But Ayala wasn’t good at flattery. She never had been. Still, here went her best shot

Ayala wiped her hands on her skirt as she walked into the upscale Lakewood office building, then quickly glanced at her reflection in the glass panels to make sure she hadn’t left sweat stains on the silk.

She scowled at herself. She didn’t get anxious meeting with the top oncologists in Israel. So why did the thought of speaking with some guy who’d had a lucky break selling houses make her stomach so queasy that if she opened her mouth, she was sure her breakfast would jump out?

The receptionist gave her a questioning look and Ayala forced herself to speak.

“I’m, uh, here to meet with Mr. Schiller? Ayala Wexler?”

No, Ayala, it’s not a question, it’s a statement. She took a breath and straightened her shoulders, hearing Temima’s voice in her head. “You want to project self-assurance. Your body language should be screaming absolute confidence in your product.”

Dini had insisted on the Zoom coaching session with the NPO consultant to prep Ayala for the big meeting. And though Ayala had scoffed at the idea at first, she had to admit that it had been helpful. Extremely. Temima had dropped maxims with the weight of gold, and Ayala had scribbled anxiously away in her notebook throughout the entire meeting; the more she’d heard, the more she’d understood how severely out of her league she was.

“Always keep in mind the three Ps: Personable, Professional, Passionate.”

“Make him feel that he’s the hero the entire Jewish world has been waiting for.”

“When it comes to donor relations, the personal connection is everything.”

Ayala closed her eyes briefly before being ushered into the inner sanctum. She could do this.