It was a comfortable seventy-two degrees in Coronado, California, where the infamous Navy SEAL obstacle course was located. The track stood in all its glory in front of them. Avery had kept in touch with the SEAL who consulted on the minivan episode and, after hearing about the rigors of the SEAL program, Avery hatched the idea of giving her audience a front row look at the life of a Navy SEAL, from recruitment to Hell Week to the six-month BUDs training program. Others had produced similar exposés, but Avery had ideas about how she could put a different spin on hers. She would attempt to complete some of the benchmarks the highly trained warriors were required to overcome before they were christened as members of the elite Special Forces group. She would jump into a pool with her arms bound behind her back and try to survive for sixty minutes, as every SEAL had done. She would brave the icy ocean waters and take the notorious night swim with the sharks. The Navy SEAL obstacle course was considered one of the hardest in the world, and Avery thought it was a good place to start.

Avery had worked her contact and arranged this morning’s abbreviated test run through the course. Waivers were signed and confidentiality papers drawn up. If she managed to get the concept green-lighted, sometime during the next season of American Events, Avery would attempt to run the entire course, or as much of it as was physically possible, while cameras rolled. She would wear combat boots and fatigues if she ever reached that point, but for today’s practice run Avery wore sport shorts and a spandex athletic tank top, short ankle socks and Nike running shoes. Her agent, on the other hand, was impeccably dressed in a beige Armani suit with the coat open but his vest buttoned and his tie tight at his neck. The morning sun glistened the beads of perspiration on his forehead and reflected off his aviator sunglasses.

“What are you, Dwight? Six-five, two-twenty?”

“Six-six, two-forty.”

“I’m five-ten and . . . well, considerably less than that. Take that snazzy suit off and run this track with me.”

“Not a chance. We need to figure out your contract before they pull the offer.”

“Run this track with me and then I’ll consider this terrible offer you’ve negotiated.”

Ten days had passed since Avery went face to face with Mosley Germaine and David Hillary on the beach. Since then, hard negotiating had taken place.

“It’s a good deal, Avery. They offered, we countered, and now they’ve come back somewhere in the middle. It shows their commitment to you.”

“They did not come back in the middle. They barely budged.” Avery bent at the waist to stretch her hamstrings. “Mack Carter was making eight million dollars a year hosting American Events, and my ratings are better than his.”