Super Associated

Prologue

"Hey, you!" A woman's voice shouted after me as I tried to exit the building, heading home after a particularly long and arduous day at the office. 

Honestly, being the Communications Manager at a radio station was laborious; I really think, after having to draft eight press releases apologising for the sexist, derogatory remarks one of the older DJs made live on air, that I should probably start looking for a new job. I quite like the idea of being a dogsitter. That must be the best job on earth. Until then, I was stuck at Choice Radio.  

"Hey, you, wait up," the voice called out again. I knew exactly who was trying to get my attention but I really didn't have the patience for Chelsea Pierce right now. Not that my feeling mattered because the second she caught up with me, grabbed a hold of my arm and tugged me back into the building, my free will had all but disappeared. "Jesus, Romy, didn't you hear me shouting after you?"

I roll my eyes in response. "Didn't you see me practically running out the door, Chels?" She gave me a sassy glare as she popped one hip and placed her hand on the other. Her perfectly tamed eyebrow arched in that artistic way that her brow technician had worked painstakingly on creating, making her disgustingly beautiful hazel eyes appear much more captivating than normal. God, I really hate this creature. She definitely didn't have a face for radio which always made me wonder: why is she a radio DJ and presenter and not some model in front of the camera? "Chelsea, I've had a shit day and I just want to go home, change into some pyjamas and you know, chill out with my dog or something."

Chelsea Pierce and I are nothing alike. In fact, we have very little in common other than the fact that we both started here on the same day and endured corporate induction together, which apparently was enough to create this weird bond between us. Ever since that day, three years ago, she's managed to worm her way into my life, even going so far as to designate herself my best friend. Melissa Maddox, my actual best friend, wasn't too happy with Chelsea being around twenty-four-seven but just like me, she's gotten used to it. 

But like I said, Chelsea and me? Nothing alike. She's gorgeous and while I'm no ugly duckling, I don't exactly have a queue of eligible bachelors at my door, begging me to date them. Chelsea has fan mail, for crying out loud. She also has thousands of followers on social media and would totally be the girl all the boys on Love Island would trade their partners in for. Not that she would ever choose a bloke like that- she's too much of a Georgia to be a Megan but that's not really the point. No, the point is, I want to go home but here I am, being dragged into one of Chelsea's terrible ideas. I know she hasn't proposed it yet but this is Chelsea and none of her ideas has ever ended well for me. 

"My guest has bailed on me and I need to find someone to plug the hole," Chelsea announces, a slight irritation in her tone. She's far too chilled to ever become flustered but right now, she's on the verge of losing her cool and I love it. Maybe I should stick around a little more. "So, I need you to come on my show and be my guest for the night."

I snort. "Yeah, no, I'm going home."

I really wasn't going home. Chelsea grabbed my arm once again and with more strength than you'd think she possesses, she dragged me through the lobby, into the lift and all the way back to the green room of her recording studio. Her early evening show is the most listened to on Choice's radio network and the entire 16-24 demographic- both male and female- like to tune in to hear what she had to say. A straight shooter, Chelsea's show doesn't really have a format; doing her own thing, she discusses various topics that she thinks her peers would want to listen to and engage in. Recent show topics have included a debate regarding the Repeal the Eighth campaign in Ireland where there was a referendum on the rights to access termination procedures. She had two guests on and the outcome made national headlines. As the Communication Manager, I made sure that it hit all the front pages of the newspapers and had lined Chelsea up to appear on morning talk news shows and Loose Women. It was great publicity for the station while shining a light on a very serious topic that needed discussing. 

Her show wasn't always serious, though. We've had a-list celebs come on the show to promote their new film or album or clothing line. Only last month, we secured James Saylor for a world exclusive. I'll admit, I had a part to play in that, since he and my half-sister, Nina, are currently going through a divorce. Not that that was a line of questioning that we ever asked. The world is still in the dark about that so why bring it up? 

There's also live music on the show. We've had very famous singers and bands here as well as up-and-coming London talent. I mean, we had Stormzy on before his Brit Award performance. Chelsea really is a master at what she does, which makes me nervous for what's about to happen. 

"What do you need me to do?" I ask, setting my bag and coat down on the sofa in the green room. Chelsea's radio producer, Francis Aubert, was stood int he corner, playing around on an iPad with his assistant, India Calthorpe, not at all bothered that I was here. "Why am I your guest?"

"Chels, you have less than a minute to get in the studio," Francis announces, his eyes focusing entirely on Chelsea and not once bothering to look my way. Cold. "Let's get things going."

Chelsea nods and enters the studio, motioning for me to follow her inside. Begrudgingly, I walk into the black-walled room and take my seat opposite Chelsea, still none the wiser about what I'm doing here. Mimicking Chelsea, I pull on the weird earphone headset and adjust the microphone in front of my face, getting comfortable before the introduction jingle starts. 

Chelsea beams a smile my way before speaking directly into her microphone and addressing her audience of thousands, if not millions. "Hello, my little angels and welcome to the Loose Lipped show on Choice radio. I'm Chelsea Pierce and I'll be your host for the next three hours." A small giggle escapes her lips. Rolling her shoulders back, she shuffles a few pieces of paper around and then goes back to speaking into the microphone. "Tonight, we're going to delve into a very mystical world and bear with us because it's going to be a minefield. Yes, tonight, we're talking about modern dating and what it all means for us girls in this day and age. Boys who are listening, don't turn off just yet because trust me, you're going to learn a thing or two. Now, I couldn't do this show on my own, so please join me in welcoming my best friend onto the show. Her name is Romilly Taylor and her dating life, well, it's a bloody mess. Let's see if we can sort all that out, huh? Romilly, welcome to the show."

If I could get away with yelling, 'Fuck you' on live radio before nine pm and not have to write a press release, apologising for my use of crude and inappropriate language, I would have done. Because that's really what's going through my mind right now: telling Chelsea Pierce to fuck right off.