Natalie wasn’t sure what to deduce from the clips about Ryan’s style of competition—except that the guy would eat anything—when Ryan wrapped up his report by telling an anchor, “I’ll do whatever it takes to win.” He was so brazen about championing his own success Natalie felt a flash of envy. If only she could summon that kind of attitude. I win, therefore I’ll win. She cringed, thinking the words felt hollow. Bibb wants me to win, therefore I’ll win. She smiled. Yes, that makes more sense.

She was wrested away from her efforts to channel Ryan’s ego by the sound of her phone buzzing.

HAL: Hey! You busy?

Reflexively she leaned back and away from the phone, as if Hal’s creepiness could leap out of her screen onto her breakfast bar and start stroking her hair. She checked the clock. 10:35 p.m. It was kind of late to get an assignment but not unthinkably so. She wanted to ignore Hal, but what if he had a killer story and gave it away because she didn’t answer?

NATALIE: Hey, Hal. What’s up?

HAL: Checking in on the new girl. Hate to think of you sitting home alone.

She clenched her jaw.

HAL: Actually I sort of like the thought of you home alone! How’s the hair?

Was it possible he could reach through the phone, after all, or poltergeist-style appear in the screen to haunt her?

HAL: Hahaha just kidding! Want to grab a drink?

She grimaced. He’d just exited the Land of Creepy and entered the Forest of WTF. She wanted to tell him not a chance but she remembered the advice she’d gotten. Hal weaponizes assignments. Don’t mess with him.

NATALIE: Sorry I’m wiped and have an early am. Need to read up and get rest. See you at work.

She hit Send and her relief went to war with worry. Had she been too dismissive? Too cold? If she bruised his ego, there was no telling what punishment he’d mete out. Still, she reminded herself, she’d experienced enough closed-door come-ons from news executives to know that you have to draw the line when they bypass the gray and enter the danger zone. Leave no room for confusion. She stared at the phone waiting for the inevitable follow-up—a plea to meet for a “quick drink” or a “don’t be a bore” nudge—but mercifully there was none.

Chalk that up as a victory, she thought.