Make Up Break Up

by Lily Menon

  Her dad scooted closer and put a warm hand on hers. “She would be,” he said, with such determination that she believed him. “I have no doubt of that.” He put an arm around her and continued, “Ani, this place is beautiful. It’s full of your personality and it’s … I never could’ve thought all of this up, not in a million years. And I haven’t taken the time to really reflect on the magic of that. You’ve always been one to march to the beat of your own drum, and I was trying to squelch that. I was trying to make you into a mini model of me and your mom, because…”

  Annika laid her head on his shoulder. “Why?”

  “Because…” Her dad cleared her throat. “It felt like losing you. It felt like losing your mom again, to not have you follow in her footsteps.”

  “Oh, Dad,” Annika said. A tear slipped out of the corner of her eye. “I did this so we’d always have a token of your love for Mom. I want her love for us to live on through Make Up.”

  Her dad kissed the top of her head. “Good,” he said gruffly. “Good. Then you should do that. I’m sorry I ever stood in your way. You’re doing such good in the world, Ani.”

  “Well, it’s not surgery,” Ani said, looking at him wryly.

  He smiled. “It doesn’t have to be.”

  She let his words wash over her. It doesn’t have to be. He was finally seeing her venture for what it was. He was finally accepting what she was trying to build.

  “So,” he said, reaching into his coat pocket. “I’d like to invest in your business. As a way of showing my faith in you. Will you let me?”

  Annika stared at him, feeling a swell of relief. Yes. It would be so easy. Her dad could make a huge dent in her back rent and business loan, and she could work out something with the bank for the rest of it. It would take her forever to pay her dad back, but she knew he wouldn’t ask her for it. And he clearly wouldn’t be hurting for the money, either. Not to mention, it’d take all the pressure off the EPIC pitch. It wouldn’t be such a do-or-die thing anymore. She opened her mouth to tell him the exact dollar amount she needed, knowing he’d write a check without a second thought.

  And then she closed her mouth again.

  “Ani?” He dad frowned.

  Annika forced herself to shake her head. “N-no,” she heard herself saying. “No, that’s okay, Dad. I need to do this on my own.”

  Her dad gave her a quizzical look. “But didn’t you say the bank was beginning eviction proceedings in July?”

  “Yes.” Annika’s mouth felt suddenly dry. She licked her lips. Forcing herself to look into her dad’s eyes, she added more forcefully, “But I need to figure this out for myself. And I will.” After a pause, she added, “All my life, you’ve been there with your checkbook. But Make Up is different. This is my creation, and I want to be responsible for it.” She shrugged. “That’s how it is. Whether I sink or I swim, I want the onus to be on me and no one else.”

  Her dad nodded slowly, though she could tell from his face that he was wrestling with a million things he wanted to say and advice he wanted to give. “Okay,” he said in the end, patting his coat pocket, as if resigning himself to the fact that his checkbook would have to remain there. “If you’re sure.”

  She smiled. “I am. I’m sure. In fact, that’s what June and I are doing today. We’re working on this pitch for an angel investors’ event in Napa on June fourteenth. And I had an interview in Time magazine with Hudson, the guy who owns Break Up.”

  “Time?” her dad said, his eyes wide. “Ani, how fabulous! Of course you’re going to win the pitch!” It was obvious that he meant it. Annika smiled.

  “So, the pitch event … I’d like to fly out there to support you. If—if you want me to, that is.”

  Annika studied her dad’s hopeful eyes, knowing this was another extension of his olive branch. How could she refuse? “I’d love that.”

  “Good.” Her dad patted her hand and then frowned. “Wait. Did you say the Time interview was with Hudson Craft? I thought you didn’t like him.”

  Ani sighed. “He’s probably the most irritating, aggravating man I know. But it was kind of his article. June was able to leverage her contacts to get me in on it, too.”

  “Well, it’s good to keep your enemies close in business, Ani, especially the well-connected ones. You get to know them, and maybe you don’t like them any better, but you understand them and they understand you. It makes things infinitely easier.”

  Annika made a noncommittal noise she hoped her dad would take as agreement, so that she wouldn’t have to talk about Hudson anymore. The truth was, even a couple of days post-interview, Annika was still thinking about the things Hudson had said—how she did more good in the world than he did, how Make Up was the more moral company. There hadn’t been an iota of sarcasm in his voice. He’d been honest. Maybe even a little earnest. It confused and unsettled her.

  They turned at the sound of the door opening. “Our neighbors wanted to meet you!” June said, walking in with Ziggy close on her heels. And right behind him was Hudson. Annika stiffened, and June gave her a look.

  “Right,” Annika said, forcing a smile. “Dad, this is Ziggy and that’s … Hudson Craft.”

  Her dad stood and shook both their hands, his grip firm and sure and confident. Hudson’s was, too, she noticed. “Nice to meet you both.”

  “Dr. Dev, it’s a pleasure,” Hudson said, smiling easily.

  Her dad studied his face, and Annika could tell his wheels were turning. Uh oh. Nothing good ever came from her dad’s wheels. Before she could open her mouth, though, he was speaking. “So, Hudson—Annika tells me you’re both going to be in Time.”

  “That’s correct,” Hudson said, his gaze coming to rest on hers. “It was a great interview. Annika was fantastic.”

  Annika felt her cheeks warm at his tone and the way he was looking at her.

  “Very good, very good,” her dad said thoughtfully. “You know, I don’t know if Annika’s told you, but she comes over for dinner every Saturday. Is there any chance you could use a home-cooked meal this weekend?” Wait. What? “I make far too much food and it goes to waste anyway. How about it?” He looked at June and Ziggy. “You’re both invited, too, of course!”

  Ah, right. He was implementing his “keep your enemies close” strategy. Dammit. Now Annika wished she’d told him she hated the idea. She tried to laugh. “I don’t know, Dad. I’m sure they’re all very busy. Plus, it’s kind of a long drive—”

  “It’s not that long a drive,” he countered.

  “I’d love to come,” Hudson answered, catching Annika’s eye. He looked completely serious; this wasn’t one of his games. Annika wasn’t sure how to feel about that. “I assume that’s okay with you? I’d love to see where you grew up … maybe even a few baby pictures.” He grinned suddenly and brightly, the corners of his eyes crinkling with mirth.

  Her dad had just waved the white flag. She knew very well that if she was rude and told Hudson that he couldn’t come, her dad would be hurt. So what if she had to endure one evening with this new Hudson, the one who left her feeling unsettled and confused? At least it’d be on her turf. And June and Ziggy would be there, too. She could just spend the entire evening talking to them. Annika pasted on a smile. “Of course it is.”

  “I wish we could,” June said, the absolute traitor, “but Ziggy and I have a wedding to attend in San Diego this weekend.”

  Shit—that was right. She’d totally forgotten June had agreed to be Ziggy’s plus-one at a wedding. Another first for her.

  “Well, then, it’s decided,” Annika’s dad said. “Hudson, I’ll see you and Annika next weekend.”

  “I can’t wait.” Hudson nodded at Ziggy. “We should take off. We’ve got a meeting we don’t want to be late for.”

  After they were gone, Annika turned to her dad, her hands on her hips. “Don’t you think a homemade dinner is taking things a little too far?”

  Her dad frowned. “Annika, this is a good thing for you and for Make Up. H
udson obviously gets invited to lots of prestigious things. This is an opportunity for you both to bury the hatchet and get to know each other a bit more. Business is ten percent business, ninety percent networking.”

  Annika and June exchanged glances and then Annika sighed. “Okay, fine. It’s just one meal, anyway. But I think we need to get back to work on this pitch—”

  “Right, of course. I better get going anyway.” He took her by the shoulders and kissed her cheek. “I’m proud of you, Ani. Never forget that.”

  As she watched him leave, she knew she never would.

  chapter fifteen

  Annika checked her lip gloss in the rearview mirror one last time, her nerves jumping, before she got out of her car. She’d parked in one of many guest parking spaces assigned to Hudson’s penthouse, ready to pick him up and take him to her dad’s house for dinner. They’d decided to drive together, since Hudson didn’t really know where it was.

  As she gave her name to the doorman and got on the penthouse elevator, Annika couldn’t help but think about all the different shades of Hudson she’d gotten to see lately, like a multifaceted onyx she held in the palm of her hand. Not just flat black, but purple and red and blue and green, too many hues for her eyes to hold on to and appreciate. What colors would she find tonight?

  She pressed the button that would alert him he had a visitor.

  “Annika?” his voice crackled over the intercom.

  She felt a fresh flurry of nerves, which she tried to quell. So what, so what, so what. It was just a voice. He was just a man. “Yeah.” Her voice was slightly squeaky.

  “Come on up.” She heard a slight smile in his voice.

  For the first time since high school, Annika found herself wondering what her dad’s place would look like to a stranger—especially Hudson, who came from a working-class family. Hopefully he wouldn’t think she was a spoiled princess who’d grown up with everything she could ever want. Plus, hello. She’d seen his penthouse, and it wasn’t exactly Skid Row.

  Oh, come on, she told herself sternly as the elevator zipped upward. What do you care what Hudson Craft thinks of you or how you grew up? It’s immaterial. She shouldn’t care. She didn’t.

  There was a ping as the elevator came to a stop at Hudson’s, and the doors slid open noiselessly. Annika straightened her shoulders, her heart pounding just a little bit faster than necessary.

  “Good evening,” Hudson said, as soon as she emerged into his living room. He bent down to air-kiss her, smelling fresh and expensive, dressed in a crisp turquoise polo shirt and long pale yellow shorts.

  “You look summery,” Annika said, stepping back to size him up, though it was almost too much to actually meet his eye. She was feeling … shy, she realized. “Smell like it, too.” Her hands tightened into fists as she heard herself. What the actual hell?

  Hudson looked amused, though his cheeks were faintly pink, like he was feeling a little hesitant around her, too. Annika cleared her throat and stepped off to the right, toward a nook in the wall that held a pedestal and a sculpture of a bird poised to take flight. “Anyway. Wow. This is gorgeous.” She stroked the iridescent feathers on the bird’s extended wing, as exquisitely fragile and silky-soft as if it were the real thing. She glanced up at Hudson. “Is it new?”

  He was watching her admire the sculpture with a peculiar look in his eye. He blinked it away when he saw her looking. “Ah, no—no, it’s not. I made that a couple years ago. Just found it in a moving box the other day, actually.”

  “Mm. The longing on its face is … haunting.”

  “Longing?” Hudson walked closer to her, so they were standing side by side, their arms just a hairbreadth away from touching. She felt his warmth seep into her skin, and had to blink to focus. “You see longing there?”

  “Sure.” Annika studied the bird more closely. “There’s longing in every one of its features, in the way it’s holding its wings, its posture. It’s poised, ready to take flight, but it hasn’t quite achieved what it wants yet.” She realized Hudson was watching her intently and felt her face get warm. Maybe she’d said too much. Art was an oddly intimate thing. “What?”

  “Nothing.” Hudson shook his head, a faint smile at his lips. “I made that as sort of an experiment, but I wasn’t sure it would work. I tried to make the bird ambiguous in its intent—its expression, its posture, whether it’s poised for flight, as you said, or whether it’s landing. Everyone who’s looked at it so far has said something different. No one’s talked about the longing the bird feels.”

  Annika’s face got even warmer. “Oh, great. So I’m weird, then, is what you’re saying.”

  “Not at all.” Hudson kept looking at her until she met his eye, reluctantly. There was no trace of humor or sarcasm there.

  “So what do you see?” Annika asked. She was genuinely, truly curious about what his artist’s eye saw.

  Hudson looked at the bird and Annika looked at him, hoping he wouldn’t notice. She shouldn’t do it so openly, or even at all, she knew. Not after what she’d said to him in his condo the other day; she’d drawn a line then, and she intended to stick by it. But the way he shimmered and shone like a nearly opaque lake, with Annika only barely able to glimpse what was underneath, was … compelling.

  “I see entrapment,” he said finally, jarring her out of her reverie. He stroked the bird’s wing gently with one finger. “It wants to fly, but it’s not sure how. It’s been anchored to the ground against its will, almost—and yet, the ground is all it knows. The world is its cage, but the sky beckons, unattainable.”

  Annika stared at him. Hudson rubbed the back of his neck. “Too bizarre?” he asked, laughing as if her answer didn’t matter, but she could sense the vulnerability behind the question.

  “No, I just … you sounded like a poet just then.”

  “Is it surprising that I might be poetic?” His expression was full-on cocky now, his eyes glittering.

  Annika folded her arms and leaned back against the wall next to the nook, putting a little distance between them. She needed to remember who she was talking to here. “Um, yeah. I don’t remember any poetry in the Forbes article that came out last month.”

  Hudson stepped a bit closer. Annika’s traitorous heart thumped in response. “That’s because Forbes doesn’t exactly inspire poetry.” His eyes held hers.

  “And … what inspires poetry in you?” Annika managed to ask.

  Hudson put one hand on the wall behind Annika’s head, his face mere inches from hers. She knew she should move, but she couldn’t will her legs to listen, like a doe paralyzed by a lion. Her gaze was riveted to his, and her heart pounded out a rhythm against her rib cage.

  “Lately, it’s been just one subject,” he murmured, his eyes drifting briefly to her mouth. Annika had a flash of memory: her in Hudson’s bedroom, his teeth nipping gently at her lips, teasing her.

  She struggled to blink it away, her knees going weak. “Oh, yeah?” she managed, her voice breathy. “What subject is that? Ancient history?”

  Hudson ran a fingertip from her temple to her cheekbone to her chin, as if her skin was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen, and Annika was afraid, actually afraid, that she might pass out from hyperventilating. He leaned forward so their mouths were basically sharing the same air, their lips poised to touch but still unbearably apart. “I think you know,” he whispered. He was so close that all she could see, all that existed in the universe, were his green eyes.

  Do not kiss him, her brain telegraphed, the letters neon-red and flashing a panicked beat. This is Hudson Craft. Anathema to your soul, as I recall.

  But … a small corner of her heart whispered back. He’s not all bad. She tilted her head forward, just a millimeter, until her lips brushed his and both brain and heart fell silent. All that remained was her body, and every nerve ending, every fiber inside her was glowing, a filament in an incandescent bulb. She wanted to kiss him; she needed to kiss him.

  There was a ping! as the
elevators opened, just a few yards away. Annika froze as a young white couple in T-shirts that said Elite Housecleaning Services stepped into the living room, saying something about the heat. Hudson looked over his shoulder at them, took a small side step away from Annika, and called out, “Hey, guys. We’ll be out of your hair soon.”

  The couple jerked their heads toward him at the same time, their mouths falling open. “Oh, Mr. Craft,” the woman said. “We’re so sorry. We thought you’d have left by now.”

  Hudson held up a hand and walked toward them smoothly. “No worries. It’s my fault. We were supposed to be out of here. I got … distracted.” His eyes flickered to Annika, and she felt her cheeks get warm again. “I need to grab something quickly, but are you ready to go?”

  “Yep.” Annika smoothed down her hair and cleared her throat, unable to look at the couple. We weren’t even doing anything! she thought, exasperated at herself. Why was her guilty conscience always so out of proportion to her actual crime? Which, in this case, wasn’t even a crime—it was Hudson’s house; he could do what he chose. And she was a consenting adult.

  The young couple made their way to the kitchen with their cleaning supplies, and then Hudson walked into the foyer with a bottle of wine in a bag. “Let’s do this.”

  They traveled down the elevator in relative silence, though Annika couldn’t help darting glances at him during gaps in their conversation about traffic out to the Hills and her dad’s culinary skills.

  He caught her staring once, and gave her a lopsided smile. “I’m going to finish what I started, you know.”

  “What?” Annika squeaked. The elevator doors slid open.

  Hudson considered her for a full second, his gaze lingering on her in a way she found maddening, before walking out into the parking garage. A valet greeted him by name and asked if he’d like his car pulled around, but Hudson shook his head. “I’m going to finish that kiss,” he said to Annika when she caught up to him, his voice low and intense.