“Do you ever turn that thing off?” Liam asked as he seized me by the chin and yanked me away from my phone to face him. He stamped my cheek with his foundation pad—using much more force than he needed to—his face twisted in annoyance.

“Hey Liam, didn’t your mother ever tell you that if you make faces like that you might get stuck that way?” I asked, powering off my phone and slipping it into the pocket of my slacks.

“Jeffrey Dean Taylor, didn’t your mother ever teach you any manners?” he asked and hit me again with the pad, sending a cloud of makeup gusting up my nose. Though he sounded angry, the half-smirk that split his face told me everything I needed to know. He’d never admit it, but there was a part of him that loved our banter. So did I. His sarcasm was the one thing I could depend on in a newsroom that was constantly in a state of flux.

“Clearly more than yours taught you,” I coughed, choking on the powder as I waved him away from me. “Enough with that thing. I’m 40 years old, no amount of makeup is going to make this face look pretty.” A knock on the green room door stole his opportunity to quip back.

“Come in,” I called. A meek face with a head full of wild, dark hair peeked inside.

“Sorry to bother you, Mr. Taylor,” the young man said, his voice quivering. “I was told to bring you the finalized briefing for the broadcast tonight.”

“Then get in here and give it to me,” I said. He entered the room, his drawn face ghastly in the overpowering light from the mirror’s lights behind my chair. He stuck out his hand, a stapled pile of paper shaking in between his fingers. I snatched it from him and he jolted.

“If you have any questions—”

“That’ll be all, thanks,” I interrupted. Without another word, he practically ran from the room, his tail between his legs.

“Do you have to be so mean to the interns?” Liam asked. I turned in my chair to find him leaning against the counter in front of the mirror, a look of disapproval filling his face.

“Do I have to? No. Will that stop me? Also no,” I said and gave him my toothiest, most TV-ready smile. He shook his head and threw his hands up in the air.

“No wonder you don’t have any friends,” he said.

“Liam, my dear, you wound me. Are you saying I can’t call you a friend?”

“Not even close,” he said and punched my shoulder before leaving me alone with the briefing to make my final preparations.

I whistled to myself as I thumbed through it. Everything looked normal—well, almost everything. Down at the bottom of the page I found that one Kile Avery, online provocateur and douchebag extraordinaire, was scheduled to make an appearance.

Not on my show. Not on my time. I might work for Global News Network, but they didn’t own me and as far as I was concerned, without me they’d be rudderless, so it was only fair that I speak up to keep them from making this horrible mistake.

I stalked out of the green room and didn’t bother to close the door behind me. I didn't knock on Executive Producer Eric Nelson’s door—I threw it open.

“What is this crap?” I snapped, flinging the pile of papers onto his desk. He didn't look up at me over his glasses.

“Tonight’s program,” he said, his fingers blazing across his keyboard. “Is there a problem?”

“You're damn right there's a problem! You expect me to have that Avery clown on this show and treat him like an actual human being?”

“I expect you to be a professional, Jeff. He has a voice and people are responding to him, we need to cover what he’s saying,” he said in his trademark borderline-condescending tone. “Besides, he’s got some book out and he’s just making the media rounds.”

“Just because he has a voice and a book doesn't mean we need to give him a megaphone to help him spew his garbage.” Still refusing to look at me directly, Eric rolled his eyes.

“We’re doing the segment, Jeff. This isn't a negotiation.”

“I really hate you sometimes.”

“I wouldn't have it any other way,” he said, finally peeling his eyes from his monitor to look me in the face. Dark bags hung under his eyes, no doubt from years of late nights at the station and the drinking habit he refused to admit he had. He smiled, his off-white teeth peeking out from under his mustache.

“You get off on watching me squirm like this, don't you?”

“Maybe a little bit. We’ve been doing this for so long, I figure we need to spice things up every now and then,” he said. I stalked to the liquor cabinet he kept against the far wall of his office, pulled down two glasses, and filled them with scotch from the decanter.

“You’re live in less than half an hour, are you sure that’s a good idea?” he said over his shoulder.

“Please, like you need an excuse to drink,” I said as I walked toward him to hand him his glass. “Besides, I’m going to need it to get through this.” I sank into the only other chair in Eric’s office—directly in front of him like a child at the principal’s office.

“You make the guy sound like he’s the spawn of Hitler or something.”

“Yeah, because he is. You really haven’t heard the crap this guy has said, have you? A month ago he told a married, female reporter—on live television—that she should consider swinging to get laid more often so she wouldn’t be so uptight.” Eric snorted and sputtered on the sip of scotch he’d just taken.

“He’s a shock jock. You know as well as I do he’s just trying to get a rise out of people. It’s how he makes his money.”

“And yet you want to put him on the highest-rated cable news show, in front of all of America, during primetime… What could possibly go wrong?”

“Everything. And that’s what I’m hoping for,” Eric said and drained the remainder of his glass in one gulp. “Bottoms up, champ. We’ve got a show to do.”

“Here’s to a great one,” I said, slugged back my drink, and held up my empty glass in mock toast. “And here’s hoping the blogosphere doesn’t eat me alive tomorrow.” Eric raised his glass and let me leave without another word.

If I had to do this stupid segment, I’d do it my way, just like I always did. My show wasn’t called The Edge with Jeff Taylor for nothing. Suddenly, the prospect of interviewing Avery didn’t seem so bad. I’d make him out to be the fool that he really was, score some ratings gold, and wash my hands of it all the next day while the internet tore him apart like a hungry pack of wolves. Three birds with one stone.

Liam stood waiting for me at the entrance to the studio, one hand resting on his hip, the other clutching his trusty foundation pad, which was armed and ready to beat my face again like a disobedient dog. He frowned as I drew nearer.

“You’ve been drinking, haven’t you?” he asked, shaking his head and causing his head of blond curls to bounce about.

“Don’t be ridiculous, I would never drink before going on air.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

“Touché.” He rolled his eyes. I jutted out my cheek to him and tapped it with my finger. “Let me have it, Mike Tyson.”

“If my day-to-day didn’t depend on this, I’d make you look like the ugly witch you really are inside,” he said and plopped the pad onto my face.

“I’m sure you’d make me the most beautiful human that the world has ever seen. Besides you, of course.”

“Oh barf, do you try those lines on guys, too?”

“We usually don’t talk at all, actually.”

“A small miracle, that. Now go,” Liam said, giving me one last pat. I stepped out onto the set and immediately felt my temperature rise ten degrees from all of the bright lights. Sitting in the giant leather chair I’d made my home for the last ten years, I gathered my papers and made sure my laptop was plugged in and ready to go. The crew darted around me, from camera to camera, to get everything in order for the broadcast.

Eric appeared a few minutes later, illuminated by a wall of screens behind a thick wall of glass thirty feet beyond the cameras. Static crackled in my earpiece as Eric came on.

“You got me, champ?” his voice rasped in my ear.

“Loud and clear,” I answered.

“Good, then hear this: I meant what I said. No funny business tonight with Avery. Keep your head and be civil. I’m sure even you are capable of that from time to time.”

“Roger that,” I said, straightening up in my chair as the cameras honed in on my face. The teleprompter flared to life, its black screen giving me a strange sort of solace. Ray, the lead camera operator, nodded to me to get my attention.

“You ready, boss?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” I said with a sigh. Ray smirked, held up five fingers, and began to count down.

“We’re live in five… Four…” He counted down silently for the rest and pointed at me when the count had finished.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, and thank you for joining us for another episode of The Edge. I’m your host, Jeff Taylor, and we’ve got a lot to cover, so let’s get right down to business, shall we?” I said, shuffling the papers on the desk in front of me. “Tonight’s show is centered around the division our country is experiencing, in many different forms. Here to talk with me about some of those divisions is a person some of you may know quite well, for better or worse,” I said with a smile for the audience at home and for Eric in the production room.

“Kile Avery has made a name for himself by speaking his mind every chance he gets, no holds barred. The provocateur and founder of the ironically titled anti-love website The Flame is here with us tonight to talk about his message, the rise of the post-love movement, and his new book, ‘Listen Up, Lovers.’ Kile, thanks for joining us,” I said, turning in my seat to the screen behind me where Kile’s face had appeared.

His hair was perfectly coiffed in a blond wave that swept across his head, and his warm, brown-green eyes were shrouded in a thick layer of smoky black eyeshadow. An off-white blazer draped over the black tank top he wore underneath, which plunged low enough to show off his ripped and tanned chest. To complete the ensemble, a series of thick pearls dangled from his neck and wrists, which made him look like a slightly less ridiculous version of Brüno.

Still, I couldn’t lie, he was hot as hell, in the kind of way that made me want to punch his too-pretty face rather than go home with him.

“My pleasure, Jeff,” Kile said, a cocky smirk appearing on his face. “I have to say, it’s brave of you to have me on.”

“Or reckless, depending on how you look at it,” I said.

“Is there really a difference between the two?”

“Perhaps not. So, tell me, Kile… How would you describe your movement?”

“Great question, and one I’m honestly not asked anywhere near often enough. My movement is many things, but first and foremost it’s one that has had enough with the Moral Majority telling the rest of us Americans what we can and can’t do. Above all else, we’re concerned with protecting and promoting the free expression of sexuality, separate and apart from the social construct of love,” he said.

“For not being asked the question, you sure sound like you’ve rehearsed that answer,” I said.

“I haven’t rehearsed it, I just took it verbatim from my new book, ‘Listen Up, Lovers,’ which is available now wherever books are sold,” he said with a smirk.

“Nice plug,” I said and he chuckled. “So by ‘the free expression of sexuality,’ I assume you mean the act of sex itself, not orientation or preference?”

“Of course, orientation and preference are part of our movement, but they’re not the focus.”

“To be honest, Mr. Avery, it sounds like you don’t have much of a focus at all.”

“Ease up, Jeff. It’s an interview, not an interrogation,” Eric hissed in my ear.

“That’s because you’re still stuck in black and white thinking when it comes to sex. Given that you’re a gay man, I find that surprising.”

“Not all of us are focused on sex.”

“Fair enough. Regardless, it’s the truth. We’ve turned soft. What happened to the sexual liberation movement? It seems to me like it got thrown in the gutter the second the Supreme Court decided to hear gay marriage. When ‘love wins’ in the courts, will sexual freedom die for it? Why is sex still seen as something inappropriate when it’s not coupled with love?”

“I’m not sure it’s up to us—white men in positions of power and influence—to decide what’s appropriate for entire segments of the population. That’s what the Court is for. Besides that, you’re what, 25? What do you really know about love?”

“I turned 30 just last month, actually,” Avery said. He didn’t look it at all. “That aside, why shouldn’t we be the ones speaking up? If the people didn’t want us to then they wouldn’t have put us in these positions of power in the first place,” Avery said, flicking his hair out of his brow. “If it weren’t for people like us talking about issues like this, the Court wouldn’t have any cases to hear. But regardless, some people just don’t want to hear the truth, sadly,” he said.

“And what exactly does the truth look like to you?”

“Are you sure you want to know?” Avery asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Not even a little bit,” I said. Avery laughed.

“Jeff! What the hell are you doing?!” Eric snapped in my ear.

“See, that’s the problem with you establishment media types. You only want to hear and air what’s safe, which is why I’m stunned you’d invite me on your show,” Avery said. “But you’re woefully out of touch with what’s happening at the ground level—not that it’s hard to do when you’re sitting in your ivory tower here in D.C. convinced that you’re bringing the world truth. And now your entire industry seems to be collectively stunned the American public trusts journalists even less than they trust their politicians, which is saying something. You yourself act more like a rockstar than Mick Jagger but claim to be on the side of the American public. The whole thing is more than a little surreal.”

“Surreal? Surreal? No, what’s surreal is someone like you even having a platform to stand on and spew this crap,” I spat. The words shot out of my mouth before I’d even had the chance to think about them and I felt blood pumping in my ears. How dare this guy try to humiliate me on my own show?

“Jeff! Stop, don’t say another goddamn word—” Eric said, but I ripped out my earpiece before he could say anything else. If Kile fucking Avery wanted to verbally spar, then I would give him the tongue lashing everyone else seemed too afraid to give him.

“You know, Avery, people like you make me sick. It’s because of people like you, and the clowns at NewSpin who paved the way for you, that the public has lost all faith in journalists and the media at large. You roll around in your Ferrari with your posse of mouth-breathing minions, your perfect hair blowing in the wind as you throw firebombs at any and everything that’ll put your name back in the headlines, and yet you want to accuse me of acting like a rockstar?! Unlike you, I crawled my way to this seat, earned it with blood, sweat, and tears after years of being a beat journalist, but what did you do? Sat down with your pretty face behind a computer like the coward you are and posted the most inflammatory garbage you could come up with just to draw attention to yourself. You’re a parasite on the industry of journalism and the fact I’m even here talking to you is a black eye to this profession,” I said, suddenly aware I’d stood from my seat.

Avery sat very still, a shit-eating grin plastered across his face like he’d gotten me to do exactly what he wanted. And maybe he had, but I was beyond giving a damn. I’d already opened a can of worms and there was no putting the hair gel back in the tube now.

“Excellent speech, Jeff! Do you feel better now? I know I do. Nothing tastes quite as sweet as your hypocritical outrage,” he said.

“That’s rich coming from the guy who’s trying to blow up the world just to watch it burn.”

“You don’t know anything about me, just like you don’t know anything about the world you claim to represent.”

“I know plenty about you. You’re just like the hundreds of snakes that’ve come before. You get up with a loudspeaker and a shocking message and shout it from the top of every rooftop you can find just to put your own name in the spotlight. No wonder NewSpin can’t stop covering you,” I spat. “You’re perfect for their clickbait audience.”

“I think we’re done here,” Avery said as he removed his microphone.

“You’re done here, that’s for sure. Get off my show and take your cocky smile with you!” I shouted, jamming my finger through the air at the screen. Avery opened his mouth to respond but the feed went black. The monitors swam as Ray focused the cameras back on my face. I straightened my tie and cleared my throat as I sat back down.

“You know what? I think I’m done here, too. It’s been a pleasure, ladies and gentlemen, but I respect myself and this profession too much to keep wasting my time and talent on this kind of crap that now somehow passes for news,” I said. “I’m not gonna do it anymore, ratings be damned. We as an industry owe you more than this. It’s disgraceful. GNN set me up for this, they knew Avery and I would spar and it would be ratings gold. Look, they aren’t even killing the cameras while I’m ranting to you because even that’s good for their ratings. It’s bullshit. All of it is bullshit. And NewSpin? If you’re listening, this is a special message just for you: this is all your fault. You created this monster. You’re a disgrace to this industry,” I said, unwinding my mic from under my suit jacket. I tossed the big black box on the desk and waved goodbye to the cameras. Finally, they killed the broadcast.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Jeff! What the hell were you thinking?!” Eric said as he burst onto the set. He seized my shoulders and blocked the only way out of the place.

“That I’m over this, all of it,” I said. “No disrespect to you, Eric, but I just can’t do this anymore. I won’t do this anymore. I feel like I’m selling a little bit of my soul every time I sit in that chair and talk about something meaningless, so I quit. If you have even half a soul left, you’ll quit too.” His jaw dropped. “What the hell happened to this company? We used to cover shit that mattered, things that affected people’s lives. And now we’ve sunk to this level? Putting shit slingers like Kile Avery on air just to make a splash? I’m done. I’m so done.”

“So this is it, then?” he asked.

“This is it,” I said, shaking his hands off of my shoulders and stepping around him to head for the hallway. Liam stood just inside of the doorframe, a stunned and sad look on his face.

“Take care, love,” I said and kissed his cheek. “You’ll land on your feet, I know you will.”

“Are you sure you want to do this?” he whispered into my ear.

“It’s too late to take it back now. Besides, it’s past time for me to go. Ten years is long enough.”

“I’ll miss you.”

“Likewise,” I said and headed to my office to gather the few things I had stored there, my head spinning from what I’d just done.