“The problem is,” Roger started, reclining in his chair and drumming his fingers on the armrest, “what to do with Gretchen. To put you in, we’d have to somehow get rid of Gretchen.”

Gretchen Carlson had become a thorn in his side. He said she was cold as a witch’s tit. Had zero sex appeal. He found her on-air friendliness faux. He likened her laugh to a cackle. He suspected she was litigious. For some reason, he feared she would sue him. I hated when Roger bad-mouthed other anchors, but like so much that made me sick, I learned to stomach it.

“Gretchen has a vacation coming up,” Roger said. “I’d like to put you in for her. See how you do in the ratings. If you beat her, I’ll tear up your contract and pay you five times what you’re making. Would you like that?”

“Sure,” I said. But I was lying. By then, I was plotting my escape.

“I thought so,” he nodded. “Now, all you have to do is kill Gretchen.”

I paused. “In the ratings, right?”

“Let’s start by killing her in the ratings. Then we’ll see what happens.”