Right, okay. The meeting only fucked him over slightly; just enough to make him think that perhaps now was not the time for sitting back and waiting for someone to find out that he held a dual membership with one of Bloodclan's enemies. It wasn't a political thing, it was personal - but Barbara wouldn't take kindly nonetheless, and he knew it.
He feels kind of godawful, really, because even the thought of disloyalty makes him sick to his stomach and yet - and yet - here he stands, willing to sacrifice his crew members for personal gain. At least he'd get Somebody out of that mess, get his own personal workers out of that hellhole before any genuine harm came to his business - and No-Face, too, if the mutt was still chasing him around. Trevor could risk another clan, a place full of enemies he'd rather choke than work for, but he couldn't let harm come to the few that were keeping his own small business afloat. Frankly, he was reliant on The Cartel's economy, and tipping the boat could be risky if he couldn't keep matters under control - and, in all honesty, he didn't know what would happen by the end of this meeting. Anything, he supposed, including his own exile.
"Barbs, lemme in." If he's apprehensive, then he does a good job at hiding it. He's waiting outside of her den, pacing slightly; Trevor isn't really sure what else to do with himself when he gets like this, and the excess energy has a way of making itself too prominent to ignore. "Got somethin' to talk to you about, c'mon."