The first thing I notice when I walk through the office doors is the air. It’s tense, almost stifling. I tug at the collar of my shirt.

My second observation is the scent—or rather, lack of. There’s no popcorn.

But it’s when I slide through to the backroom that it all starts to make sense. Four sets of impatient eyes follow me from my desk to the boardroom—Liz, Marnie, the lawyer, and our accountant are crammed into the room, and they’re visibly pissed off.

Marnie taps an extended fingernail on the boardroom table. “We pay professionals by the hour, Eden. Maybe you could act like one?”

So much for being the soft-spoken understanding one in the bunch. I’m running on less than an hour’s worth of sleep, every nerve in my body raw, and this is the last thing I need.

“My alarm didn’t go off,” I say, which is ninety percent the truth. In actual fact, I didn’t bother setting it, believing that I wouldn’t nod off, not with my mind swirling with questions and memories and all the things Lucas has said or never said to me. Including goodbye.

“Because we haven’t heard that before,” Liz mutters.

The cliché about crying wolf comes to mind, but now isn’t the time to start a verbal war. By the looks of things, we’ve got a far more serious battle going on.

“As I was saying…” Ryan Cox says, passing out a sheet of paper while I settle into my seat. The room is so small, I’m almost touching elbows with Marnie on one side, Liz on the other. “…Rubberneckers has officially depleted its financial reserves.” Most accountant language goes over my head, but I get what he’s saying—we’re flat broke. “And, at the current rate, you will be unable to afford salaries…”

I scan the room of bare bones staff—we’re holding together with just the partners, and our receptionist who is conspicuously missing. That has to be enough until we get through the trial. “So, we don’t draw a wage this month,” I say, which seems like the most logical solution. A Band-Aid, just to get us through the next thirty days. If I’ve learned anything from this week with Lucas, it’s that you can only worry about the present. Take everything day by day.

Liz scoffs. “Unless you’ve got some kind of under the table deal going, Eden, we all know that isn’t going to play out the way you think. I have a little savings, but I can’t take the hit indefinitely. I doubt you can either.”

My voice drops to a whisper. “I don’t have savings.”

The truth is, without this month’s wages, I won’t be able to pay the rent on my small apartment. And in New York, there are no second chances—you dip, you’re out. I start chewing on the inside of my cheek as the reality of all this starts to come clear. I’ve been so wrapped up in Lucas that I haven’t given much thought to what happens when—if—Rubberneckers goes bankrupt. The gravity of our situation hits me now like a hard slap across the face.

I exhale hard. “Is it time to call it a day, guys?”

All eyes land on me. “What are you saying?” Marnie asks.

Her skin is ghost pale, and I know I’ve touched a nerve. She barely graduated J-school, while Liz and I passed with honors. This is her life. But none of us figured we’d end up here, running a tabloid-style e-mag that feeds off the misfortune and gossip of others. Some of our articles border on bullying.

This isn’t the kind of career I promised my parents I’d pursue with my fancy degree. Mom wanted me to be the next Barbara Walters, while Dad thought I might make ends meet if I aligned myself with a sports team. Maybe a sweet communications job with the Mets. Sports are a big deal in New York, but Wall Street is where the real money is, and tired of watching assholes with deep buckets run this town, we decided to rattle their cages.

Over time, our snark got…snarkier.

I’m not sure at what point it crossed over to cruel.

My parents wouldn’t have stood for that. Maybe if they’d survived the car crash, they’d have steered me in a different path. A wave of fresh remorse washes over me like a tidal wave.

“You can’t just walk,” our lawyer says, smacking me with another harsh dose of reality. Fuck. And the beats just keep coming. “The lawsuit doesn’t just…go away if you fold the company. It’s possible you could be held accountable, personally.”

Liz’s face pales. “Like any of us can afford that.” She crosses her legs and cradles her hands on her lap. Her fingernails are chipped, like she’s been chewing on them. She did that during finals at NYU, the stress eating her on the inside until she gave in and started mimicking it on the outside too—chewing her nails morphed into gnawing on the side of her cheek until she drew blood, or picking at the dry skin on her feet to make them raw and sore. What stage is she at now? “Maybe they’ll settle,” she says.

“That’s grasping at straws,” I say, voice low. “Newcastle launched this lawsuit with the sole purpose of breaking us financially. That’s why he asked for help. Called in his friends from…” The words choke up in my throat. “…Daylight Holdings. Now he has enough money to see it through to the end.”

I can’t let that happen.

“Those jerks at Daylight won’t pull out now,” Liz says. “It’s a matter of loyalty. Or having enough money to buy it.”

I avoid her gaze, but her words ring true. If I could just get Lucas to reconsider, get his partners to back out of their support… My teeth sink into my bottom lip and bite down hard. I tried talking to him about this once.

Before we spent a week together.

A thought starts churning in my stomach, and flutters up my throat. I blamed Lucas for not reaching out with a possible solution—but maybe I missed the signals. Is it possible I walked away too soon? Could he have been waiting for me to initiate the discussion?

It’s a long shot, but I need to see if there’s anything for us to salvage. If he has feelings for me—true feelings—could they be strong enough to prompt his support? I breathe in and lift my chin, still defiant in the face of defeat. “Listen guys, there may be something I can do…”

Liz’s lips press together.

“Do you have a Sugar Daddy we should know about?” Marnie says. Her mouth twitches like she’s joking, but I know there’s seriousness behind the question.

I grimace.

“Just hang tight, okay?” My pulse hums, and my heart beat picks up speed. “I can’t tell you right now, but I’ve got an idea.”

It’s a Hail Mary of a plan—but if I’m lucky, it just might work.