1 #3
Steve’s smile hardened, his eyes narrowing. ‘Make it happen. It’s relatable. Vulnerable. People love a slow-motion romantic car crash.’
Beside her, Chelsea bristled, shoulders tightening. ‘We’ve stayed number one precisely because we don’t manufacture fake arcs. If it happens naturally, we’ll follow it.’
Steve’s smirk turned condescending. ‘Sure, Chels. But survey starts next week. We need a stronger narrative. Blake’s been burning through men like single-use coffee pods. Half of Melbourne’s had a shot already.’ He snorted at his own joke.
Blake felt her cheeks flame. She gripped her mug tighter. Easy now, her inner voice whispered, don’t rise to it.
‘That’s not fair,’ she said quietly, jaw clenched.
Steve leaned back, arrogance radiating. ‘It’s entertainment. Isn’t that why you’re here?’
Mack chuckled, oblivious to the tension. ‘Listeners love Blake roulette. Dating or ditching, spin the wheel!’
Blake’s voice was quiet, dangerous. ‘I’m thirty-three, Steve. Not exactly running out the clock yet.’
Steve dismissed this with a flick of his hand. ‘Age doesn’t matter. Ratings do. Milk it. Create suspense. Give people something ongoing to root for, or against. Either way, they’ll tune in.’
Blake hesitated, deeply uneasy. ‘Can I at least think about it?’
‘No,’ Steve snapped. ‘Not negotiable.’
Chelsea spoke, protective and decisive. ‘Maybe could tee up a mid-week follow-up.’
Steve stood abruptly, dismissing them. ‘Perfect. Romantic, messy. We need good numbers this survey—Vibe FM was dangerously close last time. You want to stay relevant? This is survey gold. If it ends badly, even better.’ He glanced pointedly at Chelsea.
‘This isn’t our old market anymore, Chels.
You’ve got to find new ways to get ahead.
’ There was something behind Steve’s words, something that stung.
Blake saw Chelsea stiffen, anger flashing across her face. But Chelsea just nodded, her expression like armour. Blake felt a pang of guilt; she knew Chelsea bore more of Steve’s crap than she ever shared.
After the meeting they spilled into the corridor. Blake’s eyes darted to Chelsea. ‘What the hell was that?’
Chelsea’s voice was clipped. ‘He’s just a prick who thinks he knows me because he was my boss back in Brisbane for like a minute six years ago when I was a junior producer and he was content director there.’
Blake touched her arm. ‘You okay?’
Chelsea took a measured breath. ‘You’d be amazed how much shit you learn to take in this business.’ Blake knew there was more Chelsea wasn’t saying but she respected her friend’s boundary and let it drop.
Sam approached, clipboard in hand, eyes flickering between them with concern. ‘Everything all right?’
‘Fine,’ Chelsea replied evenly. ‘Just soaking in the delightful scent of ego and desperation.’
Sam raised an eyebrow but held back. His gaze softened when he turned to Blake. ‘You’re not seriously going out with Fettuccine Guy again, are you?’
Blake smiled, though the amusement felt strained. ‘If it means I can eat out again and expense it to the station…maybe.’
‘You deserve more than being ratings bait,’ Sam said.
Blake paused, her gaze meeting his for a moment too long. ‘I know,’ she said.
Chelsea jumped in, shifting the mood. ‘All right, tomorrow’s show. We flip control.’
Blake refocused, eyebrows arching. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Let Melbourne decide if you should go on date number two. Where you should go. Crowdsource the decision.’
Sam’s lips twitched. ‘Outsourcing your romantic life now?’
Blake flashed a playful salute. ‘Low effort, high comedy. My specialty.’
Chelsea nodded. ‘Britt’ll pull the best audio from today’s calls and cut it into promos. We’ll push it across socials. Tomorrow’s all about second chances.’
Blake leaned back. ‘Second dates, the mythical beasts of my romantic life.’
‘When was the last time you went on one?’ Sam said.
Blake’s voice dropped. ‘Honestly? Not since Morgan’s dad.’
The admission landed heavy. Thirteen years, she realised.
Thirteen years of first dates, false starts, and running away before anyone could get too close.
Because letting someone in meant risking them leaving, she thought, the familiar fear tightening her chest. But also because no one had ever come close to making her feel the way she’d felt during that one perfect week.
The last time she’d wanted more, truly wanted more, he’d left.
And she couldn’t go through that. Not again.
Chelsea broke the tension. ‘Let’s keep it light, yeah?’
Blake nodded, shaking off the quiet ache. ‘Sure. Light.’
As they returned to their various tasks, Blake couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted. The call from Fettuccine Guy, Steve’s pressure, Sam’s gentle concern, it all swirled together into something that felt bigger than just another radio segment.
Tomorrow, Melbourne would decide her next romantic step. But tonight, she had dinner with Morgan, a first day at high school to hear about, and the quiet ritual of their life together. That was real. Everything else could wait.