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.”