“You look fabulous!” Todd steps around me, eyeing my gown enviously. “I knew Vera Wang would look fantastic on you. And I’m glad you went with the French mani-pedi. Perfect combo.”

I’d just returned from a whirlwind afternoon of shopping and primping. Todd pulled a miracle and found me a discounted gown that wasn’t some garish color or covered with glitter. The A-line silk crepe de chine flattered my curves, and the midnight purple color set off my dark waves and olive completion. It was sleeveless, with a high crew neckline and a racer back that accentuated my toned shoulders and back. Who knew the hours I spent on the tennis court would pay off?

“Thanks for everything, Todd, though I’m not thrilled by the dent in my bank account.”

He shrugs. “You know what they say, gotta spend money to make money.”

“It better work, because I’m on a ramen diet for the rest of the month.”

Todd lunges for me as I slide into my chair. “Stop! You’ll wrinkle Vera. No one wrinkles Vera.”

“Okay…” I glance around and settle for the wall. “I’ll lean, then. Ready for the briefing?”

Todd nods and gets down to business. “Heath Stratton comes from a line of self-made men. His father started Stratton Financials, a company that does accounting and investments for start-ups. He stepped down as CEO when his second son, Archer, graduated from Columbia with his MBA. Now he runs the show. Since then, Heath and his wife, Claudette, have been avid socialites and philanthropists. They’re particularly supportive of the arts and political causes.”

He thrusts a three-page document into my hands. “I’m not going to list them, but you can see them all in the briefing.”

I nod. “So arts and politics.”

Todd perches his black-rimmed glasses on his nose. “Exactly. It seems his love of art didn’t rub off on either of his sons. I already mentioned Archer, but the oldest—” he flips through the briefing “—Dalton is a Yale Law grad and now works on environmental reform. He married Faith Greer of Greer & Babston Law three years ago.”

I take a deep breath. “Great. The only thing left is, what’s he like?”

“What’s he like?” he repeats, cocking an eyebrow.

“You know every donor is different. Some are down to earth, others are snobs. I want to get a sense for what I’m up against.”

“Oh…” He trails off.

“No worries. I’ll ask another development officer.” I glance around the quickly emptying office and spot Max heading for the elevators.

“Max!” I call out, getting his attention. I turn back to Todd. “I’ll see you down there. Have you got Iggy?”

“Yup,” Todd answers, pulling out the giant black bag under his desk. Iggy was code for our in-case-of-emergency bag, which had everything from lipstick to pantyhose to a pair of comfy black flats. It was less startling to say, “Could you grab Iggy for me?” in front of a donor than, “These heels are murdering me—I need a frickin’ Band-Aid!”

I grin, then head over to Max. “You’re just the man I hoped to see,” I say, panting a little as I reach him. Ballgowns aren’t the easiest to trot in.

“Hey, Quinn. Running late, too?”

“Always,” I say. “I wanted to ask you about a donor.”

“Sure, which one?”

“It’s Heath Stratton.”

“The man of the hour?”

“One and the same. I’m being introduced to him tonight and want to know how to approach him.”

Max nods. “He’s a sweetheart. You’ll have no problem.”

“Really?” The knot in my gut loosens a tad.

“Absolutely. Don’t be nervous. His wife and son are wonderful, too.” Max leans over and summons the elevator.

“Which one—Archer?”

Max straightens. “Ah, no. I meant Dalton. Archer’s the younger one and, well… I hate to talk ill of a donor, but just stay away. He’s a real piece of work.”

“How so?”

“He’s incredibly hardworking and smart, but also pompous, haughty, and aloof to the point of being rude.” Max shakes his head. “I had him at my table for last year’s gala and it was a nightmare getting anything out him. Plus, his date was another high-society floozie who spent most of the night trying to get him to notice her. It was awkward, to say the least.”

The elevator doors slide open. “Want to walk down with me?” he asks.

“I’ll catch up. I need to grab my cell out of my office. Luckily, this gown has functional pockets; a first in women’s fashion.”

“You got it,” Max says, stepping into the elevator. “And don’t worry about Archer. He rarely comes to these things. You’ll be fine with Heath. In fact, in that gown…” he arches an eyebrow “… you’d be fine with anyone.”

I laugh. “Thanks, Max.”

A glance at the wall clock tells me I’d better get moving. I round the corner and smack into someone. “Oh! I’m so sorry. Are you—”

I stop when I see who it is.

Valerie steadies herself against the wall as she clutches at her dress, a shimmery petal-pink thing with lots of tulle and a plunging sweetheart neckline. On anyone else, that cut and color would look juvenile. I mean, is this prom? But Valerie made it work. It complemented her wispy frame, pale skin, and straw-blonde hair perfectly.

“What are you doing here?” To find her only a few feet away from where Max and I were talking set off all my alarms. “Were you eavesdropping?”

“Why would I care about what you have to say?” She rises to her full 5’9” height, magnified to model proportions by the four-inch Jimmy Choos strapped to her pedicured feet.

“Whatever, I’m late. We can exchange pleasantries later.” I graze by her and stride down the hall.

Valerie turns and follows, easily keeping up with my shorter steps. “Sounds like you’re nervous about your new prospect, Quinny.”

I stop, trying not to bristle at the use of my nickname— the one reserved for friends. “So you were listening.”

She crosses her arms over her chest. “Marisa told me this afternoon.”

“Oh.” I start walking again. “Then you know I’m first in line with Stratton.”

“Maybe, but I’ll be ready when you fail.”

“Who says I’m going to fail?”

“I do.” Valerie pushes ahead of me and blocks the doorway of my office. “And it’s not a matter of if, but when.”

“You’re allowed your opinions—”

“It’s the truth,” she says.

My hand twitches as I resist the urge to slap that smug look off her face. I’ve had about enough of this game. I need my strength for tonight, not to battle this prissy princess.

I step forward and throw my shoulders back. “I’ve been poked, prodded, and plucked all day, and I’m wearing head-to-toe Spanx. I’m not in the mood, so get out of my way. Now.”

Valerie’s eyes flash, but she inches to the side.

“Good.” I grab my phone, shove it into my pocket, and lock up my office. I turn to face Valerie one more time.

“See you down in the lion’s den, Val. And may the best woman win.”