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going to happen first. But look.” The other woman hiked up her top to expose her midriff. “I’m starting to get a six-pack. I’ve never had one of those before.”
    Even though the woman was clearly sucking in her stomach— and Cassidy didn’t begrudge her that; Cassidy always sucked in her stomach in the changing room—she did have the beginnings of a sculpted abdomen.
    Cassidy poked her own stomach. “I’ve pretty much got a one-pack.”
    Thanks to the arch in her back, she had always had a shape like a jelly bean—perky butt, but a little bit of a belly—perched on slender legs. She had always wanted a six-pack. And fiercely muscled arms, the way all the celebrities had now. You wouldn’t want to meet Madonna in a dark alley. Cassidy wanted to look fantastic in a sleeveless shell.
    But she also knew she wasn’t capable of doing it on her own. She needed someone standing over her, yelling.
    The other woman ran her hand through her sweat-soaked hair, making it stand up in short spikes. “If you want to get in the best shape of your life, then you’ve got to take this class. But you won’t thank me for it. Not at first. A lot of people can’t hack it and drop out. But if you keep with it, Elizabeth will whip you into shape.”
    Cassidy thought of Jenna. Jenna Banks was her chief rival at Channel Four, as ridiculous as the thought would have been a few months earlier. And Jenna had an amazing body.
    “When is the class?”
    “Six a.m. on weekdays. But by seven fifteen you are done for the day.”
    W hen the alarm went off Monday morning, Cassidy hit the snooze button three times before she managed to pull herself out of bed. She yanked her hair back into a ponytail and pulled on some sweats, all the while cursing Jenna under her breath. Jenna, with her tiny skirts and her waterfall of blonde hair, so shiny it looked like it had been polished. Jenna, who sat on a blue exercise ball during story meetings to “exercise her core.” Like her core needed it. Jenna, who was supposed to be Channel Four’s intern, but who had somehow managed to talk her way into a couple of actual assignments. Jenna, who pretty much sucked up all the male attention whenever she walked into the room.
    Jenna, who was only twenty-two years old.
    Eleven years ago, Cassidy had been a Jenna. Fresh out of college, eager to learn, eager to do whatever it took to get ahead. She had reported from state fairs and gruesome accident sites. Done her share of standing on icy overpasses while hyperventilating about a “winter storm watch.”
    She had paid her dues, and Jenna hadn’t. Yet Jenna was occasionally picked for stories that Cassidy wanted. Cassidy was determined to fight fire with fire. She knew how to turn a head or two. But she needed to kick it up a notch.
    It was 6:02 when she opened the door to the exercise studio. The room was completely full, intimidatingly full with women on their hands and knees kicking their bent right legs into the air like donkeys. The slender red-haired woman standing at the front of the class turned and looked at her. Really looked. It made Cassidy feel like she had never been looked at before.
    “There’s a spot right up in front,” the redhead said, pointing at a mat in front of her.
    Cassidy picked her way to it.
    “I’m Elizabeth. Elizabeth Avery,” the instructor said. Then she called out to the room, “Left leg now,” and the women switched obediently, like some kind of synchronized dance team dreamed up by a sadist.
    “I’m Cassidy.” She got down on her hands and knees, already counting the minutes until the class was over. Why had she ever thought this was a good idea?
    “Okay, Cassidy, do you have any back or shoulder problems I need to know about?”
    Cassidy briefly considered claiming a host of them. It would probably get her out of the worst of it. Then she thought of Jenna and her long, lean legs. Jenna was as single-minded as a shark. And what she was focused on was going