“I’m fine, Daddy.” She stepped forward and put her arms around his waist, inhaling the comforting scent of the Armani Autumn Smoke cologne he’d worn for as long as she could remember. They didn’t even make it anymore, but her dad ordered it from some warehouse in Milan that specialized in out-of-stock luxury items. That was how unwilling he was to try anything new.

Pulling back, she smiled up at him. “Can I get some of your mango juice, though?”

“Yes, of course,” he said, stepping out of the doorway so she could walk in. “Let’s sit down in the great room.”

Annika took a deep gulp of the fresh-squeezed mango juice her dad always had in the fridge. “Mm.” She closed her eyes. “So good. Thanks, Dad.”

“Of course.” He patted her knee and sat back in his leather armchair, watching her from behind his glasses. Annika could tell it was taking every fiber of his willpower to not demand she tell him everything.

Setting the juice on the coffee table, Annika folded her legs on the couch and settled back against its comfortable taupe cushions. She pulled a cashmere throw over her legs. Playing with its fringe, she said quietly, “I got some bad news about the business. From the bank.”

She didn’t dare look up at her father; she wanted to give him the chance to rearrange his face into an expression other than fear or concern or worry. There was silence for a moment or two.

“What kind of bad news?” her dad asked stiffly.

“They’re going to begin eviction proceedings,” Annika said, her voice barely above a whisper. “In July. We were supposed to have our prototype ready for this big pitch contest coming up, but it’s not ready, which means we probably won’t win. And if we don’t win, we won’t have money to pay the bank.” When she finally did look up at her dad, she found him gazing steadily at her.

He nodded once. “Okay. I’ll make some calls.”

Annika’s heart leapt. Of course! Her dad had connections everywhere. She’d thought they were all medicine related, but he had a lot of money—it stood to reason that some of his connections would be in the financial sector. “Really? You’d do that for me?” It just went to show, your dad would always be on your side. It didn’t matter if you butted heads.

“Yes. The dean of medicine over at UCLA is an old friend. I’m sure he could slip the dates a bit for you. If you hurry, you can take the MCATs and fill out an application. He can get you in in the fall semester.”

Annika stared at him. Her heart plunged into the pit of ice water that was her stomach. “You … you’re talking about medical school.”