“Let’s talk about this season, though,” Celeste says, brushing past my possibly ridiculous, possibly totally normal promise to have hundreds of new bags next season. “What’s your delivery?” She’s glancing over my one-sheet of business specs.

“I want to deliver something that is practical and suited to everyday use, but is still a statement piece,” I say confidently. But Celeste looks confused.

“What about your delivery time?” she asks. “How fast can you get your handbags to us should we end up wanting to have them in our stores?”

“I can have them delivered as quickly as you need them,” I say, embarrassed to have misunderstood the fashion business shorthand.

“You don’t need to check with your production team?” Celeste raises her eyebrows.

Shit. Of course I do. What am I doing making promises about delivery time without checking on the logistics? “Um yes,” I say sheepishly. “I’ll have to get back to you with the specifics.”

Celeste smiles—but is it a real smile, or is she just being nice? “Why don’t you leave these prototype bags with me, and my team will review them further. We can reconnect in a few weeks. Maybe you’ll have a better sense of your logistics and plans for next season then?”

I nod and summon a small smile as she leads me back to reception. I’m grateful that she’s even offering to review the bags further, but I can’t help but feel like all this meeting did was expose how much of an amateur I really am.

On the flight home, I make a plan. I might have flubbed the Lane Crawford meeting, but I can’t let myself dwell on it. Going forward, I’m just going to have to make sure I’m nothing less than 100 percent prepared, 100 percent professional. And as for whether or not I’m technically Alex’s girlfriend, and what it all means… well, I can’t dwell on that either. I can’t. There’s too much on the line for me to let myself get distracted.