Wild Open Hearts (Bluewater Billionaires) - Kathryn Nolan Page 0,2
right—if I didn’t think we needed another six months of red tape and bureaucracy, we didn’t.
Except—clearly—we had. And now that formerly happy memory was tinged with a distressing, guilt-filled regret.
My phone was lighting up like the Times Square crystal ball on New Year’s Eve.
“It’s my job to fix this,” I said cheerfully, chin up. “Nothing we can’t get through. The worst has already happened. It’s only up from here.”
They stared at me with varying degrees of skepticism.
The large flat-screen TV on my wall caught my attention—probably because my name was stretched across it. Jasmine snatched up the remote, turning up the volume.
I kept mindlessly braiding my hair—an anxious habit I’d never broken. Well, that and mindlessly devouring junk food.
“An interesting story coming our way from the Miami Dispatch this morning,” the anchor was saying, “exposing illegal working conditions and animal cruelty at an ingredient plant called Ferris Mark. Sources say well-known Miami-based cosmetics company Wild Heart is a main customer.”
They proceeded to cut to my TED Talk from two years ago—where I’m pointing to the audience and declaring, “Cruelty-free cosmetics is the only way forward. Anything less than that is indefensible.”
“Goddammit,” Jasmine cursed.
“Did Luna da Rosa lie to her customers to make money?” the anchor asked.
“I didn’t lie,” I said weakly. Which was true. But I’d violated a value I’d always held at the core of my being.
Never let the money change you.
At twenty-two, I’d been a starry-eyed bohemian, intent on changing the world, excited to be part of a new era of female business owners. The night I’d won that first, crucial million dollars, Sylvia had emailed me a few simple thoughts: Having a lot of money is wonderful, Luna. Money can also make things much more complicated. This will be part of your struggle as a future leader.
I already knew I liked Sylvia. But I’d deleted the email. Because money had felt like the key to changing the world, not the complication.
Liar, hypocrite, fake. The words flashed-flashed-flashed across my phone.
“I’m guessing everyone hates me now?” I asked, attempting a lightness I did not even remotely feel.
“Worse,” Jasmine said, face serious. “They feel betrayed by you.”
I sank back into my chair.
An email popped up on my computer from a name I desperately needed to see.
Daisy Carter-Kincaid.
The subject line read: “Who do we need to stab for you today?”
2
Beck
Jack Sparrow was finally going home.
Jack was a nine-year-old, senior Pomeranian with a feisty personality twice the size of his seven pounds. I’d rescued Jack three months ago from a family that had abused him. He’d been terrified of people. All of us—me, Elián, Wes and Jem—took turns sitting outside his kennel, talking softly, getting him used to the sound of human voices that were gentle. Safe. And with training and all the goddamn love we could muster, the real Jack had appeared just in time for Buzz to adopt him.
“You nervous?” I asked, clapping Buzz on the back. He was scowling into the Miami sun, cigarette dangling from his mouth. The old man had been a fisherman his entire life and looked the part—right down to the faded blue anchor tattooed on his arm.
“I’ve killed a marlin with my bare hands,” Buzz grumbled, “don’t know why I’d be scared of an old ball of fur that’s blind in one eye and almost deaf.”
Jem and I shared a look—Buzz hadn’t been here when the bastard had snarled at anyone who got too close to his food bowl.
“Oh, he’ll keep you on your toes. Promise,” I said, nodding at Jem. Her spiked mohawk glowed green as she re-appeared with a wiggling Jack Sparrow.
Buzz dropped to one knee. Sized the dog up.
His wife had died two years ago and his adult children had begged him to adopt a dog. They’d chosen Jack Sparrow for their father specifically, although Buzz had given off a disinterested vibe for the entire process.
Except I knew a match when I fucking saw one. Buzz was gruff, intense—but when he’d wandered onto the Lucky Dog campus, I could see a cheerful Jack Sparrow on the bow of his fishing boat, wagging his tail as they cut through the water.
Jack sat, tail wagging, and placed a tiny paw on Buzz’s knee.
With a strange look, Buzz clutched Jack to his chest and pressed a palm to his head. “Good boy,” he said.
Jack licked his face. I’d seen the dog’s records—I wasn’t sure once in his life he’d ever been treated nicely by a human being.