“It was diagnosed about fifteen years ago. But she can still do a lot of activities. She’s in a walking group with Karima.” A flutter of discomfort passed over James’s features and he added, “I think theirs is a pretty transactional friendship.”

“Like all DC relationships,” Natalie laughed.

“Not all,” James said, looking her in the eyes. “I hope.”

As the words penetrated, the room seemed to shrink around Natalie and her face felt hot. “I hope so, too,” she said quietly, surprised by her own bravery.

She looked up into James’s eyes and the party went quiet around her. Closing the distance between them, he said, “Do you want—?”

But his eyes moved and he broke off when Natalie felt a tug on her arm.

Glancing in the direction of the tug, she saw a very tall, very blond young woman in a sleeveless hot pink dress, her bra straps showing on the sides. It was the morning show anchor, Jazzmyn Maine, looking like the star of a Mommy-and-Daddy-screw-the-babysitter porno.

Don’t judge, Natalie’s mind scolded as she struggled not to give the woman’s nearly naked body a visible once-over.

“Jazzmyn,” Natalie said. And remembering Karima’s words—women here stick together—she tried to sound warm. “How are you?”

“I’m great,” the girl said excitedly. “I wanted to ask your advice.” Her eyes flicked from Natalie to James and back. “Can I have a minute alone?”

“No problem, I’m parched,” James said. “I’ll go to the bar. What can I bring you?”

“Water, and thanks,” Natalie said with a look that she hoped conveyed don’t-take-too-long.

Facing Jazzmyn, Natalie couldn’t help but glance at her bra straps, which were basically screaming look at me!

You should be thrilled she’s body positive, her empowered inner voice reminded her. Ryan wears less to work.

Please, this isn’t progress, it’s pandering, her inner Noreen snapped back. Doesn’t she have a mother?

“I haven’t had a chance to tell you how much I admire you,” the high-wattage morning show host was saying. “I think you do such good work and have such a good reputation and people respect you and—”

Natalie zoned out while Jazzmyn continued with what she assumed, from experience, was the gratuitous flattery that comes before a totally inappropriate request. She could only imagine what Jazzmyn wanted from her. The secret email address for the White House chief of staff? Help booking an exclusive with the president? Elevator people had a habit of asking for the easy route and getting it.

“So I was wondering how you think I should approach this,” Jazzmyn said. “I mean, if you were in my position.”

Confused, Natalie frowned. Clearly this conversation wasn’t headed in the direction she’d expected. “Sorry, I didn’t catch that. Approach what?”