wealthiest members of our community. The organizer was a woman named Alissa Hendrix and she was currently walking toward me in a white suit. She was a tall black woman, about ten years older than me, and she radiated competence.
“You’ve had the worst month,” she said, lips curved into a graceful smile. She kissed my cheek and squeezed my hands.
“It’ll be okay,” I promised. “I can’t tell you what it means that you invited me to do this. The attendees aren’t going to storm the podium with pitchforks, are they?”
“Nope,” she said. “When our speaker got sick late last night, I thought of you immediately. I understand the complications of your situation, believe me. And I think you’re a model for how leaders move forward after scandal. By re-orienting their values and placing them at the center of their decision-making. Admitting wrongdoing, taking responsibility. It’s not easy. You could have taken several much easier ways out. Many leaders do.”
“I… I guess I never even considered that,” I said.
“Exactly,” Alissa said. “That’s why you’re here, Luna. Also, there’s an incredibly handsome man in a suit staring at you right now.”
When I turned around and saw Beck Mason in a tailored, dark-blue suit, my body went up in flames. “Oh, that’s… well, you know who that is, right?”
“The man who runs Lucky Dog.” She didn’t say, the ex-con with a criminal family. And I was pretty sure it was on purpose.
“Beck’s my date tonight.”
“Lucky you,” she mused. “Come find me in a few minutes and we’ll get you up on that stage.”
Beck moved through a crowd that naturally parted for him. Lucky me indeed. Beck Mason in a suit was a sight that could have stopped rush-hour traffic. He looked even taller, the blue suit made his eyes stand out even more. Hair combed, beard neat and trimmed, hands in his pockets like he wasn’t sure what to do with them.
I knew what I wanted him to do with them.
“You look so handsome,” I said as he approached. Unable to stop myself.
“You look… perfect,” he said softly.
I fingered my dress. My gown was orange, floor-length, completely open in the back with a high neck. I’d pinned my hair all the way up.
I’d dressed for Beck, one hundred percent.
“Can I kiss you here?” he asked.
“I’d expect nothing less.”
He stepped forward. Smoothed a palm down my spine, tugging me into his chest. Caressed his lips over mine. A tease.
I gripped his beard and kissed him hard.
When he pulled back, there were shadows in his eyes I hadn’t seen before—it felt like he was memorizing my face—like he’d never see me again.
“Are you okay?” I asked, hand on his chest.
“Yeah,” he said. “I’m fine.”
But it had a note of falsehood I didn’t like.
“Are you nervous?” he asked.
“Less now that you’re here,” I said. Which was a lie—Beck watching me speak gave me gigantic butterflies; telling him later tonight that I loved him had me so nervous I worried I might float away.
Strangely—that false note in his voice had me nervous too.
“You’re going to dazzle them,” he said.
I gave him a kiss on the cheek and smoothed down his tie. “Thank you. And you look like the respected executive director of an up-and-coming nonprofit. Go get those donations.”
Beck nodded at me. Squeezed my fingers with that same shadowed look again. “I’ll see you up there, sweetheart.”
He moved through the crowd, stopping to chat with a small group of people at the bar. Beck was stepping into his leadership and I couldn’t have been happier or prouder. From the stage, Alissa waved me over and Jasmine gave me a wry look from behind one of the tables. I lifted my chin, walked right past her. A few news vans had shown up, cameras blinking. The coverage would be positive regardless—a hopeful sign that Wild Heart was regaining its footing.
I was going to give this damn speech from my heart. Not take the easy way out.
And then take the hottie in the suit home and tell him I was in love with him.
54
Beck
I held a beer and watched the woman of my dreams climb the steps to a small stage in the middle of the beach. Luna da Rosa looked extraordinary—strong, confident, brilliant.
I couldn’t help but feel like an outsider. A fake, pretending to fit in this society I’d never once belonged to. The group of businesspeople I’d just spoken to had been polite but prissy. Almost dismissive. They dripped with Rolexes and diamonds and designer labels—and when