to get distracted by real work. The financial reports made my eyes cross and the grant applications I had to have board members help me write. It all felt like a secret language I was never going to learn.
And the deeper in debt we became—and the less money I raised—the more ashamed I felt.
“We could start producing that shirtless men of Lucky Dog calendar I’ve always talked about,” Elián said. “I’d call it Puppies and Pecs.”
I scrubbed a hand down my face, smiling in spite of how horrible I felt. “No one wants to see this face on a calendar. Or my pecs. I’d prefer selling off a kidney. And I’ve got two.”
“No need to brag,” he said. “And I think organ-selling should be low on our priorities list.”
“We’ve had it worse, you and me,” I countered. “Financially, I mean.”
“Having it worse doesn’t mean this current situation isn’t messed up,” he said, looking serious again. He tapped his fingers on the desk, sighed. “Listen. We’ve got bills to pay and not much money left to pay ’em. The board wants us to take out a loan.”
“Okay,” I said. Sounded like we didn’t have a choice. But I didn’t like being in debt—to anyone or any bank.
“You need to get out there. Raise the alarm. There are people in Miami who love this place and don’t want to see its doors close. With the new dumping grounds springing up, we’re pretty vital.”
“Our doors won’t actually close,” I said. “Money always comes in.” That had been true so far—between board members and the occasional grant I was able to get help with, Elián and I were patching together our budget. Which actually felt better than the alternative—going out there and begging for money.
“Thirty days,” he said. “That’s what Christina told me. Thirty days or we close.”
Wes walked in—like Jem, he’d been through the same juvie program I mentored in these days. Wes Tran was Vietnamese and covered in tattoos from his feet up to his neck. He was thin as a rail and never without a baseball cap.
And his heart was so big I actually worried about him. During our first mentoring session, I’d recognized a look I often saw in dogs—an eagerness to please that could be used against you by the wrong type of person. So I hired him. He’d been a non-violent offender—Wes had a penchant for stealing fancy cars but was as gentle as they come.
Guess I never got tired of taking in strays.
“Just saw an email come through from the Foundation,” Wes said, bobbing his head. “That letter from them too?”
I nodded. Grimaced.
“That blows, dude.” He sighed.
“It does blow,” I agreed. “A shit-ton.”
“What are we gonna do, boss?” Wes asked.
I looked outside, watching Jem place Princess in a sit with a smile on her face.
“Hope for a miracle,” I said.
Elián grumbled but I ignored it.
“Coolio,” Wes said. “And in the meantime, let me know who you need me to stab.”
4
Luna
I sat with my bare feet in the infinity pool on my back patio, waiting for my best friends to arrive. This was usually my favorite place in my entire mansion—the emerald-colored pool with floating tea-candles, twinkle lights and colorful lanterns strung overhead. Flowering pink hibiscus climbed the walls and palm trees swayed in the ocean-scented breeze.
But there was no peace here for me now.
Tonight I was mindlessly glued to my Instagram feed like those people who rubberneck at car accidents on the highway. Because contrary to my own earlier, naïve opinion, it was not only up from here.
The very last thing I’d posted, before the Ferris Mark news broke, was a video talking about Wild Heart’s new body glitter—a fun, shimmery, summer-time product I’d showed off by rubbing it onto my shoulders and letting the sun sparkle off my skin. In the video, I was laughing, light-hearted, silly.
And at the end of the video I flashed a peace sign and said, “And remember, Wild Heart fans, we are always vegan. Always cruelty-free. That’s my promise.”
For whatever reason, I’d really emphasized the words my promise.
The comments and direct messages were bad.
Really, really bad.
I peeled open a bag of corn chips from my emergency stash. Shoved a handful into my mouth.
It wasn’t that my online life had been free of trolls and bullying—I was a woman, Hispanic, biracial, a woman in the spotlight, a vegan, a billionaire—the list went on and on. Online hate wasn’t new.
But that was troll-shit—the dregs of humanity spewing their racism or sexism or whatever