Priscilla Richards wasn't in the party spirit, but she held a full glass of champagne and went through the social motions — the feigned smiles, the required chitchat.

Outside, the night was bright and clear. Inside, the penthouse was elegant, the decor festive.

Byron Van Zandt, an investment banker, had spared no expense in throwing a first-class celebration for his daughter Sylvia's recent promotion. He'd even hired a violinist through the philharmonic. So it wasn't any wonder that the mood of those in attendance was upbeat.

Well, not everyone's.

Priscilla was ready to thank her host and go home. But not because she wasn't happy for the young woman of honor.

She and Sylvia had met at Brown University, where they'd both graduated with a master's degree in literary arts. Then they'd landed dream jobs at Sunshine Valley Books, a small but growing publisher that specialized in children's literature.

Being colleagues had only deepened their friendship, so there was no way Priscilla would have made an excuse to stay home, where she'd prefer to be.

She just wished she could be more enthusiastic for her best friend's sake.

"Hey," Sylvia said, making her way to Priscilla's side with a half-filled flute of champagne. "You're finally here!"

"I wouldn't miss it." Priscilla managed a weak but sincere smile. "Congratulations on the promotion."

Sylvia, with her dark hair cropped in a short but stylish cut, nodded toward Priscilla's full glass. "I hope that's not your first."

It was, so she nodded. "Drink up, Pris. You can crash here. No need to worry about going back to Brooklyn tonight."

"Thanks for