Natalie imagined the scene: producers running toward TVs or printers or each other’s desks, yelling, “FLOTUS interview!” People picking up phones and screaming into them for no reason at all.

“Jesus, it looks like a preschool recess in here. Either that or a prison break.” Andrea whistled over the line. “Does that make me a guard? Or an inmate?” There was a pause and then Andrea whispered, “Oh boy, here she comes. Stay quiet, guys.”

Natalie knew the next voice would be Bibb’s. “MSNBC is reporting that the New York Times says that a reporter got an interview with FLOTUS. Someone tells me CNN has the livestream. We need that NOW!”

There was silence and Natalie wondered if the call had dropped. But then she heard the sound of CNN’s breaking news music and Wolf Blitzer saying in his trademark placid way, “Stand by for a livestream of the First Lady of the United States, who is about to emerge from roughly two weeks of seclusion. She will be doing her first interview with Washington reporter Natalie Savage, most recently of ATN.”

“Nice!” Matt pumped his fist in the air.

Over the phone there was more silence, and Natalie imagined heads turning, wide-eyed, to measure Bibb’s reaction. She envisioned Bibb looking calm, suppressing any regret, rage, or remorse she might feel. That would be 80 percent Botox, Natalie estimated, and 20 percent calculation. She’d spent enough time with the woman to know that at this very moment Bibb’s mind was doing the math at super speed, testing all the angles. If there was a way she could benefit from this, a way to bring the kill home, take the credit—

“Wolf needs to check his facts. Natalie is with ATN,” Natalie heard Bibb declare, to her utter surprise. “Call CNN and let them know to credit ATN for this interview. This is part of our new digital-first strategy. I am so proud of my girl for landing this scoop.” Then with a yell that could clear a jungle, Bibb ordered, “Get ready to get that interview on air NOW!”

“Guys, I better hop off the line,” Andrea whispered into the phone. “Good luck.” And she hung up.

The phone went dead. Natalie looked from Dasha to Matt, feeling elation mingled with anticipation. There was no going back now. Matt dug into his pocket and pulled out a little blue pill. “For the nerves?”

Natalie considered it and then noted how calm her mind felt. It was so different from the jumpy uncertainty she’d felt that first day at the White House briefing room, and every day on the FLOTUS story. She thought about all that energy she’d wasted wondering what would rate with the Demo, how she’d compare to Ryan, what about her hair, her cleavage, her style Bibb and the Chief would deem lacking.

“I don’t need it,” she said, shaking her head no. “I think I’m good. I—”