“But?”
“But Brian insisted she knew social media. Apparently she has over 150,000 followers on something called BookTok?”
“Book recommendations on TikTok. It’s huge,” I said. “I planned an author event last spring, and her BookTok following sold out three hundred seats in two hours.”
He looks at me like I'm speaking another language. “You know about BookTok?”
“It's part of my job to know where people pay attention.”
“Right.” He's studying Jocelyn now, who's got a cluster of younger donors laughing as they take group selfies.
“You know,” I say, “Evergreen Books is having a bunch of events this Saturday as part of the holiday festival. Holiday romances, local authors, that kind of thing. You should mention it to her—might be fun content for her BookTok.”
“Fun content.” He repeats it like he's learning a new phrase. “Is that what we're calling it?”
“That's the lingo.”
“You're very thoughtful. I'll mention it—I'm sure she'd love to come.”
* * *
Thirty minutes in, I'm near the board table when someone mentions expanding internationally.
“We've considered it,” a board member says, “but the overhead would be astronomical. Better to focus resources locally.”
From a few seats over, Evan catches my eye. He raises one eyebrow, so subtle no one else would notice. We both know that board member just returned from buying his third yacht. Talk about astronomical overhead, his expression says.
I have to bite my cheek not to laugh.
Later, Margaret Carrington—a donor I've never met but who has strong opinions—corners me near the donation display. “I don't understand why we need all these videos and personal stories. Can't people just write checks?”
Before I can answer, Evan appears.
“Margaret, I see you’ve met Holly. She's the visionary behind tonight's approach.” He catches my eye—you’ve got this—then turns back to Margaret. “Holly, Margaret has questions about the beneficiary integration. I told her you're the expert.”
He doesn't leave. Doesn't hover. Just stays close while I explain donor psychology. When Margaret starts to interrupt, he shifts slightly—nothing aggressive, just enough to remind her I'm still speaking.
She's been going on for ten minutes when Evan smoothly interjects, “Margaret, I believe Richard was looking for you by the bar. Something about your symphony season tickets?”
With that, Margaret is gone, and I exhale for what feels like the first time.
“You were brilliant,” Evan murmurs.
“You rescued me.”
“Please. You had her eating out of your hand.”
“She was trying to eat ME.”
“I just expedited the exit.” He reaches past me for a champagne glass. My shoulder brushes his chest and I lose the rest of my sentence.
“I was—what was I saying?”
His mouth quirks up. “Something about being eaten.”
“Right. That. I should check on—something.”
“The donation display is right there,” he supplies helpfully, nodding toward it.
