“Do you need a refresher?” June held up her fingers one by one. “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 a jerk, 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, who caught it midair and threw it back in one fluid motion. “So maybe I’ve hated a few more people than I thought…”
June laughed. “You’re ruled by emotion. Messy, conflicting emotion. Just admit it.”
Annika looked past her friend into the hallway outside the office. “Well, I’m feeling a lot of messy, conflicting emotion right now.” She wiped her palms on her skirt and tossed ZeeZee back into her stress drawer. “Because I think Mr. McManor from the Bank of California is walking up.”
Annika had never met Mr. McManor in person before. He turned out to be one of those extremely tidy, precise people who likely arranged their silverware drawers for fun on weekends and had a pair of monogrammed socks for every day of the week. He kept pushing up his little round glasses as he spoke, probably because his nose was so tiny. Annika was afraid they’d go 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-patterned accent chair, clutching his briefcase tightly on his lap. “I’m afraid the news isn’t good, Ms. Dev. You are what we call ‘grotesquely delinquent’ on your accounts. Thoroughly overleveraged.”
Grotesquely delinquent? Annika caught June’s eye. She had the 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 to this 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 a burgeoning young business. It’s a statement about the greater good in life, about our basic humanity. The need to belong somewhere, the need to connect with another human being, the need to—”
“Press on.” Mr. McManor waved a hand. “We need to press on. I’m sorry, but the time for last-ditch efforts has passed.”
Annika stared into his dead-fish eyes. Coldly unsympathetic. And the bank he’d sworn his ruthless allegiance to owned both her 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. “Your payment of four hundred eighty dollars and … seventy-four cents does not come close to overcoming your rather monstrous debt, I’m afraid.”
“I can keep making payments.” Annika spoke firmly, willing him to see the capability in her eyes, the passion, the fire, the willingness to do whatever it took to keep Make Up running. “I can make up the back rent; I just need more time. It’s a temporary cash flow problem.”
“Isn’t it better that you have a tenant here who’s willing to work with you, Mr. McManor?” June perched on the edge of the 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. Catching up with rent has nothing to do with your business loan, on which 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 Gwyneth Paltrow. Her first cousin wants to rent out this space for an interior design business she’s launching. She’s willing to prepay the first six months.” Mr. McManor stood, brushed his suit off, and walked to the Make Up sign on the wall. The one Annika had been so proud to order. The one that had her feeling like she’d made it, that she’d achieved the dream, that she was unstoppable.
He turned to her, his eyes flat and distant behind those little round glasses. On anyone else, Annika might have admired them for their chic Harry Potter vibe. A beam of sunlight from the window lay in a stripe on his balding head, but he didn’t seem to notice. “Unless you completely resolve your delinquency, 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 tell them 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 been an admirer of Ms. Paltrow since her masterful performance in Emma.”
“Excited?” Annika stared at him. “You’re excited right now?”
Mr. McManor cleared his throat and stood up straighter, a flash of annoyance dancing across his features. It was the most animated she’d seen him in the twenty minutes he’d been there. “Ms. Dev, I suggest you do some serious thinking about your next steps. Good day.” He walked away primly, his shiny black shoes whispering on the industrial carpet as he headed to the 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 the full impact
