by Lily Menon
Annika shook her head and squeezed her longtime friend’s hand. “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, she was June. And that, Annika supposed, meant she had to try.
Giving up, June flopped down to sit cross-legged on the floor. Even while wearing a tight dress and skyscraper heels, she somehow managed to look more graceful than Annika, who was sitting in a chair. “What about your dad, then?”
Annika’s dad was one of the leading anesthesiologists in the country. He was regularly paid to travel to various conferences and give talks because apparently, he knew more about putting people to sleep than anyone else did. Annika didn’t get the specifics—she just 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 gone to him eight months earlier to tell him that, in addition to the grant money she’d won, the bank loan had also come through, and that Make Up was going to be an actual business. He’d stared at her for a long moment, scotch in hand, and then said in his deep bass voice, “But what about medical school?”
She’d graduated from UCLA two years earlier, but her dad had never let go of the dream that his only child would come to her senses and decide to follow in the family footsteps after all. Annika was all he had in this world—both his physician parents were dead, and Annika’s mom, who’d been a pediatrician, had passed away shortly after Annika was born. Her dad was desperate for her to continue the family trade. Never mind that the thought of slicing into a cadaver made Annika want to suck down his unconscious-making chemicals just to escape.
Come to think of it, after he’d asked her about medical school, Annika had gotten kind of cocky. She’d raised an eyebrow and said in a very you wanna throw down? tone, “Just wait. In three months when my face is plastered across magazines in every newsstand between here and the hospital, you’ll be singing a different tune.” In her defense, things had been on the come-up then. She’d had no idea that fate would kick her in the ass just a few months later.
God, how embarrassing.
Annika nibbled on her lower lip. Far below them, a car honked in the perpetual LA traffic.
“What are you thinking?” June prompted, playing with the Baby Yoda figurine on her desk Annika had given her last Christmas.
“Well—don’t get me wrong.” Annika got up and began pacing, wearing a path from her desk to the window. “I believe in us. We can bring in a profit if we work our asses off. Our cash flow issues would be a thing of the past. But there’s a part of me that’s so worried I’m kidding myself—this tiny, heckling voice that just won’t shut up. I expected the app to be ready for release way before now—no offense, I know you’re working as hard as you can—and that hasn’t happened. What if I’ve lost my 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-Ass win, Annika.”
Annika walked over to her desk and pulled ZeeZee out again. Her heart was beginning to pound. “It’s not just him. It’s Hudson Craft, too. Do you know how demoralizing it is that some dude with excessively gelled hair and a toothpaste-ad smile can just come in and have everybody buzzing with his cruel, thoughtless app? Meanwhile, Make Up is going to change the way we look at technology and its use in interpersonal spaces, and we don’t even get a one-line mention in that article? Do you know how absolutely, exquisitely infuriating that is?” Annika smacked ZeeZee face-first into the desk. He made a satisfyingly squelchy sound on impact, the force rattling the framed pictures of June, her dad, and the Make Up office 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’d laughed at how desperate everyone was to be done with the conference so they could get to the real reason they were there: the blackjack tables. They’d bonded right away because they were both virtually the same age, from LA, and interested in starting a business soon. And later, they’d … well. That wasn’t important.
What was important was that after she returned from Vegas, she’d found herself thinking about him often. She’d even considered reaching out to him. Until, that is, he began popping up in tech magazines and articles more and more frequently, talking about his new app, Break Up. That was when she realized he’d stolen her idea—or at least a kernel of it. “He didn’t steal my whole idea. All the lawyers I called were very specific about that. He was probably influenced by it, which isn’t a crime.”
“Okay, so he was influenced by it. It’s still totally shitty that a nasty app like his is getting all this attention.”
Annika studied her best friend’s flushed cheeks, her bright eyes. She felt her own temper rise another notch. “You know what? You’re right. Local businesswoman agrees—he is a total ass, just like Mr. McMannerless. They’re both douchebags who think they can just push us around. Well, they can’t. We’re not going to run off crying. We’re here to fight.”
“Yeah!” June said, pumping a Baby Yoda–wielding fist above her head.
“We can totally do this.” Back in her chair, Annika spun around in a purposeful circle.
“Yeah, we can. How can I help? No task is too small.”
“Really?” Annika hesitated. “Would you mind getting a whiteboard from Staples, then? It’s been on my to-do list forever. I feel like I need to write stuff down where we can see it every day and be inspired. Like, for instance, we need to get ready for EPIC next month. Let’s get some ideas flowing about that.” EPIC—the Entrepreneurs Pitching Investors Conference—was their one big chance to turn things around.
“Yes! I have a really good feeling about EPIC.” June clapped her hands and made for the handbag hanging on the back of her chair. “I’ll go get the whiteboard, and meanwhile, you just keep thinking.”
“I will.” Annika hopped up again and paced faster than before. June was right; the anger helped her think. God, she should have embraced her dark—uh, hotheaded—side a long time ago.
“None of that yogi crap!” June called over her shoulder as she headed into the elevator. “Stay mad!”
chapter two
“Stay mad. Right.” Annika took a breath. “Stupid Hudson Craft with his patronizing smile and his—”
BONNNNGGGG!
Annika stopped mid-stride, invectives trailing off. “What the hell?”
She waited a minute, then took another step.
BONNNNGGGGGG!
Either there was a gong sounding in this trendy high-rise office building, or those nightly self-hypnosis videos had finally scrambled her brain. Either was possible; after all, this was LA.
She walked out of the office and followed the direction of the sound.
Weird. Muffled cheering and whooping came from down the hall, where the empty office space was. Maybe the new company had moved in? But that didn’t make sense. The only reasonable explanation for the noises she was hearing was a party for demon children hopped up on sugar.
Annika picked up her pace until she found herself in front of the glass doors that led to the office next door. For a long minute, she just stood there, watching the mayhem—until an orange Nerf dart hit the glass door, pinged off in a frenzied pirouette, and shook her loose of her shock.
Her brain still refused to fully accept it, but she was definitely witnessing a Nerf gun battle between adults. Well, they were mostly hidden in their cardboard box forts, but they looked like adults.
Two people bolted from the opposing forts—one a pale, redheaded man and the other a woman of maybe East Asian descent. Both barefoot and in jeans and blue T-shirts, they raced around, squealing and
yelling at each other like they were in an arcade. Annika watched in alarm as a Nerf dart hit a vase and it crashed to the floor. Neither of them seemed to notice. The redhead jumped on the couch, bellowing like a rhinoceros in pain. He looked happy, though.
BONNNNGGGG!
The sound of the gong forced Annika’s eyes to the front of the room. Suddenly, her senses snapped to attention. The hairs on her arms stood up. Her vision tunneled.
And at the end of that long, dark tunnel … was Hudson. Fucking. Craft.
Unbelievable.
She’d spent so much time fuming about him these past few months that every single detail of his appearance was intimately familiar to her. That ridiculously thick blond hair, falling on his forehead in a wave. That square jaw, those muscular shoulders pressing arrogantly into his blue T-shirt, like he wanted to announce to the world, “Yo! Look at me! I work out!”
Yeah, we get it, Hudson. We get that your chiseled pecs and your perfect six-pack usually have people under the influence of especially strong margaritas drooling all over themselves.
What the hell was he doing here? He was perched on a little stool, one big hand around a mallet. He punctuated every word he spoke—strike that, bellowed—by swinging the mallet into a giant brass gong. “Break—” BONNGGG! “—Up!” BONNGGG! “Three—” BONNGGG! “—HUNDRED THOUSAND—” BONNGGG! “—breakups!”
Three … hundred thousand … breakups? What the fuck?
Her vision suddenly expanded. Details she hadn’t yet registered began to filter into Annika’s consciousness.
For one, the bright blue T-shirts they all wore said Break Up! on the front.
For another, there was the giant BREAK UP sign on the wall.
And then there was the slogan underneath, which read: YOUR LIFE, RESTARTED. That, right there, was Reason #2,064 why Annika could never believe that this—Hudson Craft’s app, a twisted bastardization of her idea—could be a coincidence.
Anger bubbled in her veins, a furious volcano on the verge of eruption. Not only had he probably—no, definitely—stolen her idea and taken all the success that was supposed to have been hers, he was now in her office building? He was in the hallowed space she’d carved out for herself, the space that was now in jeopardy, ringing a gong in the middle of a Nerf battle? What the hell? What the actual, ridiculous hell?
Annika slammed the glass door open with the heel of her hand, ignoring the throbbing ache. “Hey! Hudson Craft!”
They couldn’t hear her over the obnoxious gong, their own infernal screeching, and the awful “music” blaring over the loudspeaker. As Annika marched up to Hudson Craft, she tripped on a bright orange Nerf gun, her ankle twisting painfully in her slingbacks. Biting back a shriek, she scooped the Nerf gun off the floor and, aiming right at Hudson, pulled the trigger.
The foam dart surged from the chamber with a satisfying thwack! Annika grinned, her hands gripping the Nerf gun tight, watching as the dart whistled through the air toward her target.
As Hudson whooped and banged his gong, the foam dart hit him square in the face.
“BULL’S EYE!” Annika crowed, raising the Nerf gun up high.
Hudson’s eyes went wide at the sudden assault. His mouth dropped open. She brought the Nerf gun down and, almost of its own accord, her finger pulled the trigger again, the righteous urge to put another foam dart in his open mouth too strong to resist. Unfortunately, instead of smiting her enemy a second time, the Nerf gun only produced an empty clicking sound.
Dammit.
Hudson’s gaze held hers for a long second. His face was a landscape of emotions: Annika saw surprise, confusion, maybe even a sliver of hurt or anger, though she had no idea what those were about. But before she could puzzle it out, he dropped the mallet, pressed both hands to his right eye, and began yelling, “Oh my god, my eye!”
Annika’s stomach flipped. Immediate, flaming guilt lit up her body. This was what happened when she lost her temper. This was why she did yoga. She was a pacifist … until she wasn’t. Underneath her calm exterior lurked a hideous, deranged, Nerf-dart murderer. “Oh, shit,” she whispered, dropping the Nerf gun with a plastic clatter.
Hudson’s two employees froze. “Jesus, my eye,” he groaned again, leaning like he was about to keel over dead.
And then pandemonium broke out once more.
The redhead scrabbled to turn off the music and the woman said, “Oh no—oh, Hudson!” before turning to Annika. Her brown eyes flashed as she pulled a cell phone out of her pocket. “I’m calling the police. This is assault.”
Annika’s pulse beat a sickening rhythm. Assault. The police. She was done for. Who would ever want to hire a relationship expert who had a criminal record? She’d known Hudson Craft would be the death of her one day.
Suddenly, there was a muffled snort of laughter, and then Hudson spoke cheerfully to the now-silent room. “There’s no need for that, Blaire. I’m fine.”
“Are you sure? Because—”
“I’m sure.”
Still glaring at Annika, Blaire put her phone away and crossed her arms, positioning herself in front of Hudson Craft like she was his personal bodyguard or something. The redhead was staring at Annika, unabashed. Annika could feel the waves of hostility in the room crashing over her, but she was too busy feeling relieved that she wouldn’t be going to jail to care.
Hudson, his eye amazingly enough now totally recovered, folded his big, lumpy arms (some might say “muscular,” but whatever) over his chest. “Well, well, well,” he said slowly. “Annika Dev.” He said it like he was pronouncing the name of an exotic bird species he hadn’t expected to find in LA. Weirdo.
She narrowed her eyes. “Hudson Craft.” She said his like it was the name of an oozing, highly infectious disease. “I see your eye is perfectly fine, so you were just lying. Why does that not surprise me at all?”
“Lying? I was doing you a favor. See what happens when you lose your temper? You could’ve gone to prison. Let that be a lesson to you, Ms. Dev.”
He’d read her mind. Annika stood up straighter, irritation replacing all her other emotions. “You teaching me how to be a moral, upstanding citizen? Hilarious.”
Hudson laughed. “I don’t know—moral, upstanding citizens don’t generally shoot innocent people in the face. Have to say, I’m a little surprised you went for my face, though. From what I remember, you were fonder of these bad boys.” He made his pecs do a little dance. His employees snickered.
Annika felt her cheeks heat and balled her fists against her thighs. “You wish.” She winced as soon as the words left her mouth. You wish? Middle school repartee was apparently the best she could do.
Hudson chuckled, as if amused by her pathetic comeback. “Anyway, we ring that gong every time we get ten thousand breakups, and we got to three hundred thousand today. We’ll let you ring it at some point, too. If we haven’t worn it out by then, that is.” He grinned toothily, and his employees laughed.
Annika looked around at them, her blood pressure rising again. This was all just a fucking joke to them, wasn’t it? It didn’t matter what their boss had done to her or what a shitty person he was. Very deliberately, Annika smoothed down her hair and skirt and picked her way around the Nerf bullets to where Hudson sat, still perched on his stupid stool.
She grabbed the mallet that lay at his feet, brought it down over her thigh, and broke it cleanly in two pieces. Hudson’s two Break Up sidekicks gasped.
Annika let the pieces fall to the ground. “Don’t ever mess with me like that again.”
Hudson Craft stared up at her, his eyebrows practically in his hairline. One corner of his mouth twitched with amusement. His two employees, though, were definitely not smiling. They might have looked comical if she wasn’t so angry; the redhead had his hand over his mouth, like he’d just witnessed a brutal murder, and the woman named Blaire was shaking her head back and forth, as if she couldn’t believe what was happening.
“You … what’s wrong with you?”
Blaire finally said. “You just destroyed our property!”
“What’s wrong with me?” Annika huffed a disbelieving laugh. “Maybe you’re asking the wrong person that question.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Blaire’s eyes glittered dangerously. The woman needed yoga.
“It’s fine, Blaire.” Hudson stood up slowly, looming over her now, his brawny frame blocking out the light from the windows. She had to tip her head back just to see his face. How obnoxious. “So, Ms. Dev—Annika.” He rubbed his jaw and looked down at his feet, as if collecting his thoughts. Then he looked back up at her. “It’s … been a while. How can I help you?”
She swallowed and wiped her palms surreptitiously on her skirt. “You moved here. Right down the hall from me.”
His expression didn’t waver. “I see.” Annika could feel Blaire’s gaze burning a hole into the side of her face. The redhead was standing back, hands clasped, watching placidly. The seconds ticked on, but Hudson didn’t add anything further.
I see? What the hell did I see mean? “You—you stole my idea and now you’re here!” Annika said in a burst, unable to take his cryptic weirdness anymore.
Hudson frowned slightly and raised one thick blond eyebrow. “I stole your idea? If I remember correctly, your idea was to play matchmaker. Mine’s the exact opposite.”
“Is to play matchmaker.” Annika balled her hands into fists, realizing she’d danced right into his little verbal trap. “But I’m not playing at anything. Make Up’s about second chances,” she continued hotly. “Don’t tell me this is all just a big coincidence.” Annika waved a hand at the room.
The redhead coughed out something that sounded suspiciously like “Cuckoo.” Blaire snickered. Annika glared at them.