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her parents’ trophy daughter, she had to make a go of the Conservancy job. None of the city jobs she had tried had worked out. Neither had her personal life. The men on the party circuit were too much like her ex—users and losers.
    She glanced at her watch. Too soon. She simply couldn’t leave until the hastily knocked-together “memorial” speech in Lorne’s honor was over.
    “Smile, darling. It’s a party, not a funeral.”
    Shaye bit back a sigh. If there was one thing that grated on her, it was her boss in full happy-happy mode. Reminded her way too much of her mother.
    “Kimberli, you look wonderful as always,” Shaye said, proving that childhood lessons in social manners and maneuvers hadn’t been a waste of time after all.
    The older woman brushed the words aside. She knew she looked good. It was what she did best. That and vacuuming money from checking accounts for the Conservancy. She was dedicated to her job the way some people were dedicated to religion. The hours she routinely worked should have been illegal. Not to mention after-hours visits to families and properties to keep the relationship going.
    Shaye wondered if Kimberli knew about Lorne’s rude nephew, but didn’t bring it up. Shaye was in no hurry to have her boss sweetly and passive-aggressively chew her out when the situation was Kimberli’s fault in the first place.
    God, I should never have let her anywhere near the closing of that deal. My bad. Her bad.
    A mess.
    “Lovely to see you in something other than old jeans,” Kimberli continued. “Now smile and look like you’re having fun. I don’t want this night to be a downer just because Lorne Davis isn’t here.”
    “You make it sound like he was called away on a short trip,” Shaye said, then wished she hadn’t.
    “Our cause is bigger than any one person.”
    “Of course.” Shaye smiled her social smile, the one that didn’t touch her eyes. “It looks like everyone is having a great time.”
    “I did what I could,” Kimberli said absently, checking out the bunting and cheerful, fresh flowers.
    Framed in mascara and touched by glitter, Kimberli’s pale blue eyes searched the room endlessly, ready to pounce if anyone wasn’t having a good time. Again, Shaye was reminded of her mother. Shaye knew how necessary—and relentless—raising money was, but she didn’t enjoy the process.
    “If only Lorne—” Kimberli stopped abruptly. Her smile got even brighter. “I do hope that Harold Hill gets back in time to be here. He’s such a dear. So handsome, too.” She gave the man hanging on to her arm like a purse an air kiss. “Not that you aren’t, Peter. You’re gorgeous and you know it.”
    Shaye glanced at Kimberli’s escort and live-in lover. Peter Mann was half Kimberli’s age and fond of marijuana, which did nothing for his already mediocre IQ. He was apparently content to be a boy toy. Without complaint he stayed by her side through the tangled wilderness of cosmetic surgery and all-night parties. He had the tan skin, streaked blond hair, and toned body of a tennis, ski, or surf pro willing to give lessons on the side. Quite good-looking, if you liked the sort.
    Kimberli did.
    Shaye didn’t. She’d had a handsome athlete for a husband. It hadn’t worked out well. But then again, nothing after that had seemed to work, either. Men figured Shaye was supposed to be arm candy or a mommy.
    Maybe Kimberli has the right idea. Screw them and lose them.
    Kimberli had invested a lot of time, money, and energy in being forever twenty-one. At fifty, it was hard to do, but her boss pulled it off beautifully. That wasn’t what grated on Shaye. What made her teeth clench was the Marilyn Monroe act that went along with it. Kimberli wasn’t as breathless and stupid as she sounded.
    Unless it involved paperwork.
    But Kimberli was brilliant at fund-raising, which was all that mattered to the big bosses in the Conservancy. Paper pushers could be picked up at minimum