Yikes. Far too much slobber. Felicity inched away in case Droolius Caesar over there got ideas of sharing the love. Instead, after a few quick sniffs in Felicity’s direction, the animal seemed perfectly content to hug Cooper’s side. Thank all things holy in heaven.

“And this is Felicity Simmons,” Cooper said to both Mrs. Brooks and the excitable canine as she rose from her crouch. She made her way to a chair with the delighted dog doing loops in and out of her stride. “Felicity’s giving us the once-over for Bartell Corporation. To see if they want to donate.”

Mrs. Brooks’s eyebrows lifted at the mention of Bartell Corp.

She should be impressed. It was a Fortune 500 company. Which I’m going to be in charge of in a month. Well, assuming she didn’t screw up Elena’s secret mission here.

“And this is Cassandra Brooks, who keeps our entire charity on an even keel,” Cooper said, sliding her coffee onto the table and turning to Felicity. “She also sort of dog shares Brittany with me.”

Dog share? Why? They weren’t a couple, were they? Mrs. Brooks looked at least sixty. And Cooper was, what? Late thirties? Early forties?

Her confusion must have shown because Cooper added, “Britt’s mine during the day and Mrs. B kindly keeps her on nights and weekends because her apartment allows dogs, unlike mine.” She scowled. “A situation I’m trying to fix, but it’d be easier if affordable, dog-friendly buildings weren’t so hard to find in New York.”

Felicity nodded neutrally, having precisely zero interest in the sleeping arrangements of Brittany, the slobbery dog.

“So,” Mrs. Brooks said as she put her handbag on her desk, “potential donor, you say?”

Felicity nodded.

“Excellent. You’ll be wanting this, then.” She rummaged through her drawers and pulled out a folder, putting it on the table in front of Felicity. “This is the charity overview we supply to all potential donors. If you have any questions, Mr. Clifford will be in soon enough.”

Cooper sipped her coffee and watched them without a word.

Felicity made no move to take it. “If it’s all the same to you, I’m not looking for the information handed out to other donors. I’m looking for the full picture. The other financial information, if you follow. The information not often shared.”

The room seemed to get chillier.

“Excuse me?” Mrs. Brooks asked. Her mouth fell open. “What are you implying?”

Oh hell. Maybe Felicity really was bad at subtle. Before she could answer, Cooper chimed in.

“This is a legitimate charity! We do excellent work here!” Her eyes widened, and she placed her cup carefully on the table. “Mr. Clifford is scrupulous and ethical. He’d never do anything that wasn’t aboveboard. Same goes for everyone here.”

“Then that’s both excellent and easy to prove,” Felicity said quietly, spreading her hands to try and ease the tension. “Yes? Look, it’s simple. My boss is one of the richest women in the media world, and when she makes an investment in a cause, she wants it to be to a charity above reproach. And I’m here to make sure that’s the case. Surely you understand.”

“Oh.” Mrs. Brooks’s hackles seemed to go down.

“Well, fine, but is there some reason you think we wouldn’t be above reproach?” Cooper asked. “Or do you turn up and insult the integrity of every charity she’s interested in? Is this part of your job description?”

Felicity’s lips thinned. Her hands bunched into fists where they sat on the table. Don’t barge in like Rambo, Elena had said. And here she was…Ramboing up a storm.

“I’m sure this is just standard procedure,” Mrs. Brooks said suddenly, eyes darting to her hands, then to Cooper. Her voice was soothing.

It set Felicity’s teeth on edge, as if she needed managing. She was making such a mess of this.

“I just want answers and that’s it. I’m not accusing anyone of anything,” Felicity said tightly. “But if you don’t want questions about how you run things, maybe don’t feature in stories about how you’re about to shut down.”

“Oh, that.” Cooper said, and all the tension eased from her shoulders. “It’s not true.”

“Then why put it out there?” Felicity asked.

“Harvey does it every year. A story to get in new donors. It means nothing.”

“So you don’t need money?” Felicity’s eyebrow shot up.

“I didn’t say that.” Cooper gave her a hard look. “Do you always twist people’s words like that? Is that the lawyer in you? Or does working for a media empire rub off? A journalist thing?”

How imposing she looked, directing all that angry energy at Felicity, who glared back, refusing to be intimidated. “Look, this isn’t hard. My boss read about you last year and loved Living Ruff’s story so much she wanted to donate. Now with this latest article all about how you’re three seconds from calling in the liquidators, she’s worried that it’s not a sound investment. So which is it?”

“Last year?” Cooper snorted. “Oh right. You mean the God’s gift to charities article.”

Felicity paused. “How do you know which article I mean?”

Mrs. Brooks chuckled. “There’s only one that people remember.”

Felicity frowned. “I’m not following.”

“It went on for pages,” Cooper said, jumping in. “It covered a day in the life of me doing my work. The reporter followed me around, then interviewed all the homeless people about what they thought of us, then talked to the local government people as to whether we were good, poked over our finances, interviewed other charities about us, too. It was like getting a journalistic colonoscopy.” She shook her head. “I’ve never seen anything like it. Every other media story has always been a puff piece: three paragraphs, a few feel-good quotes, a photo of a cute dog, and that’s it. This one was like the reporter was going for a Pulitzer. We had to prove we were worth their endorsement. Then when the story came out, it was”—she shook her head again—“astonishing.”

Mrs. Brooks rose, walked to the table, and flipped open the folder she’d first offered Felicity. She drew out a photocopy of a newspaper article. “Want to read it? It brought us in hundreds of new donors from all over. And we also received the single biggest donation in our charity’s history from it.”

Elena’s donation. Curious, Felicity slid the article closer, looked down…and drew in a shocked breath.

Suddenly a great many things became clear.

WHEN LOVE HAS NO HOME

By MADDIE GREY

She didn’t even need to read it to know that of course the story would be exceptional. Because try as she might to deny it, the Australian was a phenomenal reporter; she had several international scoops and awards to her name these days. Felicity glanced at the publication date. August 29. Maddie had worked on this while she was freelancing in New York before she’d left for Vietnam on a travel-writing assignment.

Felicity scan-read it. Naturally, it was beautifully written. And touching. So of course Elena would have wanted to donate to a cause that was apparently so close to Maddie’s heart.

Now it all became clear why Elena had been so worried. It wasn’t about her missing money, was it? Well, that wouldn’t be her primary motivation. No, Elena would be concerned how it would look if her reporter friend had written a multipage love letter to a charity that might turn out to be corrupt. Elena was worried about Maddie’s professional reputation taking a dive. No wonder she had stressed to Felicity that she try and find subtle solutions.

She sagged. Why did everything come down to Maddie Grey? What did Maddie have that Felicity didn’t? Why was Elena so…loyal…to her, so connected? It was a mystery Felicity was no closer to solving.

“What is it?” Cooper asked, sounding curious.

Felicity looked up. “I…know her. The writer.” She waved at the story. “She used to work with me. Now she’s”—in photo frames on my boss’s desk—“a friend of my boss.”

“Maddie? She’s friends with Elena Bartell?”

“Yes. Good friends. So that explains why I’m here.” It really did. Why couldn’t Elena have just confided in her about this?