I sent my live location to Sarah with a quick in case I die and walked into the goddamn venue.
It was disgustingly fancy. A five-star suite that probably cost more per hour than I made in a month. Everything smelled like rich people perfume and lavender oil diffusers. There were candles. God help me, candles.
A soft-spoken hostess asked for my name. I gave it. She led me through tall glass doors to a sleek conference room already half-filled with well-dressed executives. About four of them. Men and women in suits that looked custom-tailored, laughter polished, smiles well-rehearsed.
I kept my head high. Took the seat at the far end.
And immediately texted Sarah:
_I hate everyone here. Especially myself._
Then I put my phone away, smoothed my skirt, and tried not to chew on the inside of my cheek.
Ten minutes passed.
Then fifteen.
And then the doors opened again.
Ash walked in like she owned the fucking planet.
