Confessions of a Fundraising Copywriter
Writer-for-hire Rick Grant takes on a lapsed-donor case
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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.
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