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 ZeeZee onto the desk, and put her head in her hands. “No, I really don’t, June. This is going to be a disaster. I can feel it. You know how strong my sixth sense is.”
“It’s not going to be a disaster!” Annika peeked at June from between her fingers as June continued speaking. “McManor’s going to see that we make a dynamic, forward-thinking team and that we have what it takes to get our little cash flow problem under control. And he’ll give you an extension on your loans. A big one. Everyone’s finances are a train wreck these days, not just yours.”
Annika sat up straight and smiled bleakly. “It’s funny you say that. I was just thinking what a massive train wreck Hudson Craft is before you got here.” For obvious reasons, she left out 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–skinned laptop. “Is he in another article?”
“Just emailed you the link.”
She heard June click a few times, and then gasp in satisfying outrage. “Tech Buzz? You were supposed to get the Tech Buzz 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: The debonair twenty-five-year-old with the GQ smile who’s changing the shape and nature of relationships!’”
Annika raised an eyebrow.
“Well, uh—except I guess you’d be Miss Relationshape, and you’re twenty-four. And I’d say you’re more charming than debonair.” June paused thoughtfully. “Also, your smile is more Yoga Journal than GQ. I knew I should’ve called my cousin. I’m pretty sure he has a friend at Tech Buzz.”
Annika sighed. “It wouldn’t have helped. Breaking people up is way sexier than helping them make up.”
“But his business model is built on tears and heartbreak. If someone I was dating paid a ‘terminator’ to break up with me for 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 being ghosted.’” She looked up from her screen at June. “So—the options are being broken up with by a random ‘terminator’ or being ghosted? What about being kind enough to let someone down 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 zombie stress ball’s wart-studded nose. “I don’t like to say I hate people, but I think I actually viscerally hate Hudson Craft. Like, I hate every single thing he stands for.”
June gave her a look. Damn. That was the problem with having a best friend who’d been your college roommate and was now practically your business partner: They knew way, way too much. “You don’t like to say you hate people? What about Fishdick Felix?”
“Who?” Annika screwed up her nose. Then her expression cleared. “Oh, you mean that guy in the
