There was simply no overstating the importance of tonight. It had the potential to change everything. Selling Montague House to an A-lister like Zara would solidify Claudine as the town’s most exclusive agent, placing her once and for all ahead of Steve. This sale would leave him and his company in the dust. Imagine the inquiries she’d get. Calhoun + Calhoun’s client base would soar. The deluge of calls and emails. The boost to their social media. Right now they only had three thousand or so followers. How many would they add with one shot of Montague House on Zara’s Instagram and @calhounandcalhoun tagged? Fifty thousand? A hundred thousand? Good god, what if Zara took a selfie of the two of them and posted that? What was she doing at this cut-rate salon? What would a few hundred dollars more matter to her overdue Amex balance? Visionaries didn’t compromise.

Claudine put the guest list into her purse and picked up one of the magazines to memorize a few more details about Zara and her recent breakup with heavily tattooed goth rocker Liam Loch.

One of the biggest questions is who will get custody of Pip, the cute rescue Pomeranian that Zara and Liam adopted shortly after they started dating.

Claudine hoped it was him. She hated dogs. She didn’t need that fur ball running around Montague House, shedding everywhere, pissing in the corners. Small dogs especially were attention suckers.

She had to admit, there was something poetic about the entire situation. Zara was obviously hoping Montague House would be a new chapter, a fresh beginning—just like it had been for Claudine. That five-acre plot of land had rescued her, set her life on a different trajectory. Now all these years later it would serve the same purpose for Zara.

She checked the time on her Cartier Tank Anglaise: 2:45 p.m. She was supposed to meet the caterer at Montague House at 5:00 p.m. No time for lunch. Not like she had planned on it, she hadn’t been eating much the past few days. There were leather Balenciaga pants to fit into. After the salon, she’d hurry back to the office to check in with her staff, change into her outfit for the night, and grab her Secret Santa gift. She had to say, in all her years of the game, it was maybe the best gift she’d ever chosen. Not the most expensive, but likely to draw the most gasps.

She tossed the magazine back on the pile, reached once more into her purse, and took out the thin wooden invitation. Made from reclaimed wood salvaged from last summer’s fires near Basalt and embossed with gold-leaf lettering:

Cocktails and Hors d’oeuvres 6 p.m.

Secret Santa Exchange 7 p.m. sharp