“No!” Annika paced from one end of the empty bathroom to the other. “Not only is he running a completely vile business, he’s not even being true to himself. He’s a sculptor, an artist. And he’s going to stomp that part of him down, to, what? Break even more hearts? Make even more obscene amounts of money?” She paused. “Besides, you heard him, lording his ‘success’ over me! How do we know he’s not just trying to get in my head, get me to forfeit the EPIC pitch? I think he knows we have an actual shot at this thing. I can’t afford to let him do that, not with eviction and bankruptcy being actual possibilities.”

June wrinkled her nose. “Do you really think he’s that sneaky? The way Ziggy talks about him, Hudson’s really not that bad of a guy. Ziggy says he’s got more integrity than anyone else he’s ever worked with.”

Annika rolled her eyes. “Yeah, right. Of course Ziggy has to say that. It’s called cognitive dissonance.” Seeing June’s blank look, Annika shook her head. “Doesn’t matter. Let’s just get back to work. I don’t want to think about all of this anymore, okay? We need to focus on kicking ass.”

After a pause, June hopped off the counter, brushed off her dress, and checked her hair in the mirror. “You’re right.”

Annika grinned. “Let’s show ’em how it’s done.” And she forced all her other feelings into a little box in the corner of her mind.

chapter thirteen

Annika took a sip of Peet’s herbal tea, trying to keep her freshly manicured hands from shaking. “It’s Time magazine,” she whispered, vaguely aware that she’d already said this about six times in the last ten minutes. “Time. Magazine.”

June, dressed in loose linen shorts and a tank top, squatted in front of the stool Annika was sitting on and patted her knee. “Yes. And you’re going to kick ass.”

They’d arrived twenty minutes early for makeup before being shuttled into a large, many-windowed, industrial-looking room in a warehouse. One corner of it had been converted into a dressing area, where Annika sat at a vanity table. The makeup artist was finally finished blow-drying her hair and dabbing foundation and lipstick and eyeshadow and blush onto her face. All that was left now was … the interview.

The interview area was about twenty yards away, in the center of the enormous space. They’d put up a backdrop of the city skyline, and created a makeshift “techie” office in front of it, complete with sleek, neon-lit chairs and a clear acrylic table, staged with lots of slim electronic gadgets.