chapter one
“Detest” was a very strong word. So were “abhor” and “despise” and “loathe.” Annika, being a pacifist, preferred a different term—something her yoga teacher had said that struck a much more civil chord.
“I am elementally unaligned with you, Hudson Craft,” she muttered, staring at his picture on the Tech Buzz magazine website. Her right hand was curled so tightly around her wireless mouse that the opalescent white plastic creaked in protest. “Completely and utterly elementally unaligned.”
They were calling him “the hottest tech entrepreneur who doesn’t believe in true love.” It was like a train wreck you couldn’t help but stare at. A gratuitously handsome, Harvard-educated, blond train wreck who had (probably) stolen her idea.
Also, that magazine feature was supposed to be hers.
When the journalist had called to interview Annika, she’d assumed she was going to be the feature. Instead, this was her big mention: “‘Relationships are the new frontier as far as the tech sector goes,’ a local businesswoman agrees.”
That was it. That was all of it. Not only was there no mention of her business, Make Up, at all but Annika had been reduced to an anonymous “local businesswoman,” just propping up Hudson Craft in all his amazing amazingness.
“Arrrrghhhh.” Annika reached into her desk drawer to browse her stable of stress tools, all neatly organized using drawer separators. Mini Zen garden? Multicolored breathing sphere? Singing bowl? No, today called for something much more basic.
She grabbed the unicorn-zombie-shaped stress ball she’d lovingly named ZeeZee (he’d been a white elephant gift from one of her friends at yoga; when you squeezed him, his green brains squirted out between your fingers) and shut her drawer slightly harder than she meant to.
Spoil the ending to his book, Annika said to herself, aggressively kneading ZeeZee’s brain. Designer virus to his email address. Glitter bomb that’ll take days to rinse out of his stupid golden hair. She hadn’t seen him since Las Vegas last year, but she could renew their acquaintance in a way he wouldn’t easily forget.
Glancing away from the laptop screen, she let her gaze fall on the newest letter from the bank, lying facedown on her desk under an old teacup. Just like that, Annika’s anger was momentarily swallowed by a wave of anxiety.
The idea of running her own business had always held a glow for Annika. Make Up was supposed to have been her fairy tale. She’d never dreamed of a big, fancy wedding. She’d never wanted the handsome prince or the cherub-cheeked children or the home with a yard in some ritzy Los Angeles suburb. She remembered being six years old and dressing up as Indra Nooyi, then Pepsi CEO, longtime business badass, for Halloween. No one had gotten her costume, but she didn’t care. All she’d ever wanted was to be her own boss. As a four-year-old, that meant ordering Daddy around the house while wearing his suit jacket that hung to her ankles. As she got older, the dream morphed from bossing her dad around to running a company that made a difference in people’s lives.
Annika stood, smoothed down her black tulip skirt, and paced her tiny twenty-sixth-floor office, still throttling ZeeZee. Her gaze lingered on the tufted velvet settee in a trendy but sophisticated plum color; the original art from LA artist Cleo Sanders, which made a statement without being gauche; the giant metal sign she’d commissioned to wrap around the walls.
MAKE UP
HAPPILY EVER AFTER, REDUX
She looked out the floor-to-ceiling windows at the bustling city below. She’d thought being in downtown LA would put her right in the middle of the action, that it would make her easily accessible to beta testers for the app—most of whom would come from the university—and to other businesses that Make Up might want to collaborate with. It was expensive, but the payout would be totally worth it.
So Annika had borrowed money from the bank and signed away her life on her zillion-dollar-a-month lease.
It worked for a time. Make Up had seemed to be touched by magic—the grant she’d won last year had been the first one she’d applied for. She had innovation, a kick-ass developer, and a relentless hunger to change the world. The deep-learning prototype was supposed to have been ready for release within six months at the latest. But that’s not how things had worked out.
When Annika came up with the idea for Make Up about a year ago, she and her developer (and best friend extraordinaire), June Stewart, had designed the perfect app to help people translate their words in a way their partners would understand. The app would bridge the gap created by poorly spoken words and misunderstandings. No one had ever done that before, and that’s what the Young Entrepreneur’s Foundation had seen—the future, a vision, a brilliant prospect. That’s why they’d given her the grant.
The bank didn’t see any of those things. It saw someone who was delinquent, someone who was cash-poor, and that was all that mattered. Annika squeezed poor, beleaguered ZeeZee until his zombified unicorn brains bulged through the gaps between her fingers.
“Good morning! Did you see all those boxes in the empty office next door? I think we’re getting new neighbors really soon.”
Annika turned to face her best friend/partner in crime, who’d just walked in the front doors. The way she described June really just depended on the day. Annika took a deep breath and attempted a breezy tone that would conceal her roiling inner turmoil. “Hey! Yeah, I think they’re moving in—” She eyed the armload of shopping bags June was carrying. “Really? It’s barely past ten.”
June widened her blue eyes in what she probably thought was an innocent way. “Bloomingdale’s was having a sale. Besides, shopping helps me calm down. I needed it for our big meeting this morning.” She was dressed in her usual flamboyant work attire: six-inch-high, leopard-print Jimmy Choos and a hot pink, one-shoulder silk dress. Her blond hair was styled in an intricate crown braid, the kind Annika could never do without the help of thirteen hair stylists.
Annika glanced down at her own understated-yet-classy burgundy peplum top, tulip skirt, and patent vegan leather sling-backs, her heart sinking. They were so different; they presented completely incohesive images of the company. The bank manager was going to think they were two flaky young women who couldn’t get their shit together.
“You know,” June said, studying Annika’s expression. “We’re totally going to win over this McManor guy. I can be the wild, creative one and you’ll be the more controlled, sensible one. A little bit of yin and yang working together.” She stuffed her bags in the tiny supply closet and went to sit in her (leopard-print) office chair, which was two feet away from Annika’s. After sweeping a bunch of Star Wars–themed Funkos out of the way, she put her feet up and began tapping at her phone.
It didn’t surprise Annika that June had read her mind so well. A friendship that had survived college-roommate status took on certain magical powers. “Mm hmm.”
“What?” June looked up from her phone. “You don’t think so?”
Annika sank into her own ergonomic chair, tossed ZeeZeeonto the desk, and put her head in her hands. “No, I reallydon’t, June. This is going to be a disaster. I can feel it. Youknow how strong my sixth sense is.”
“It’s not going to be a disaster!” Annika peeked at June frombetween her fingers as June continued speaking. “McManor’sgoing to see that we make a dynamic, forward-thinkingteamand that we have what it takes to get our little cash flow problemunder control. And he’ll give you an extension on your loans. A big one. Everyone’s finances are a train wreck thesedays, not just yours.”
Annika sat up straight and smiled bleakly. “It’s funny yousay that. I was just thinking what a massive train wreck HudsonCraft is before you got here.” For obvious reasons, she leftout the part about thinking of him as a handsome train wreck.There was no need to cloud the issue. Besides, June had eyes.She knew what Hudson Craft looked like.
“Uh oh.” June fired up her Millennium Falcon–skinnedlaptop. “Is he in another article?”
“Just emailed you the link.”
She heard June click a few times, and then gasp in satisfyingoutrage. “Tech Buzz? You were supposed to get the TechBuzz article. That journalist said it’d be about you!”
Annika drummed her fingers on the desk. “Read the headline;it gets better.”
“No!” June cried again. “You’re ‘Mr. Relationshape: Thedebonair twenty-five-year-oldwith the GQ smile who’s changingthe shape and nature of relationships!’”
Annika raised an eyebrow.
“Well, uh—exceptI guess you’d be Miss Relationshape,and you’re twenty-four.And I’d say you’re more charming thandebonair.” June paused thoughtfully. “Also, your smile is moreYoga Journal than GQ. I knew I should’ve called my cousin. I’mpretty sure he has a friend at Tech Buzz.”
Annika sighed. “It wouldn’t have helped. Breaking peopleup is way sexier than helping them make up.”
“But his business model is built on tears and heartbreak. Ifsomeone I was dating paid a ‘terminator’ to break up with mefor him?” June mimed her head exploding. “Oh hell no.”
Annika couldn’t help the disdain from creeping into her voice as she read out loud from the article. “‘It’s better than beingghosted.’ ” She looked up from her screen at June. “So—theoptions are being broken up with by a random ‘terminator’ orbeing ghosted? What about being kind enough to let someonedown easily?”
June shook her head. “He’s a complete and total ass-face,Annika. That’s the only explanation.”
Annika picked up ZeeZee again and pulled on the zombiestress ball’s wart-studdednose. “I don’t like to say I hate people,but I think I actually viscerally hate Hudson Craft. Like, Ihate every single thing he stands for.”
June gave her a look. Damn. That was the problem withhaving a best friend who’d been your college roommate andwas now practically your business partner: They knew way, waytoo much. “You don’t like to say you hate people? What aboutFishdick Felix?”
“Who?” Annika screwed up her nose. Then her expressioncleared. “Oh, you mean that guy in the freshman dorms whoused to microwave fish sticks in the kitchen? Everyone hatedhim.”
“Do you need a refresher?” June held up her fingers one byone. “Rehan Shah, your lab partner who chewed his gum wrong?”
“It was ridiculously noisy.”“Mm hmm. Adrian Westinger, who always said, ‘GRAAAIIIINS’like a zombie to make fun of your vegetarianism? He was ajerk, but I’m pretty sure you used the word ‘hate’ with him, too—”
“Okay, I get it, I get it.” Annika threw ZeeZee at June, whocaught it midair and threw it back in one fluid motion. “Somaybe I’ve hated a few more people than I thought . . .”
June laughed. “You’re ruled by emotion. Messy, conflictingemotion. Just admit it.”
Annika looked past her friend into the hallway outside theoffice. “Well, I’m feeling a lot of messy, conflicting emotionright now.” She wiped her palms on her skirt and tossed Zee-Zee back into her stress drawer. “Because I think Mr. McManorfrom the Bank of California is walking up.”
Annika had never met Mr. McManor in person before. Heturned out to be one of those extremely tidy, precise peoplewho likely arranged their silverware drawers for fun on weekendsand had a pair of monogrammed socks for every day of theweek. He kept pushing up his little round glasses as he spoke,probably because his nose was so tiny. Annika was afraid they’dgo tumbling right off his face if he made too sudden a movement.Thankfully, he was placid to the point of seeming half-dead,so sudden movements didn’t seem to be a concern.
“Well.” He sat very still on a floral-patternedaccent chair,clutching his briefcase tightly on his lap. “I’m afraid the newsisn’t good, Ms. Dev. You are what we call ‘grotesquely delinquent’on your accounts. Thoroughly overleveraged.”
Grotesquely delinquent? Annika caught June’s eye. She hadthe feeling he’d made that up on the spot just to be spiteful.“Be that as it may, Mr. McManor, I believe if you’d just listen tothis short presentation we’ve prepared . . .” She nodded at June,who hopped up to her laptop and began queueing up the Power-Point slides. “You see, Mr. McManor, Make Up is not just aburgeoning young business. It’s a statement about the greatergood in life, about our basic humanity. The need to belongsomewhere, the need to connect with another human being,the need to—”
“Press on.” Mr. McManor waved a hand. “We need to presson. I’m sorry, but the time for last-ditchefforts has passed.”
Annika stared into his dead-fisheyes. Coldly unsympathetic.And the bank he’d sworn his ruthless allegiance to owned bothher business loan and the building where she worked. Awesome.“But . . . I sent you a payment. Last month.”
“Ah, yes.” Mr. McManor consulted his notes quickly. “Yourpayment of four hundred eighty dollars and . . . seventy-fourcentsdoes not come close to overcoming your rather monstrous debt,I’m afraid.”
“I can keep making payments.” Annika spoke firmly, willinghim to see the capability in her eyes, the passion, the fire, thewillingness to do whatever it took to keep Make Up running. “Ican make up the back rent; I just need more time. It’s a temporarycash flow problem.”
“Isn’t it better that you have a tenant here who’s willing towork with you, Mr. McManor?” June perched on the edge ofthe desk. “Better the devil you know than the devil you don’t,that’s what my mama always says.”
“Firstly, your back rent is only part of the problem. Catchingup with rent has nothing to do with your business loan, onwhich you also owe quite a substantial sum of money. And secondly,we’ve had plenty of interest in the space, as it turns out.From people who would be able to afford the rent rather easily.”
June narrowed her blue eyes. “Like who?”
“Gwyneth Paltrow’s first cousin.”
Annika blinked. “What?”
“We’ve been approached by a representative for GwynethPaltrow. Her first cousin wants to rent out this space for an interiordesign business she’s launching. She’s willing to prepaythe first six months.” Mr. McManor stood, brushed his suit off, and walked to the Make Up sign on the wall. The one Annikahad been so proud to order. The one that had her feeling likeshe’d made it, that she’d achieved the dream, that she wasunstoppable.
He turned to her, his eyes flat and distant behind thoselittle round glasses. On anyone else, Annika might have admiredthem for their chic Harry Potter vibe. A beam of sunlightfrom the window lay in a stripe on his balding head, buthe didn’t seem to notice. “Unless you completely resolve yourdelinquency, including late fees and penalty interest, Ms. Dev,the news isn’t going to be good.”
“Before you go,” June said. “Who’s moving in next door?Are you managing their loan, too? Because maybe we’ll tellthem how you treated us.”
Mr. McManor looked at her like she was an idiot. “Why,that is privileged client information, Ms. Stewart, and as such,is undivulgeable to you.”
“That is so not a word,” June muttered.
Annika drummed her fingers on her desk. “Interesting.But you did divulge that Gwyneth’s cousin wants this space.Doesn’t that violate some kind of confidentiality?”
Mr. McManor turned bright pink. “That was rather gauche,”he said after a long pause. “I was simply . . . excited. I’ve beenan admirer of Ms. Paltrow since her masterful performance inEmma.”
“Excited?” Annika stared at him. “You’re excited right now?”
Mr. McManor cleared his throat and stood up straighter, aflash of annoyance dancing across his features. It was the mostanimated she’d seen him in the twenty minutes he’d beenthere. “Ms. Dev, I suggest you do some serious thinking aboutyour next steps. Good day.” He walked away primly, his shiny black shoes whispering on the industrial carpet as he headed tothe elevators.
“Why does he try to talk all British when he’s not British?”June said in disgust.
“He wants us out of here.” Annika sat back heavily as thefull impact of his words crashed into her. She smiled bleaklyat June. “Do you know how much we have in the business accountright now? Less than five thousand dollars. Do you knowhow much we owe?” She shook her head and thought, I amthe boss. I will not cry. I will also not say how much I hate Mr.McManor. “It’s over, June.”
“Sweet pea—”June squatted so they were eye to eye. “Letme give you the money. I know you’re probably going to argue,but please just think about it. I’d really feel good about beingable to help you out. Maybe I could be, like, an investor.”
A fact not well-known(because June did her best to hide it)was that Violetta “June” Stewart was the only daughter of extremelywealthy movie producers. Needless to say, she didn’t reallyneed this job. June had a trust fund and lots of high-poweredconnections. The only reason she’d come on board was becauseshe wanted to help Annika. Annika couldn’t afford to pay herwhat she was really worth, but June never complained, either outof loyalty or pity. Annika was in no position to turn down, either.
Annika shook her head and squeezed her longtime friend’shand. “That’s really, really sweet of you, Junebug. But . . . no.Thank you, but no. I can’t take your money.”
June sighed. They’d had this conversation many times before,and she knew not to expect a different outcome. Still, shewas June. And that, Annika supposed, meant she had to try.
Giving up, June flopped down to sit cross-leggedon thefloor. Even while wearing a tight dress and skyscraper heels, she somehow managed to look more graceful than Annika, whowas sitting in a chair. “What about your dad, then?”
Annika’s dad was one of the leading anesthesiologists in thecountry. He was regularly paid to travel to various conferencesand give talks because apparently, he knew more about puttingpeople to sleep than anyone else did. Annika didn’t get thespecifics—shejust knew she never wanted to do what he did.
That fact had almost broken his heart.
Annika still remembered her dad’s face when she’d goneto him eight months earlier to tell him that, in addition to thegrant money she’d won, the bank loan had also come through,and that Make Up was going to be an actual business. He’dstared at her for a long moment, scotch in hand, and then saidin his deep bass voice, “But what about medical school?”
She’d graduated from UCLA two years earlier, but her dadhad never let go of the dream that his only child would cometo her senses and decide to follow in the family footsteps afterall. Annika was all he had in this world—bothhis physicianparents were dead, and Annika’s mom, who’d been a pediatrician,had passed away shortly after Annika was born. Her dadwas desperate for her to continue the family trade. Never mindthat the thought of slicing into a cadaver made Annika want tosuck down his unconscious-makingchemicals just to escape.
Come to think of it, after he’d asked her about medicalschool, Annika had gotten kind of cocky. She’d raised an eyebrowand said in a very you wanna throw down? tone, “Just wait.In three months when my face is plastered across magazinesin every newsstand between here and the hospital, you’ll besinging a different tune.” In her defense, things had been onthe come-upthen. She’d had no idea that fate would kick herin the ass just a few months later.
God, how embarrassing.
Annika nibbled on her lower lip. Far below them, a carhonked in the perpetual LA traffic.
“What are you thinking?” June prompted, playing withthe Baby Yoda figurine on her desk Annika had given her lastChristmas.
“Well—don’tget me wrong.” Annika got up and began pacing,wearing a path from her desk to the window. “I believein us. We can bring in a profit if we work our asses off. Ourcash flow issues would be a thing of the past. But there’s a partof me that’s so worried I’m kidding myself—thistiny, hecklingvoice that just won’t shut up. I expected the app to be ready forrelease way before now—nooffense, I know you’re working ashard as you can—andthat hasn’t happened. What if I’ve lostmy fire?”
June’s clear blue eyes stared right back at her. “You haven’t.This is just nerves talking. You can’t let McStick-Up-His-Asswin, Annika.”
Annika walked over to her desk and pulled ZeeZee outagain. Her heart was beginning to pound. “It’s not just him.It’s Hudson Craft, too. Do you know how demoralizing it isthat some dude with excessively gelled hair and a toothpaste-adsmile can just come in and have everybody buzzing withhis cruel, thoughtless app? Meanwhile, Make Up is going tochange the way we look at technology and its use in interpersonalspaces, and we don’t even get a one-linemention in thatarticle? Do you know how absolutely, exquisitely infuriatingthat is?” Annika smacked ZeeZee face-firstinto the desk. Hemade a satisfyingly squelchy sound on impact, the force rattlingthe framed pictures of June, her dad, and the Make Upoffice that were all lined up neatly next to her laptop.
June thrust a finger at her. “There it is! Stay with that feeling.And don’t forget, Hudson’s a thief.”
Annika couldn’t believe he’d turned out to be such a jerk.When they’d met at a conference in Vegas last summer, they’dlaughed at how desperate everyone was to be done with theconference so they could get to the real reason they were there:the blackjack tables. They’d bonded right away because theywere both virtually the same age, from LA, and interested instarting a business soon. And later, they’d . . . well. That wasn’timportant.
What was important was that after she returned from Vegas,she’d found herself thinking about him often. She’d even consideredreaching out to him. Until, that is, he began poppingup in tech magazines and articles more and more frequently,talking about his new app, Break Up. That was when she realizedhe’d stolen her idea—orat least a kernel of it. “He didn’tsteal my whole idea. All the lawyers I called were very specificabout that. He was probably influenced by it, which isn’t acrime.”
“Okay, so he was influenced by it. It’s still totally shitty thata nasty app like his is getting all this attention.”
Annika studied her best friend’s flushed cheeks, her brighteyes. She felt her own temper rise another notch. “You knowwhat? You’re right. Local businesswoman agrees—heis a totalass, just like Mr. McMannerless. They’re both douchebags whothink they can just push us around. Well, they can’t. We’re notgoing to run off crying. We’re here to fight.”
“Yeah!” June said, pumping a Baby Yoda–wielding fistabove her head.
“We can totally do this.” Back in her chair, Annika spunaround in a purposeful circle.
“Yeah, we can. How can I help? No task is too small.”
“Really?” Annika hesitated. “Would you mind getting awhiteboard from Staples, then? It’s been on my to-dolist forever.I feel like I need to write stuff down where we can see it everyday and be inspired. Like, for instance, we need to get readyfor EPIC next month. Let’s get some ideas flowing about that.”EPIC—theEntrepreneurs Pitching Investors Conference—wastheir one big chance to turn things around.
“Yes! I have a really good feeling about EPIC.” Juneclapped her hands and made for the handbag hanging on theback of her chair. “I’ll go get the whiteboard, and meanwhile,you just keep thinking.”
“I will.” Annika hopped up again and paced faster thanbefore. June was right; the anger helped her think. God, sheshould have embraced her dark—uh,hotheaded—sidea longtime ago.
“None of that yogi crap!” June called over her shoulder asshe headed into the elevator. “Stay mad!”
Copyright © 2021 by Lily Menon