When Matt was gone, Natalie wiped away her tears and inhaled deeply. She would check in on Jazzmyn later. There was nothing she could do right now. She had to focus. She apologized to the makeup artist who leaned in for a quick touch-up.

“You didn’t get this from me,” the makeup artist said. “Better to lie low with the Chief. He can be vindictive. Whatever you think you know, let it go. Jazzmyn will be okay. She’s spent a lot of this time in this chair and I can tell you she’s tougher than you think. So don’t play the hero, just get on that set and do your thing.”

When it was complete, Natalie gave herself a once-over and saw the makeup woman had outdone herself. She’d walked in looking like Humpty Dumpty after the eggpocalypse, but now you could hardly tell she was just off of a week of epic travel, word of a possible assault, and a one-night stand with a golden retriever.

Also a make-out session. She allowed herself one moment to think about James, then, feeling guilty, forced her mind from the past to the future. She needed all the confidence five pounds of makeup, three inches of heel, and a little cleavage could give her to get Savage with McChesty.

The blast of air-conditioning that hit her when she opened the studio door sent a shiver down her spine. She wished she was wearing something more than a thin skirt and silk chiffon blouse. She wished she’d eaten breakfast. She wished she was still in bed with James or at least his dog.

“On this set, they see your whole body. Legs ’n’ all, so don’t do anything dirty below the waist,” the stage manager said as he led her to a high stool with no back. Even with Natalie’s heels, the chair was way too high for her, so the stage manager had to heave her up onto the seat.

“These things aren’t made for smaller women,” he said.

Yeah, she’d gotten that. Between the temperature and the fact that any guest wearing a skirt could accidentally “do something dirty” by shifting in her seat, it was clear the whole set wasn’t designed for any women, small or large.

He thrust an earpiece at her and efficiently strung the chord down her back, plugging it into a box affixed to her chair, indicating the volume knob for her to adjust, then repeated the procedure with the microphone and her chest before he headed off backstage.

Natalie was thinking about Sonia Barbaro’s comments on the red carpet when she became aware that the studio was rotating around her. Or rather that her seat was turning in a slow circle toward the back of the room. She shifted her weight, trying to make the seat stop rotating and felt around for a footrest for leverage—no luck. When the chair stopped moving, she was facing the back of the room.

And stuck.