Confessions of a Fundraising Copywriter

I was staring out the window, watching the rain rivulets race each other down the pane, when I heard the knock.

"It's open."

She breezed in like she was floating on a cloud. Her heels were that high. She was wearing a dark business suit, white blouse and carrying a burgundy briefcase under her arm. Her red hair was pulled back into a tasteful bun. She had a thin, sharp face, like a runway model. She closed the door and turned to me with a hard eye.