Wild Open Hearts (Bluewater Billionaires) - Kathryn Nolan Page 0,27

finally said, when I’d reined in my emotions, “if I was there, I would have cheered for you.”

He didn’t respond. But I caught a tentative smile.

I beamed back at him—holding up the cup of kombucha. “Come on. One sip for me.”

He sipped it. “It’s disgusting.”

“Well, at least you tried it.”

Jem’s lime-green mohawk caught my attention. She was struggling to haul a bag of gravel into a kennel. Part of me wanted to keep chatting with this enigmatic giant. But I had a job to do—a responsibility—and I didn’t want to start my time here by slacking off.

“Hey, I’m here to work, right?” I said.

“Yeah, why?”

I pointed to Jem. “How about I go help her? I love being with Penelope but if you guys need work done…”

“Oh, yeah,” he said, slowly standing up. “I lost track of time a bit. She’d love the help and I probably have, you know, emails or something.”

“Right,” I said, tilting my head. “I’ve gotten like five hundred emails while sitting here. I’m sure it’s the same for you.”

“Probably.”

I slipped out of the kennel. Waved to Beck. “Come find me later. And thank you for the tour.”

And then I all but skipped over to Jem, who smiled shyly when I reached her. And when I turned back to Penelope, Beck was still in her cage. Sitting absolutely still.

Patiently earning her trust.

16

Luna

“Hey, girl,” I said, waving my fingers at Jem as I approached. “You need a little help?”

She pointed at her chest. “Me, you mean?”

“Yeah, you, the goddess with the mohawk.”

Jem bit her lip like she was unsure. “Kinda, to be honest. I’m cleaning out Jack Sparrow’s kennel and it’s definitely a two-woman job.”

I gave her a salute. “On it.” I grabbed a bucket and a mop and started attacking the tiled area in the far-left corner. I was just getting into a good rhythm. And then my phone vibrated with a text from Cameron. It was a screen-shot of a headline in an entertainment magazine: Instagram Model Luna da Rosa Caught in Makeup Fraud.

“Uggghhhh,” I said, trying not to throw my phone at the wall.

“What is it? Did you get dog shit in your hair?” Jem asked.

“Not exactly. This is a very special kind of shit.”

I showed her the screen. Her forehead creased. “You’re not a model.”

“Don’t I know it,” I said, bumping my shoulder against hers.

There was no shame in the Instagram model game. But Cameron, Daisy, Emily and I were constantly battling the media’s need to highlight our sexuality, our outfits, who we were dating more than whatever innovative work we were doing. Emily was literally changing lives through a scientific discovery she spearheaded, but her recent haircut was still the main focus of the media.

Another text from Cameron: Just a reminder that we know you’re a talented businesswoman and the baddest bitch around.

I snorted.

“Is that from your friend?” Jem asked.

“My best friend Cameron.”

Jem ran a hand over her mohawk. “You have good friends.”

“That I do.”

“I’m kind of obsessed with you,” she said quickly. “Okay, sorry, that was a weirdo thing to say.”

“It’s not weird,” I promised. “I’m obsessed with your mohawk and your bad-ass vibe. So we’re even.”

Yanking up all of the old dog bedding, I rolled it in a ball and tossed it into the laundry container in the corner. I started to tackle the overgrown weeds that surrounded the raised dog bed. How expensive would turf be to put in? Would it be helpful? I made a note on my phone to ask Beck later—could definitely be something to ask for donations for.

“I’m vegetarian but really want to go vegan. And I basically own a lifetime supply of Wild Heart’s black eyeliner,” Jem continued.

“Expertly applied, by the way,” I said, giving her an exaggerated wink to show it off. “Hey, do you want some of my kombucha? Grumpy McGrumpy Pants in there wouldn’t take it.”

Jem propped a shovel in the dirt. “Yeah, actually. That’d be rad.”

I poured her a glass of kombucha and we did a little cheers.

“Thanks for being nice to me today, Jem,” I said, leaning against the grate. “You’re probably pretty pissed at me for the Ferris Mark stuff, huh?”

She studied me for a second. “I was pissed a little when I found out, for sure. I mean, I buy your products for a reason.”

My stomach hollowed out—it was harder seeing the disappointment of a fan like Jem, who truly wanted her makeup to reflect her values.

“I’m really sorry,” I said. “I fucked up. Big time. Really big