“I don’t know. Bibb rushed to the assignment desk and now she’s in a closed door with Hal. I’m trying to find out,” he grumbled. “Meantime, let’s pick up the mapmaker. Ask him if he went to school for that.”

“I thought you wanted me to make him go away,” she chided.

“I did. But I changed my mind. Because if you get laid, you’re going to be more relaxed on air.”

“Jerk.”

“I’m just trying to help you hook up with a guy who sounds like he might be nearly as nerdy as you.”

“Call me when you know what’s going on.”

“You are terrible at flirting.”

“Hanging up now!”

When she’d finally reached the front of the line and paid her $5.75 for a four-ounce pick-me-up, she walked to the other side of the bar and pretended to be busy on her phone as she watched Hot Dimple say something to the cute female barista who laughed and blushed up at him. Clearly every woman’s reaction to him, she thought.

She made herself busy on her iPhone until she felt Hot Dimple walk her way and stand next to her.

“Hi, again. Sorry about that introduction.” He held out his hand. “I’m James.”

“Hi, James,” she said, looking up from her phone. “If you’re not put off by the formaldehyde, I guess I shouldn’t be put off by the association with Aunt Mina.”

He laughed, and as they smiled at one another, Natalie groped for something to say, ending up with, “What do you have against straight hair?”

“Nothing really.” He shrugged. “Just that it’s controlled. Predictable. Careful.” He looked at her mischievously. “I’m always telling the women in my family that curly is way more attractive. If God gave you the curls, let them run free.” He smiled and she felt like a sparkler was crackling in her chest.

“It’s not my choice. It’s for work,” she managed.

“Really? Aren’t there laws against that?” he asked. “I thought the rules say the boss can stare at your chest and underpay you, but he can’t tell you to change your ’do.”

Her phone buzzed and she hit Ignore without even looking at it. Matt would have to wait.

“Unfortunately that’s not the case in TV,” she explained. “In TV, they can tell you how to look. Also how much to weigh, what to wear, how to do your hair.”

“You’re on TV?” He sounded surprised. “You must be a reporter. What do you cover?”

“I cover—” She didn’t want to lie but wasn’t about to tell him about the mole. “Politics, DC, whatever the echo chamber is buzzing about.”

Her phone rang again. She hit Ignore.

“And what is it they’re buzzing about today?” he asked.

“The First Lady’s headaches. A creepy twenty-one-year-old. An incompetent White House. The usual.”