The mind control shattered. Matt was now looking at Natalie. “Do I get to say I told you so now or should I—?”

“Shut up.”

An hour later, the breakfast Doritos weren’t aging well nor was Ryan’s stunt striptease. A What Girl had called and ordered the team to “shelter in place” until the Chief decided their next assignment. Natalie had found a French florist to deliver flowers to Luques’s hospital room—the least she could do—and was now in the hotel gym, in exercise gear and crouched over the handlebars of a rusty Nautilus bicycle, her mind running in circles with her legs. She was cycling through a mess of self-recrimination and doubt. Turning up the music, she tried to focus on Beyoncé, but the image of Ryan unbuttoning his shirt had taken up permanent residence in her mind. How did I not see this coming? she thought as Bey belted it out. What can I do to compete? Surely there’s an obvious way to up my game or lower my standards and beat Ryan.

She was moving double time nearly at the end of the song when she noticed her phone ringing. “Hello,” she answered without looking at the caller ID.

“Natalie, my girl, it sounds like you’re in a wind tunnel. Where are you?” It was the Chief.

“Sorry, I’m at the gym,” she said trying to slow down her legs.

“Fantastic. Important to get in those workouts and stay trim. Speaking of which, can we get your cameraman to frame you a little looser? Don’t sue me for saying this but you have a nice chest and we’re a visual medium. I’d like to see more of you on camera, if you know what I mean.”

“Of course,” she said, telling her dignity to stand down. This was an opening to speak up and ask for an assignment that would play to her strengths. One that involved actual reporting.

“I was very impressed with your work today,” the Chief was saying. “I like bringing your gravitas and smarts to more entertaining stories. Powerful combination.”

There’s nothing wrong with entertaining viewers, she told her conscience before it could protest.

“How would you like to get together and discuss new ways to pursue this?” the Chief asked.

Okay, this is going in the right direction. “I’d love that, Chief,” she said hurriedly. “I can be on a plane to New York tonight. Do you want to meet tomorrow?”

He chuckled. “No need, my dear, I’m in Miami Beach. Flew down with Jazzmyn this morning for a golf tournament.”

She felt a chill, suddenly sensitive to the air-conditioning and her clothes, damp with sweat. Karima’s words echoed in her head—The New York executives like to take the girls to corporate golf tournaments. This way they can expense it—and she was hit with a reflexive wave of judging Jazzmyn.