Chapter 14
Friday, June 20
Ryder McBride would be practically unrecognizable in his fireman’s helmet and bunker gear—a fact that wasn’t lost on him.
After memorizing his lines, he’d stayed up late last night, strategizing. Listing potential contributors, mapping them out for his team.
Chardonnay St. Pierre probably knew every hotshot in the valley. All the big winery owners, for sure, and lots of other businesspeople.
But that wasn’t the worst thing. The hell with begging for donations from other people. Char’s old man could annihilate all her competition with one big fat check.
Ryder slumped back in his desk chair, reality closing in before he’d even got started. His team could work twenty-four-seven for the next two weeks, and Char could still win.
He recalled yet again his mother’s dire straits following his dad’s death.
And more recently, poor Lori MacKenzie raising two kids on a cashier’s salary. Only a year ago, Lori’s husband James had died in a wreck between the pumper he was helming and some crazy-ass civilian in a jacked-up sports car.
Ryder’s body sat motionless as his mind raced. There had to be a way to beat Team Char.
Then he remembered. All the team captains had been advised never to reveal how much they’d raised at any point in the campaign. In the past, near winners had been overheard bragging about their war chests, only to be outdone when a competitor went running to a big corporate sponsor who’d written a single check on the spot.
If Chardonnay didn’t know how much her competition raised, she wouldn’t know how much she had to raise to beat them.
She wouldn’t expect much out of a small outfit like his. But then, she had no idea how much the FRF meant to him and the rest of the department.
His best bet was to work like a dog and downplay his progress. It wouldn’t be the first time David beat Goliath.
Plus, he brightened as he remembered that Char was just as green at this as he was. She was no experienced fund-raiser. Just a wine princess. He started writing, and within a half hour, he had a fresh plan.
His mission: to outdo Chardonnay in contributions for the auction. His tactic: to mount an organized attack on small-time donors.
If she had the valley’s elite sewn up, he would go after the regular folks. Since each of his donations would probably be smaller than hers, he’d have to get more of them, which meant covering more ground. Whatever. He might not have her contacts, but he had more endurance and dedication than a whole cellar full of wine princesses.