The Anastasios Press offices are located just outside of Chicago, about forty-five minutes away from JMP, which is right in the heart of downtown. The way Trina explained it, the suburbs have a bit of a slower-paced, family vibe that fits what Anastasios was going for when it was initially founded, and they negotiated with JMP to keep the building. Plus, more space with a cheaper overhead, which is probably the real reason.

Despite Trina’s begging, I drive myself. She probably doesn’t trust me not to bail. To her credit, I consider not going at least six times in the span of the hour it takes me to get ready. Thankfully, that trip to the salon actually did wonders for my self-confidence, so I’m able to wrangle myself into something I feel pretty good about. Before I can talk myself out of it again, I send Trina my location to keep me accountable, fold myself into my tiny car, and hit the road.

I arrive over an hour early, which is super great for the anxiety building in the pit of my stomach. But there’s no way I’m going in there without Trina, so I try to read on my phone—try being the operative word. Once I’ve read the same page three times without processing any of the information, I switch to Solitaire.

Trina knocks on my passenger-side window about twenty minutes before the meeting is set to start, a small smile playing at her red lips. I vaguely wonder—not for the first time—how she keeps them so perfectly red all the time as she pulls open the door and sits next to me.

She wastes no time getting right to the point, which is one of the things I truly love about her. “Okay, game plan,” she says breathlessly as she folds the edges of her green floral skirt into the car and slams the passenger door. Then, she deflates. “Actually, I don’t have a game plan. I got the sense on the phone that Casey thinks this whole thing is super weird, even though I tried to play it cool. He’s already suspicious. So we’re just going to go in there, shake a few hands, and I’m going to launch into my pitch before they have a chance to say anything about you.”

“That…does not make me feel better.” I frown.

As she shrugs, her shoulders hit her giant earrings, making them jingle like little fairies. “It’s the best I’ve got.”

“You could have lied to me. Pretended like you have some kind of control over this.”