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 of his words crashed into her. She smiled bleakly at June. “Do you know how much we have in the business account right now? Less than five thousand dollars. Do you know how much we owe?” She shook her head and thought, I am the boss. I will not cry. I will also not say how much I hate Mr. McManor. “It’s over, June.”

“Sweet pea—” June squatted so they were eye to eye. “Let me give you the money. I know you’re probably going to argue, but please just think about it. I’d really feel good about being able to help you out. Maybe I could be, like, an investor.”

A fact not well-known (because June did her best to hide it) was that Violetta “June” Stewart was the only daughter of extremely wealthy movie producers. Needless to say, she didn’t really need this job. June had a trust fund and lots of high-powered connections. The only reason she’d come on board was because she wanted to help Annika. Annika couldn’t afford to pay her what she was really worth, but June never complained, either out of loyalty or pity. Annika was in no position to turn down, either.

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.