“On Molegate, I’m thinking we should make some kind of interactive graphic. We can put it up on social media. The Chief will love it. It’ll drive up your followers.”

“Graphic of what?”

“FLOTUS’s distinctive markings. We can map all of her moles and freckles.”

“Are you kidding me? We can’t map that. We don’t know about other markings. And anyway even if we did, that’s just rude. And wrong.”

“Is not.”

“Is too.”

His tone of voice changed. “Hold on. Something is happening.”

She heard him put the phone down, without hanging up. Rude. So rude, she fumed, wanting to hang up but also dying to know what was happening in the newsroom.

She was staring into the sea of khaki in front of her when a sound broke through her thoughts.

“I couldn’t help overhearing. You’re looking to do some mapmaking? I’m happy to recommend an app.”

She turned and confirmed Hot Dimple was, again, speaking to her.

“Don’t tell me, Aunt Mina is an app developer?” she asked, weighing whether he was mocking her or flirting, then reminding herself that, in her current state, the latter wasn’t an option.

“Nah. But I am a cartographer.” He tilted his head to one side. “And happy to help.”

Oh really?

“You’re the neighborhood mapmaker? What do you map?” she asked, certain he was pulling her leg.

He got an excited look as he spoke. “Well, everything. Business networks. Market patterns. Topography. Maps are really just a picture of how different things relate to one another. My primary interest is boundaries, spaces between different states or states of being. Doorways. Weather systems. Neighborhoods.”

“Who is this guy?” It was Matt’s voice in her earpiece. She’d forgotten she was still on the phone with Matt. “What a total nerd. Get rid of him.”

“Don’t be an ass,” she snapped.

“Sorry.” Hot Dimple had his hands up in feigned surrender.

“No, no, I didn’t mean you,” she said, shaking her head so forcefully she hit herself in the cheek with a cancer tendril. “I’m talking to someone on the phone.” She indicated the headset.

Hot Dimple nodded, looking uncertain. She noticed that his green eyes were flecked with gold and she shivered, feeling a deep attraction.

This is what happens when you don’t have sex for five months, said a voice in her head that sounded like her sister, Sarah.

Only four-and-a-half, Natalie’s brain corrected.

She had to drag her eyes from him to keep from making a fool of herself.

“What’s this guy want?” Matt asked.

Ignoring that, she asked, “So what’s going on in the newsroom? You said something’s up?”