They got out and headed toward their office. “Absolutely,” June agreed. “But now I need to run to the potty. Too much coffee on the ride over.”

After Annika unlocked the door and stashed away her bag and yoga gear, she grabbed the mail and rifled through the envelopes. Bill, bill, a membership offer for Idealists Anonymous of Los Angeles … Annika glared in the general direction of the Break Up office. Wonder who signed her up for that. Turning back to her mail, she saw there was an offer to upgrade her Wi-Fi service, and—Annika frowned as she landed on an envelope from the Bank of California. From Mr. McManor, to be precise.

Annika walked back to her desk and tore into the Bank of California envelope. Her heart was jumping in her chest, and her palms were slightly sweaty. It’s fine, she told herself as she smoothed out the paper. It’s probably just a reiteration of what he told us at our meeting. Nothing new, nothing to worry about.

19909 La Casita Ave

Los Angeles, CA 90079

May 20, 2021

Annika Dev

Make Up

2160 8th Street, Suite #2688A

Los Angeles, CA 90055

Dear Ms. Dev,

Pursuant to our meeting on May 10, this is a follow-up to remind you that as of the writing of this letter, your account continues to be in a delinquent state. After a thorough review of your account, the Bank of California has decided that, should your debts not be sufficiently settled by July 1, 2021, you will be evicted from your office space at 2160 8th Street, Suite #2688A in Los Angeles, CA. At that time, we will also begin legal proceedings to recoup losses via Make Up’s capital assets.

Please contact our offices immediately to make arrangements for payment to avoid this outcome. If you have questions, please reach out to me via the address above or via telephone at 213-555-7343.

Sincerely,

Irvin A. McManor

Financial Manager, Bank of California, Los Angeles

The letter fluttered from Annika’s fingers to the desk, where it landed atop ZeeZee. July 1. She had until July 1 and then they were … they would … Annika felt her throat tighten painfully. Tears sprang to her eyes, but she blinked them away. She looked around at her haven, her beloved office space—at the big metal sign on the wall, the settee, the painting right above it, June’s enormous whiteboard. Her fairy-tale cottage. Her space for people to believe in true love again. To believe in themselves again.

And the bank would take it, just like that. Cast her out with nothing to show for all the love and effort and thought she’d put into making Make Up what it was today. And could she really blame them? They were a business, too. A crushing wave of guilt and shame and fear threatened to swallow her. She was failing. Just like her dad expected her to do.