WILD OPEN HEARTS: A Bluewater Billionaires Romantic Comedy Page 4

  I opened my Instagram account—home to twelve million followers and an abundance of snide comments and messages. With an iron will, I ignored the red notifications and scrolled through the long panel of images. Yoga, meditation, ocean pics, pretty scenes with my best friends.

  Wild Heart products, always.

  Sponsored products, often.

  I was looking for mentions of service or volunteering, highlighted charities or nonprofits that had captured my attention. A sense of selflessness mixed in with my brand.

  I scrolled. And scrolled. Even the updates I used to enjoy posting about veganism or animal rights seemed fewer and far between—and only in relation to a product.

  The shift, it appeared, had been happening for longer than I’d realized.

  And then there were clicks on the pavement, movement, and everything sharp and chaotic in my mind muted to a gentle calm.

  Penelope was here. My five minutes of daily peace.

  She wasn’t the prettiest dog in the world; her tan fur was matted, mangy. She had bites and scratches on her skin. She weighed about thirty pounds—but probably should have weighed forty-five. Penelope was a beach mutt, a dime a dozen on South Beach, and yet she’d chosen Wild Heart as the place where she slept every night.

  About six months ago, I started to feed her. I bought her a bowl that said World’s Best Dog and the most expensive dog food I could find — trying to help her gain weight, trying to earn her trust. These past six months she was now able to sit ten feet away from me.

  Which was a drastic improvement.

  “Hey there, sweet girl,” I crooned. One ragged ear perked up the faintest amount—and I was so happy I could have danced across the sand. She devoured her food, drank water, and stretched out in a patch of shade. Penelope couldn’t look me in the eye—too skittish—but if my company made her feel loved, I was more than happy to sit with her.

  I loved Penelope. And wasn’t that the reason why I started Wild Heart to begin with—that harmony between animals, human beings and the earth?

  A splash of yellow caught my eye. Careful not to disturb Penelope, I leaned forward on my knees. Dragged over a ceramic dog bowl that said you are my sunshine on the side.

  “Are you getting fed twice, pretty girl?” I said, delighted. Maybe she’d put on more weight soon. Maybe she’d even let me pet her—

  “Are you ready for our meeting? We’ve got nonprofits to visit.”

  Penelope yelped and bolted. I glared at Jasmine, who was watching me coolly. The whole staff knew where to find me during these five minutes—knew and generally didn’t interrupt. I could see Penelope down the beach, tail between her legs. Looking fearful as she hunched behind the skinny trunk of a palm tree. The fierce protectiveness I felt for this mutt curled in my heart—and the understanding of that sent images from the Ferris Mark lab rising to the surface of my thoughts.

  Lethal dose testing.

  Irritation tests.

  My gold rings glinted against the thin folder on the ground.

  “Luna?” Jasmine said, slightly impatiently. “We’ve got a long list we need to cull down. You’re coming?”

  The pictures of those rehabilitated dogs sparked to life.

  The right decision?

  Or the safe one?

  “You know what?” I said, standing and brushing sand from my skirt. “I’ve changed my mind about that list you’ve got there. I’ve chosen the nonprofit I’d like to partner with.”

  Jasmine arched a manicured brow. “Which one?”

  “Lucky Dog,” I said. “You’ll need to put me in touch with a man named Beck Mason.”

  7

  Beck

  “Hey, boss?” Wes said, kicking open the door with his combat boot. “I’ve got bad-ass news. I don’t think I have to stab anyone for you.”

  Elián glanced my way with a grin.

  “That so?” I asked, rubbing my eyes. It’d been a sleepless few nights, and not even a long motorcycle ride along Miami Beach had soothed my intense money anxiety. “Tell me about it.”

  Jem squeezed in behind Wes—and it wasn’t hard to miss the blush on his cheeks when he realized she was standing next to him.

  “Who are you stabbing?” she asked.

  “No one,” Elián and I said in unison.

  “’Cause I know a guy,” she said.

  “So do I,” Wes said. They shared a shy smile.

  “We all do. Wes,” I said. “What’s going on?”

  “Oh, yeah. In about twenty minutes a famous billionaire is coming to meet you to discuss getting us money.”

  I laughed. Elián looked shocked.

  But Wes was nodding earnestly. “I’m not lying, swear. I just took a call from a woman named Jasmine Hernandez. She says a lady named Luna da—”

  “Luna da Rosa?” Jem asked, jaw dropped.

  “Who?” I asked. But Jem was already standing in front of me, pulling open tabs on my computer.

  “Luna da Rosa,” she said. “She’s basically my idol.”

  Elián looked up from his paperwork. “Did I see a news story about her last night?”

  Jem bit her lip. “Yeah. She owns a company here in South Beach called Wild Heart. Cruelty-free makeup. She’s totally amazing, you know?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “I have no idea what the fuck you’re talking about.”

  Jem clapped her hands together. “Here’s her page.”

  I glanced at the number of followers on this site—Instagram. Twelve million.

  “Huh,” I said. “Who is this?”

  “Her company is cruelty-free, super eco-friendly,” she said. “It was a huge deal when she started it ten years ago.”

  Jem was glowing. I was grateful to see it—whoever this Luna person was, I always appreciated seeing Jem and Wes excited.

  “Why do you know so much about this woman?” I asked, curious.

  Jem shrugged. “When I was in between juvie stints, I got into makeup, different brands. That led me to Luna. Also I, uh, kinda want to go vegan. She’s inspiring or whatever.”

  She ran a hand over her mohawk, looking embarrassed.

  “Me too,” Wes added. I narrowed my eyes at him—he’d devoured a double bacon cheeseburger right in front of me yesterday. “I mean, soon. Not right away or anything.”

  “And this woman cares about abused dogs?” I asked. Because I didn’t fucking buy it.

  “She’s in the middle of some bad press,” Elián added. He was scrolling across his computer screen, reading to himself. “That’s why I recognized her name. Last night there was a news story. Her company’s caught up in a scandal. Turns out for the past few years they’ve been using ingredients tested on animals. Luna lied.”

  I glanced back at Jem. “You believe that?”

  “No,” she said, chin lifted. “Besides, they’re already making it right. She’s a good person. She messed up, is all.”

  I didn’t think the words billionaire and good person belonged in the same sentence. And how could it? People with money always made me itchy and people with a lot of money made me furious. Growing up in the Miami Devils Motorcycle Club, money was a tool to manipulate. We either didn’t have enough and stole—or worse—to get it. Or we had too much—and stole—or worse—anyway.

  “The lady says she wants to come talk to us about a mutually beneficial partnership,” Wes continued. “Wanted to know if we happened to have thirty minutes free to talk today. I told her hell yeah.”

  “I don’t know why this is happening,” Elián said, “but you need to prepare to schmooze the ever-living shit out of her. Who the hell cares what she did? We need her support.”

  I clenched a fist. Money aside, I was sure she had more fancy degrees than my high-school-dropout situation. And I was a Mason. If she was from Miami, wouldn’t she know I wasn’t a smart idea for anyone?

  “I’d rather jump into a pen of stray dogs with my pockets filled with bacon,” I said.

  “Beck,” Elián said, warningly.


  The three people I cared about the most in this world were staring at me, waiting.

  The three people who depended on me to pay their salaries.

  “This her?” I asked, pointing wearily to the screen. A smile broke across Jem’s face. She clicked on a tiny photo square and enlarged it. The woman glowed like the sun—flashing white teeth in a beautiful smile. She had dark brown, wavy hair, blond at the ends and expressive, dark eyes, tan skin. Clasped in her hands was a bouquet of pink flowers and she was surrounded by color: blue ocean, blue sky, white sand, yellow shirt, green earrings.

  “Huh,” I said again.

  “We have very few options,” Elián said. “It’s this or I make you be in that calendar. Or say goodbye to both kidneys.”

  I swallowed thickly. “Okay, I got it. It’ll be fine. I want to keep my kidneys.”

  Jem squeezed my shoulder. “You’re going to love her.”

  8

  Beck

  I scowled out the window at the rainbow-colored billionaire walking across the Lucky Dog campus. She had a stern, dark-haired woman by her side with her face in her phone. They’d arrived in a black sedan, tinted windows and there was definitely a driver. A few feet behind them both was a smaller white woman with an earpiece. But other than that, it was only the three of them—Luna had no paparazzi, no fountains of money spraying from behind her.

  I wasn’t sure what I’d expected.

  Luna looked like a tropical flower, dressed in colorful layers and jewelry. The sunlight bounced off of the gold rings stacked on her fingers.

  Jem was practically shitting herself, grinning as Luna dropped and held her hand out for Princess to sniff. I snorted. I’d rescued that dog myself and she still cowered whenever I walked into her kennel.

  Princess sniffed Luna’s hand. Licked it. Wagged her tail.

  Elián shot me a look of amusement from where he stood next to her. Jem was laughing shyly at whatever Luna was saying. Wes walked over with a cup of coffee for her and she touched his arm, had him smiling, was gesturing at the space around them.

  Elián led Luna and the two other women up the steps and into my trailer. I knew I was glowering like a bastard but suddenly all I could see was Lucky Dog’s ugliness—the run-down kennels, the cheap toys, the mud, the bald spots on the grass. I was sitting on a donated desk surrounded by donated furniture. I wasn’t sure where Luna lived, but I imagined she had a mansion floating on top of a hill of diamonds.

  “Luna, please meet Lucky Dog’s executive director, Beck Mason,” Elián said.

  I stood up. I towered over her—I towered over most people, but she had to tilt her chin to look at me. Luna tossed her hair and extended her hand.

  “Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Mason,” she said. “Thank you for what you do.”

  I delayed shaking her hand. I guess I hadn’t expected her to offer. I was usually feared when I moved through the streets of Miami. And it wasn’t like she really cared about me.

  “Hello,” I finally said, voice gruff. I closed my fingers around her wrist, my hand engulfing hers. Her hand was warm and soft in mine. “I’m, uh… sure this place isn’t what you’re used to.”

  “Looks nice to me,” she said. But I caught a wrinkle in her brow as she searched the small, shabby space. A similar wrinkle in her nose, like she’d caught the smell of something bad.

  Call me Beck—the words were on the tip of my tongue. I needed to schmooze the hell out of this woman. But her wealthy presence had my hackles up, and the thought of begging anyone for money caused my pride to rear its ugly head. That pride had gotten me out of juvie and on the right track, even as the Mason family had made it clear I was expected to return to a life of crime. But I’d forged ahead, on my own, refusing their help at every turn.

  I fucking hated asking for help.

  And as Luna flip-flopped over to a chair and sat, I imagined begging her for a hand-out. Felt pissed all over again.

  “Jasmine Hernandez,” the other woman said, shaking my and Elián’s hands before going back to her phone.

  The woman with the earpiece nodded at me. “Bella,” she said. “Personal security.”

  Elián flashed me a private look. I guessed billionaires usually had security.

  Or had my last name scared her?

  “Thank you for seeing us on such short notice,” Luna said. “I’m sure you’re incredibly busy every day. This spontaneous meeting is greatly appreciated.”

  She looked sincere. But I saw her gaze flick down my body, examine my heavy work boots, old jeans, leather vest. That flick cast around the office again and I caught a look of pity that had my fingers curling into fists.

  Jasmine lifted the heel of her expensive-looking shoes, lip curled at what she saw stuck to the bottom.

  “Why don’t you tell Beck and I why you’re here today,” Elián said.

  Luna’s mouth tightened. “I’m not going to beat around the bush. You may or may not have seen the news from yesterday. I own a cruelty-free company called Wild Heart. It was recently discovered that our supplier has been testing on animals this entire time. As you can imagine, since I’m a vegan myself, animal cruelty in any form is abhorrent to me.”

  Pain crossed her face for a second. I was no vegan—I was wearing a leather vest and ate meat four times a day—but the rainbow billionaire and I could technically agree on the “no cruelty to animals” thing.

  “So you’re looking for a nonprofit to use to make yourself look better now?” I asked.

  “I’m looking to make real change,” she replied smoothly.

  I gave her my best I’m-a-repeat-criminal-offender look. Which Elián always pointed out was never necessary, since my appearance—and my last name—usually scared people. But Luna only cranked up her sunny smile.

  “Why are you glaring at me like I have dog shit on my face, Mr. Mason?” Luna asked. The teasing gleam in her eye said gotcha.

  Elián smirked. Even Jasmine looked up from her phone.

  “Because I’m not interested in having Lucky Dog be used, money or not.” I shrugged.

  “To be clear, we really need money,” Elián interrupted. “Badly. Like a lot of money.”

  “Great,” Luna said. “Because trust me when I say that my intention is to raise Lucky Dog’s profile as well as a significant amount of funding for whatever you need, whatever is most urgent.”

  “We need funding to rescue more dogs,” Elián said, which calmed me a bit.

  The dangerous thing about my pride was that it clouded my vision.

  “Yes,” Luna said. “Let’s make that happen. I’ve basically betrayed the public’s trust and my fans’ faith in me. They need to reconnect with me, my values, Wild Heart as a brand. I’d like to prove to the world I’m as compassionate as I say I am.”

  “By filming her experience here,” Jasmine said, “working alongside the staff, interviewing them. Interviewing Beck. Real motivational stuff. If you can get your fans to cry, you can get them to buy your products.”

  I narrowed my eyes—and even Luna looked briefly concerned at Jasmine’s words.

  “A mutually beneficial partnership,” Luna finished quickly. “An immersive fundraising experience that would hopefully grow Lucky Dog’s budget for many years to come.” She leaned in like she was sharing a secret. “And, obviously, you can expect a large personal gift from me as well.”

  “Thank you,” Elián said. “Very much.”

  I knew this game.

  I held up my palm. “A gift and what?”

  Luna tilted her head, quizzical. “What do you mean?”

  “What if I don’t want you to film here?”

  “Why wouldn’t you want us to help you?” she asked, lips pursed.

  “Because I don’t like the idea of being used,” I said.

  Luna stared at me. I stared back, not even trying to tone down my glower. To her credit, she didn’t back down. Instead, she lifted her chin and assessed me cooly.

  “I looked at Lucky D
og’s website on the way over here,” she said. “It’s 2019 and you have almost no online or social media presence.”

  “So?”

  “Maybe there’s a reason why you need help with money.”

  “I’m not sure you’d fit in here at Lucky Dog. I saw your pictures,” I said. “You’ll have to get your hands dirty.”

  She looked actually hurt—and I immediately regretted my full asshole mode.

  “I’d love for people to stop using my Instagram feed as a barometer for my work ethic.” Luna stood up—shoulders back, spine straight. There was a fire in her eyes I respected, even as my guard was still raised. “I’d love to get my hands dirty here, Mr. Mason. And if you think I’ve been able, at thirty-two, to become one of the youngest self-made billionaires in the entire world by posting pictures on Instagram, then you don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  She said this sweetly, but I wasn’t convinced she was that sweet.

  “I don’t…” I exhaled through my nose. “I don’t want you filming me or interviewing me. I don’t want you to blast our private financial situation out to millions of strangers who are going to think I’m doing a shit job. They don’t understand what it’s like to—”

  I clammed up.

  Luna assessed me, cocked her head. “I don’t understand. I’m offering you the opportunity of a lifetime and you’re turning it down because you don’t want people to know you need help?”

  “Yeah. I am.”

  “I want to do good,” she said. “And I want to do it here.”

  “You want to use us to improve your reputation,” I countered.

  “Is that wrong?” she asked. “My reputation is important to me. It’s who I am.”

  We were standing almost toe-to-toe, Jasmine and Elián forgotten in the background.

  “I think you should do good just to do it. Not market it.” I crossed my arms. Her nostrils flared, but I caught a flash of emotion in those dark eyes. It disappeared as quickly as it appeared. “I don’t like strings attached to my money.”

  “It’s not strings. It’s media attention,” she said.