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“Who can imagine why Jo Jones might be interested in a movie?” Emma continued. “Oh, I don’t know, she’s already conquered television—maybe she wants to challenge herself to do something new. Something you’ll be great at, by the way. Literally everyone who has ever worked with you knows you’re going to be great at this, and there’s just these strangers on the internet saying—saying—castingaspersionson your talent!”

Jo pressed her lips together so she wouldn’t laugh. Emma’s indignation was charming. Jo didn’t even want to break anything anymore.

“How can you just not say anything when they’re writing stuff like this?” Emma asked. “Acting like you can’t do this?”

“The people who matter know I can,” Jo said. She hoped it was true.

Emma looked at her for a moment. “Right,” she said. Then: “I have work to do.”

She marched out of Jo’s office. Jo didn’t think anything of it. She wished she had. Could have saved herself some trouble.

Three days later, Chantal knocked on the doorjamb of Jo’s open office door after lunch.

“Come in,” Jo said, tossing her sandwich wrapper into the trash.

Chantal shut the door behind her. They didn’t have anything scheduled, which meant this must be bad news. Jo didn’t ask. She knew Chantal wouldn’t beat around the bush.

“There’s an article on Celeb Online,” Chantal said. “With quotes from your employees about how great you are.”

“I know.”

Amir had called Jo that morning, congratulating her on the relaxation of her no-comment policy. The article featured five current and two former employees, unnamed, all extolling Jo’s virtues. All certain she’d make an amazing Agent Silver movie. The smile in Amir’s voice had stayed even after she told him she had nothing to do with the article.

“Did you know there’s a follow-up?” Chantal asked.

Jo had been waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“About how Emma was the one who arranged the first article,” Chantal continued. “Thought you might want a heads-up.”

Amir certainly wouldn’t think the article was a good idea now. Jo scrubbed a hand through her hair.

“What was she thinking?” She said it more to herself than to Chantal, but Chantal answered.

“When she asked me, I reminded her no one is supposed to talk to the media.”

Jo looked up at her. Chantal’s arms were crossed.

“She asked you?”

Chantal gave a nod.

“You could’ve told me then.”

“I thought I had talked her out of it,” she said. “And I’m not trying to be in your business. I only know about the second article because I overheard some PAs talking about it.”

Jo sighed. Emma meant well, organizing the article, but she really should have known better. They didn’t need to give the tabloids any ammunition. Emma couldn’t be talking to reporters about how great Jo was—even if that thought made Jo warm inside.

Chantal was still standing in front of Jo’s desk, arms crossed, scrutinizing her.

“Say what you want to say,” Jo said.

Chantal’s arms dropped to her sides. “When have I not said what I wanted to say to you?”

It was true. On Jo’s first show, Chantal had regularly contradicted Jo’s ideas. Most people thought they hated each other, but Jo cherished having another perspective, someone who wasn’t afraid to tell her when she was wrong. Now, more than a decade later,Innocentswas the only program on network TV with two women of color at the helm. Jo and Chantal got to this point by not bullshitting each other.

Still, Jo pressed. “You have thoughts?”

Chantal shrugged one shoulder. “If I believed the shit they’re writing, maybe I’d have thoughts, but I know you better than that.”