now, the only woman I could imagine beneath me was Luna. Pinned down by my hips, legs wrapped high on my waist, all that gorgeous dark hair tangled in my fingers as I buried my cock deep inside of her. Watching her defend Lucky Dog—and me—with a cute smile and her don’t-fuck-with-me tone, I wondered if I could drag her behind my trailer and put my hands on her. And my fingers.

  And my mouth.

  “I have known some with robust stock portfolios, yes,” Albert said coolly.

  “Well, good for you,” Luna said. “That’s not happening for Lucky Dog right now, which is a situation we are rapidly working to fix. And a great way for that to happen would be seed funding from your foundation.” She flashed a bright, beautiful smile at the rest of the group. “What do you say Jem and Elián introduce you to some of the dogs?”

  Elián walked over and greeted everyone. I said goodbye to the suited-up group. Within a minute, Elián and Jem were running the show, and I watched them become looser, more interested.

  Before I could say thank you to Luna, she was grabbing Wes by the hands. “Tell me you saw the Bachelor in Miami last night.”

  Wes mime
d an explosion off the side of his head. “What a mind-fuck, right? Who wouldn’t pick Marissa? I love Marissa.”

  “Yeah, and their one-on-one date was e-lec-tric.”

  “What the hell are you two talking about?” I interjected.

  “Bachelor in Miami,” they replied in unison.

  “Wait, you don’t watch it, boss?” Wes asked.

  I shook my head. “No.”

  “Oh my god, you have no taste,” Luna cried, hand on her forehead. “I’ll make you binge-watch it with me, don’t worry. We can’t be friends if you don’t watch it.”

  Luna was always friendly and I guessed she wasn’t serious, but would I really do that? Watch TV with her?

  Would that be like… a date?

  “What’s it about?” I grumbled.

  “True fucking love,” Wes said.

  “I wouldn’t know much about that,” I said.

  Luna tilted her head, snagged her lip. But didn’t say anything.

  “So, uh, thanks for saving me from those guys,” I muttered. “I appreciate it.”

  “It’s no problem,” she said, laying her hand on my arm. “I know Albert from way back. He used to run a local bank and at the time I thought he was basically the world’s biggest asshole. Since taking over the Foundation, he only does charitable work now, but I’ve always gotten the impression he enjoys riding in on a white horse and ‘rescuing’ nonprofits. You’re not sitting around, twiddling your thumbs and waiting for him to rescue you, are you?”

  “No,” I said, chuckling a little. “I’m busy as shit.”

  “Exactly.” She peered over at them, where they were watching Penelope through her kennel. “If they don’t end up giving to you, don’t stress about it. It’s a dry run. By the time I’m done with you, this place will be crawling with donors.”

  My jaw tensed. I was still riled up from watching Luna go to bat for me. “Okay.”

  “Hey, boss.” Wes gave me the stack of mail he’d been flipping through. “Mail from today. Thought you and Luna would be extra interested.” I grabbed it—the envelopes were all slit open. And inside each one: a check.

  “Can you count these and send the total to Christina?” I said to Wes. “Add it to what Luna’s brought in from the website.”

  It was hard to believe but we were getting closer and closer to filling the gap every day. A miracle if I’d ever seen one.

  “Look at all these donations,” she exclaimed. “I knew you could do it.”

  “You did it,” I shot back.

  “Nope,” she said. “I merely took the pictures. What’s in the pictures is all you, Mr. Mason.”

  I needed my cock to stop twitching every time she breathily referred to me as Mr. Mason.

  “We make a good team,” I said, looking at the ground.

  “I think so too,” she agreed, nudging my shoulder. “Now let’s go get you even more, okay?”

  22

  Luna

  “Okay, but take a picture of me before we start,” I instructed Beck. I’d been prepared to haul bags of dog food or hose down kennels, but he’d asked me to help him with Penelope instead. She was less timid now, sitting up straight and panting a little as we settled into our usual corner. This time, Beck and I touched—shoulder to shoulder.

  He took my phone. “Okay, but what’s interesting about this?”

  I held out a long, skinny spoon and a jar of peanut butter. “Shows the process to potential donors,” I said. “Let’s your adoring public see that you know how to get dogs to trust you. Before this whole mess, my followers used to love to see those behind-the-scenes moments. Meetings, scientists working in labs, testing different products on consumers.”

  His look was skeptical but he took my phone anyway. “How’s my face?” I teased, pursing my lips and tilting my head.

  “Beautiful,” he said roughly. Click went the camera.

  Did he just call me beautiful?

  “Thanks,” I said. Interesting.

  “You only have three left,” he said, holding up the requisite fingers. I mimed snapping a photo of him and he actually grinned.

  “Okay, Grumpy Pants. Tell me what we’re actually doing with this jar of peanut butter.”

  He touched the handle of the brush that lay between us. “I think she’d let us, specifically you, brush her today.”

  “Me?”

  “Yeah,” he said. “She trusts you already.”

  That gave me a shimmery feeling all over my body. I could feel my phone vibrating, imitating my emotional response. But I chose to ignore it—I knew it was only hundreds of voicemails and emails flitting by, things that demanded my urgent attention or rapid-fire response. Ignoring them felt delicious, almost illicit. Since becoming a CEO, I never took vacations, even though self-care and adventure were very on-brand for me. But after a yoga class or a long hike, I was strapped back to my laptop.

  These moments at Lucky Dog—these moments with Beck—felt stolen, pick-pocketed slivers of joy just for me.

  “Do you really think so?” I asked, turning around to face him. He was almost too close. I could see the flecks of green in his dark blue eyes.

  “You have a calming energy for her,” he said.

  “Did Beck Mason say the word energy?” I teased. “You’ll start sounding like my parents soon.”

  He chuckled, handed the brush to me. And held out the spoon. Over the course of ten long minutes, he and I sat in serene silence while Penelope ever-so-slowly crawled over to us.

  It was a lesson in patience. It was only my body, connected to the concrete. The air on my skin, the sun warming my back. My shoulder, brushing against Beck’s burly one.

  “There she goes,” he whispered, mouth at my ear. Penelope was eagerly eating peanut butter, body relaxed. “Food equals happiness for animals. Happiness equals trust. You brushing her while she’s eating should help her connect people to those feelings. Go ahead.”

  I made a crooning sound. Penelope watched me, but with much less wariness than before. I pressed the brush to her fur and gently tugged through.

  Penelope sat down.

  “Is that okay?” I whispered, excited.

  “Keep going,” he said.

  I brushed her again and her tail wagged. I was aware that this interaction was probably brief—it wasn’t like Lucky Dog worked miracles. But I still kept my movements light, safe, gentle. She shivered a little. Made eye contact with me.

  “She likes it,” I said, still whispering.

  “She likes you,” he whispered back. “You’re doing a great job.”

  My throat was as tight as could be. This connection with something more tremendous than myself, more tremendous than my situation, was what my parents had taught me to search for. It’s why we’d spent our weekends at foster care homes and local parks. It had been—was supposed to be—my driving motivation in founding Wild Heart, connecting compassion, justice and business.

  And in this vital moment, it was all too clear to me how deeply I’d veered off course.

  “I haven’t felt this way in a long time,” I said. I didn’t elaborate and Beck didn’t push. But he did reach out and very, very lightly touch my hand, the one holding the brush.

  Then he pulled away.

  Eventually Penelope retreated but Beck and I stayed still, not moving. I put the brush down, wrapping my arms around my knees. I laid my cheek there and looked openly at the man next to me.

  “That picture you took,” he said, “how many people do you think will look at it?”

  I thought for a moment. “I don’t know. Maybe four, five million people?”

  “That doesn’t make you terrified?” he asked.

  “Not anymore,” I said. “Don’t assume I was this way immediately. Being friendly is my jam. But it took time to feel comfortable about exposing myself like that. Even before Ferris Mark, the trolls came after me. That took time to get used to. Time where I had to accept that I wasn’t going to please every stranger who hated me on the intern
et.

  Beck looked past me, where the foundation folks were slowly making their way back to the parking lot. He’d stumbled a little bit, in their presence. But no more or less than most people would have. Jem and Elián were naturally enthusiastic and I couldn’t stand watching Beck look embarrassed.

  It had made me want to clock Albert in the face with my Fendi purse—and generally speaking, I abhorred violence.

  “Do you believe you’re the right person to lead Wild Heart?” he asked.

  I hesitated. Thought about my obnoxiously happy signature on Ferris Mark’s contract addendum. You’re fixing it though, I reminded myself.

  “Yes,” I managed.

  He nodded. “I’m not sure I’m the best person to lead Lucky Dog.”

  “Why?” I asked. “Because Elián and Jem are more natural on a tour?”

  “Yeah.”

  I lifted one shoulder. “Leadership is about delegating based on your employees’ strengths. Elián and Jem are charming with donors, yes. And that’s okay. You still impressed the foundation members.”

  “I didn’t,” he argued. “You did.”

  “I’ve had more practice,” I said. “Your comparison doesn’t work here, boss.”

  “Lucky Dog needs a leader like you. Someone who’s… charming.”

  “You were very earnest and honest,” I said, trying to ignore my body’s response to him calling me charming. “Those are the two most important qualities. Everything else can be learned.”

  Beck was quiet, squinting into the sun.

  “There’s an article floating around the internet right now you should know about,” I said, trying to keep my tone casual. Beck seemed a little more open, a little more vulnerable, and so even though it pained me to mention it, I wanted him to hear this from me. “It’s about the time you served in juvenile detention. Some asshole entertainment reporter dug up your mugshots.”

  Movement rippled through the giant man next to me. Tension, anger maybe. “Can I see?”

  I took out my phone, showing him the article in question. It was a garbage piece, reporting on the Ferris Mark scandal and dragging Beck’s background and family into it. I’d been relieved to see that donations to Lucky Dog didn’t seem to be affected.