PARKER
It’s a donor. Mid-fifties. Wealthy. Smells like leather and truffle oil. He’s already had three glasses of something golden. “I wanted to say—just beautiful. Really. Top-tier. And the rescue partnership? Brilliant move.”
“Thank you,” I say, forcing my best gala-appropriate smile. “We’re thrilled to support the expansion.”
“I have a buddy in Marin with a Doberman that eats six hundred dollars in vet bills a month. I told him—‘next year, you’re writing a check!’” He laughs. I nod. Someone claps again nearby.
A girl in a sequined trapeze outfit does a slow somersault in midair from one red silk ribbon to another. The crowd gasps.
I excuse myself with a polite, “So glad you’re enjoying yourself,” and slip away before I say something truly unhinged like I’m going to vomit on your sh
