As Andrea leaned over to gather her things, Natalie heard her whisper, “My money’s on you to kick Ryan’s ass. No one who thinks a filibuster is a sex act should be allowed to cover the White House.”

For a moment Natalie froze, then her heart filled with affection as she realized what Andrea had said. “Thank you.”

“If you can push through their bullshit, you can still do some really spectacular reporting at ATN. It’s hard but it happens.” Andrea paused before adding, “You’ll just have to live up to your name.”

Natalie’s breath caught. “Oh I’m not related to Jessica Savitch. I—”

“Savage,” Andrea interrupted and smiled. “I’m saying, be savage. You got it in you. I can tell.”

She turned and walked toward the door. As Ryan caught up with Andrea, Natalie heard him say something about “making sure the camera crew uses the Caucasian Blur filter on me because it really makes my skin pop.”

Bibb was right behind him. “Good luck, Natalie,” she said with a smile that shared almost no genetic markers with genuine. “Watch your hair.”

As soon as they were gone, Natalie walked over to Matt. “How long did you know this was happening?” she demanded, aware that Hal and the What Girl were staring.

Matt stood and shrugged. “Long enough.”

“Why didn’t you tell me? Whose side are you on?”

“Mine,” he said.

“Natalie, you’re going to do great,” Hal interrupted, crowding into her personal space as the What Girl let out a low snort of laughter.

“Thanks, Hal, but can you give us some privacy,” she snapped, then seeing Hal’s stricken face, regretted it.

The What Girl pulled out her phone and walked out of the room tittering and typing with Hal walking too close behind her.

When they were gone, Matt shook his head. “You’re too wound up. You need to calm down or you’re never going to win this thing.”

“Thanks for the moral support,” Natalie said. “I cannot believe that just happened.”

“It’ll keep happening until you get tips like Ryan’s,” he grumbled as he tapped something out on his phone.

“Oh thanks. And what do you recommend?” She scowled.

“Unless you take up golf or hoops, I suggest you start sleeping with someone in the White House. Adam Majors is single.”

Her mind flashed to an image of Adam Majors in bed, referencing his briefing binder for answers to questions like “Does this feel good?” The next moment she felt a wave of self-loathing for entertaining the thought.

This was Matt’s fault. He was like some kind of gremlin, bent on torturing her.

“Why are you doing this?” Natalie asked.