“Come again?” I sputter, staring at the fierce-looking woman sitting across from me in a fuchsia power suit. Only Marisa Barrister could pull off that beyond-bright color in New York, the city of black.

“I said Piper quit.” My boss pushes her Chanel glasses up her thin nose with a lacquered finger—fuchsia, of course. “She’s accepted a position with the Art Institute of Chicago as their Vice President of Development. I’m not sure how she’ll handle the responsibility…” Marisa purses her stained lips (fuchsia, you guessed it) and shrugs. “But that’s for her to figure out.”

I sit back in my chair, a hard, unforgiving thing that could probably pass as an instrument of torture. “I can’t believe it.”

That’s not true. Piper is completely dedicated to the job, her monthly numbers are most development officers’ yearly goals, and she handles herself with grace and poise. If anyone deserves this promotion, Piper does.

“This comes as a shock to us all,” Marisa says. “Me, included.”

“You didn’t know?”

“No,” she snaps, drawing herself up. “Piper kept her cards close to her chest. I wish her well, but I’m left picking up her slack.”

Of course. Marisa and Piper are both Directors of Development at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Marisa heads my division, Annual Giving, and Piper heads Special Projects Initiatives.

Headed. Past tense.

“So, is there someone in mind for Piper’s position?” I ask, fighting to keep my tone neutral. “Are they going with an outside hire or…an internal candidate?”

“That’s why I called you in here,” Marisa says. I edge forward. “Piper discussed her transition plan with Peter, and they did come up with a name…”

Be me. Please, pretty please, be me.

“… and it was yours.”

YES.

I manage to keep my ass in my chair. “What a surprise,” I say with only a slight tremor.

Actually, I’m not. I’ve been working toward this moment for the last seven years. I’d finally get a portfolio of committed donors who believe in our museum and have the money to take it to new heights.

Not to mention I would get to start traveling and a bump in pay. It’s not that my salary is terrible, but you try living in the most expensive city in the world on an art museum’s pay.

Yeah, I didn’t think so.

And I’ll admit, the swanky title wouldn’t be terrible. I could see it now: “Quinn East, Director of Development of Special Projects Initiatives at the Metropolitan Museum of Art.” A mouthful, but it should fit on a business card—

“Quinn, are you listening?” Marisa demands.

I sit up in my chair. “I’m so sorry. I was just, um, taking it in.”

“I was saying the job’s not yours yet. There are conditions.”

My heart rate goes from thirty to sixty mph in approximately two seconds. “I see. What ‘conditions’?”

“An ask.”

Suddenly, I can breathe again. An ask’s not a big deal. I’m the queen of asks!

“Piper was about to close on an important proposal,” Marisa explains. “We need you to pick up where she’s left off, so you’ll need to attend the exhibit opening tonight. I hope you don’t have anything planned…”

I shake my head. Me? Have plans? Hilarious.

“That’s where Peter will make the introduction. Be your best tonight, Quinn. I don’t need to tell you how important first impressions are in our field.”

“Absolutely,” I say, calmly meeting her narrowed eyes. “I can do this.”

“You’ll have to. We need to see you succeed with a donor of this caliber.”

“And what caliber is that?” I ask slowly.

“The million dollar and up prospects.”

A million dollars? I’ve pulled in five hundred thousand dollar gifts like I was born for it, but seven figures? Uh, hell no.

“Piper will brief you on everything you need to know,” Marisa goes on, oblivious to the shit-storm laying siege to my brain. “This is a big deal, Quinn—”

“Who’s the prospect?” I interrupt, fully aware that I’m breaking one of Marisa’s Golden Rules of Conversation.

“It’s Heath Stratton,” Marisa puffs out through pursed lips. “I’m sure you’ve heard of that family.”

“Stratton,” I repeat, dumbstruck. I’m waiting for her to yell “gotcha!”, though that would require my to boss have a sense of humor. Which she does not. “Marisa, that’s a major donor.”

“As I am well aware. What’s wrong with you today?”

What’s wrong with me? Heath Stratton is a big fish. The big kahuna. A staple in New York City. The man is single-handedly responsible for the wing renovation that’s being unveiled tonight.

“Why can’t Piper make the ask before she leaves?” I say, growing desperate.

“Impossible. Not with an ask this big.”

I bite my lip. “Um, how big?”

Marisa leans forward. “Twenty million dollars.”

I’m not entirely proud that I gasped like some swooning woman, but trust me, it was better than the string of curses on the tip of my tongue.

“We need to renovate the Modern and Contemporary Art Wing,” Marisa goes on, assuming my surprise stems from excitement. “So much sculpture is sitting in our vault because of the current layout, but…”

I stop listening right about then. I have far more important things on my mind, like how I can politely decline without losing my would-be promotion and/or current job. Oh, and the respect of Marisa, Piper, and the head honcho, Peter Nassau.

“Marisa,” I say, cutting her off and not caring in the slightest, “I appreciate the offer and your faith in me, but there’s no way I can close this gift.”

Silence. Not good.

“I wouldn’t even know where to begin.”

Marisa arches an eyebrow.

“Or how to approach a donor as important as Mr. Stratton.”

“Piper is here to help you,” Marisa says, “and you’re wasting valuable time arguing with me when you could be speaking with her.”

“I realize that,” I admit.

“Then what’s the issue?”

“I can take over Piper’s responsibilities and her other prospects, but this ask should go to someone more experienced.”

Marisa goes still. “I don’t believe I heard you correctly, Quinn. Are you implying that you should get Piper’s job, and not make the ask?”

“Yes?” I know I’m stepping on a big, clearly marked landmine, but I plow on anyway. “Please, Marisa…”

Marisa pushes away from the desk and stands up, effortlessly balancing on her towering stilettos. “Quinn. You’re going to take the morning to consider this very generous offer.”

I stumble to my feet.

“I’ll expect your answer by lunch,” she says, dismissing me.

My legs feel like lead as I drag myself to the door. I have three hours to figure this out, but it looks like a “screwed if you do, screwed if you don’t” situation to me.

Marisa’s voice stops me just outside the door. “Oh, I almost forgot…”

How could there be more?

“If you refuse, I’m giving this to Valerie. Which means, as I’m sure you’ll work out, she’ll be your superior.”

Marisa answers my look of abject horror with a light chuckle. “That’ll be all, Quinn. Shut the door on your way out.”

I’m not sure how I find my way back to my office, but I do manage to snag a few pieces of chocolate along the way. I glance down.

Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups. Thank the Lord.

“There you are!”

I look up as my assistant, Todd, pops out of his chair. He bends over his laptop, holding his pink pinstriped tie back with his hand. “I had to change your 1:30 to 2pm, your tea is on your desk, and I snagged you a muffin from the kitchen before they were inhaled.”

Todd turns to face me. He sees my pallid face and glazed eyes, and sucks in his breath. “Quinn! What’s wrong?”

I can’t answer. I’m still trying to process the bomb that just got dropped on me.

“Did someone die?” Todd whispers.

“No,” I say with a generous shake of my head. “I just came from Marisa’s office.”

I must look as upset as I feel, because in a matter of seconds, I’m sitting in my office staring at a mini blueberry muffin and a Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup.

“Spill,” Todd demands, closing my door.

“Piper is leaving,” I burst out. “She’s going to Chicago for a sizable promotion, and they’re considering me as her replacement.”

“Oh my God.” Todd launches himself around my desk to give me a hug. “Office with windows, here we come!”

I fend him off with my hand. “Whoa, now, it’s not that easy.”

“What do you mean? You’ve worked your ass off here, given them your entire career.”

“I know. But first, I have to net an ask Piper was working on.”

Todd leans forward. “For?”

“Heath Stratton,” I answer. My assistant seems shocked into silence; a first. “Yup. And the ask is—get this—twenty mil.”

Todd gasps. “You’re joking.”

“Do I look like I’m joking?” I roll my eyes when my assistant starts scrutinizing me. “I’m not, but I am freaking out. They want to make the introduction at the wing opening tonight.”

“The event in honor of the Strattons? Okay, now I’m freaking out.” He snatches the Reese’s off my desk and shoves it in his mouth. “I have, like, so much to do. I need to get you a bio and talking points and—holy shit! What are you going to wear? You can’t go wearing…that.”

Todd gestures to my black suit.

“What’s wrong with this?” I demand, kinda hurt. “And just a sec—”

“It’s fine, but not ‘give me twenty million dollars’ fine. Maybe we could find something on sale at Barney’s? And I’ll get you a hair appointment for later today. Gosh, this is so last minute—”

“Todd! What are you talking about?” I demand.

His brown eyes stare at me. “Getting you ready for the ask of your life. Duh.”

“I told Marisa no.”

“You what?”

I stand up and start pacing. “I’m out of my league. This is completely over my head.”

“You have to, Quinn.”

“There’s no way I can do this. Last minute asks are my nightmare—”

“I’ll help you!” Todd says.

“—coupled with knowing that one slip-up could lose, oh I don’t know, a huge seven-figure gift.”

“But…you’ll never know if you don’t try.”

That stops me in my tracks. “You know how crazy this is,” I say.

“Yup,” Todd answers, smiling.

“And how much work it’ll be.”

“Yup.”

“For the both of us,” I stress. I pray he takes the easy road as I watch him consider it, but when his determined eyes meet mine, I know I’m in trouble.

“I can’t believe I’m even considering this!” I mutter, collapsing in my chair. “You know I could get fired for messing this up, right?”

Todd comes around my desk and gives me a bear hug. “I know, Quinn. But I also know that you’re the hardest working badass in this joint. I wouldn’t have stuck around for so long if you weren’t a killer boss.”

I give him a small smile. “Thanks, I needed that.”

“Great.” Todd snaps up the mini muffin idling in front of me. “Now that I’ve buttered you up, I’ll tell it to you straight: Quinn East, you’ll regret passing this up for the rest of your life.”

Todd pops the pastry into his mouth and heads for the door. “I’ll go get you another muffin since yours mysteriously disappeared.”

I know Todd’s right by the time the door clicks shut. I would regret not trying, especially if Valerie’s next in line.

I grimace. The thought of her as my superior makes my blood boil. Valerie, a girl born with the silver spoon of wealth and beauty in her mouth,a dangerous (and annoying) combination. Even so, I landed the same job as her, and I’d bet twenty million dollars that I worked a hell of a lot harder to get it. I had nothing growing up—only myself and a dream.

My eyes flick to the only personal photo in my office: me in a cap and gown at graduation. An older man stands next to me, his arm draped over my shoulder as he beams with pride. I smile at the memory. I guess I had Jonathan, didn’t I? The man closer to me than my own father; a man I never knew.

I glance at the pile of papers sitting on my desk, the same portfolio I’ve managed for years, then back to the photo. Jonathan would tell me that I’m stronger than I look. That I’m a fighter. He’d say go for it.

Todd whirls around as I wrench open my door. I open my mouth to speak, but he holds up his hand. “Don’t bother. I’ve already moved your meetings to Monday, and you’re booked for a 3pm hair and nail appointment at Glow.”

“But how did you…?”

Todd rolls his eyes at me. “What do you take me for? Now go!”

I book it to Marisa’s office, rehearsing what I will say as I zigzag down the corridors. I need to sound poised, eloquent, suave—like a million dollar development officer who’s used to insane pressure.

I reach her door, throw up my chin, and knock.

“Come in…” Marisa looks up as I enter. “What is it? I’m in the middle of something.”

I remind myself to sound polished, clever.

“I’ll do it!” I blurt out.

Ugh. Not my best sell, but it does the trick.

Marisa raises an eyebrow and returns to her work. “Don’t let me down.”