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