I was in my early days with David and she was living with her now ex, Sebastian, who I knew from school. When I saw her that day, she was crying, so I asked her to join me for coffee and didn’t give up until she told me what was wrong, despite her reticence. I found out Sebastian was emotionally abusive, he was gaslighting her, and she was slowly losing her grip on reality. I basically forced her to leave him, took her in and made sure she didn’t go back to him. Although she tried a few times. Back then, Alisa was working as a junior editor at a publishing house in the city. When she told me about an opening for a paid internship in London, a few months later, I encouraged—read: bugged her—to take it. A fresh start she needed and deserved.

Ever since then we’ve been bound together by more than just our love of words and books. The distance didn’t ruin our relationship, it made it stronger. The only problem we have is the time difference, but we make it work.

Alisa is now a senior commissioning editor and is in love with a wonderful man who adores her. I’d say everything worked out for her—just as I hoped it would when I wrote the story of Alisa’s amazing adventures in London. Even better than my story.

“How’s California? Bright and sunny?” she asks. “Send me a photo.”

“I’m not in California. Sorry, I meant to call you last night, but it was chaotic. I’m in Vermont on a last-minute assignment from Janice.”

“What about your plans? Why do you let her push you around, Maya?”

“This is a big one, Alisa. I get to talk to Nakamura.”

“It was about time you got a good one,” she says and I’m thankful she knows who I’m talking about, and I don’t have to explain.

“Yes. I’m in front of his house. That’s why I need you, and I don’t have much time.”

“Oh, sorry. Yes. What can I do?”

“I need you to go online and find me a ticket for tonight from NY to SF. I don’t have time to do research now and I’m afraid it’ll be too late when I finish here. Please.”

“So, you’re still going?”

“I am, yes.”

Alisa is not a big fan of David, and I know she’s thinking I’m trying too hard.

“OK, then. I’ll do it and send you the details.”

“Thank you. You’re the best!”

“Take care and good luck with Nakamura. I heard he’s difficult.”

“I hope not,” I say, and she laughs.

I hang up when Mason bangs on the car window, showing me the watch. It’s ten-thirty.

I press the buzzer. Nothing. I try again. No answer.

“I don’t think he’s here,” I say as Mason gets his gear out of the car.

“Let’s just wait then,” he grumbles.

And we do. For an hour. Then another two. It’s one-thirty already.

We go back to the car because our feet hurt from all the standing around and I call the publicist several times, but when she doesn’t answer, I leave voicemails.