“Hey, this is Kat. I’m busy so leave a message at the beep.”

I slam my fist down on the passenger seat of my car, growling. Each time I call, it goes straight to voicemail.

I went to her apartment, banging on her door loud enough for one of the neighbors to stick their head out and tell me to shut the fuck up or else they’d call the cops. Yeah, that’s the last fucking thing I need.

Knowing I’ve got at least one more shitstorm I’ve got to deal with, I head into work. Walking through the small reception area, I know I’ve got laser beams shooting from my eyes and fire drifting from my nostrils as two of the front staff cower from my glare. They normally are pretty nice. I’ve shot the shit with them plenty of times. Not today.

“What the fuck was that last night?” I explode as I storm into my office to see Susannah seated at the work table, her little clipboard arranged perfectly in front of her. “What was going through your fucking head?”

She taps her clipboard with a pen, looking up with an expression on her face of total and complete calm. “Nice to see you too. I covered for you when you bailed and didn’t answer your phone the dozens of times I called to find out where the fuck you went. You’ve been mentally absent for weeks now, Derrick. I saved your ass and the show, just like I always do. You’re welcome, by the way.”

I stop in my tracks, dumbfounded. Not sure what excuse I was expecting, but it damn sure wasn’t that. “Covered for me? You should’ve just played an old show. How the hell did you get those recordings?”

My yelling is attracting an audience, people poking their heads out and freezing in the hallway to watch the show through the glass door, but I’m way beyond caring.

Susannah, on the other hand, is playing it cool as a cucumber. “You’re the one having phone sex in the middle of the studio. I just aired them. I could’ve filed suit for creating a hostile work environment, you know. I did you a favor.”

The door to my office opens and the station manager, Quincy Kilborne, comes in. A long-time veteran of the radio game, Quincy’s been a strong supporter of my show from the beginning. Today, though, he looks pissed.

“What the hell’s going on in here? Why are you two yelling at each other when the show starts in an hour?” He crosses his arms over his chest, looking at us like we’re misbehaving children.

I swallow back an eruption of rage and stifle my voice. “Susannah played recordings of my private conversations on air. Last night’s show . . . I didn’t make those recordings and I damn sure didn’t give my permission to air them.”

“Is that true?” Quincy asks, raising an eyebrow. “Let’s be clear, we’re talking about a possible felony accusation here. What happened yesterday?”

“He . . .” Susannah says, her mask of self-control faltering as she stutters slightly. “You heard it. I played it. He gave permission to play those recordings. Go back and listen, you’ll see.”

Quincy looks at me, but before he can even ask, I’m all over it. “Bullshit. That was an edited soundbite. The whole damn thing was edited. I left during the pre-show meeting yesterday in a hurry.”

“Yeah,” Susannah scoffs. “Running off to go see your fuck buddy instead of working, just like you have every day for weeks. So typical of you these days. I’ve been covering for you every damn day.”

Quincy looks between us, and I can see it in his eyes that he doesn’t believe Susannah either. Who would? I fucking hope Kat doesn’t. “I went to the hospital to see my dad,” I explain. “He had a heart attack. He called during the pre-show and I ran to meet the ambulance at the hospital. I didn’t have time to explain. I was in a panic. Call the damn hospital. I spent the whole night there. Fire me if you need to for bailing, but the bigger problem here is how Susannah got the recordings. Those were private.”

Susannah starts to fidget in her seat for a few moments. “Well?” Quincy asks. “How did you get those conversations?”

“I recorded them!” Susannah finally explodes after seeing the silent act isn’t going to work. “You’re sitting there in the studio every night, just winging the whole damn thing by the seat of your Jockeys while I’m prepping the music, the emails, the next caller. Meanwhile, you’re fucking off talking to your latest and greatest. Fuck that. We had something good going when you were single, or at least you were focused on the show and helping me make it great.”

“Wait . . . but how’s that possible?” I fume back. “And yeah, I admitted to you I wasn’t giving a hundred percent. I apologized for that. But I was still pulling my weight. The show’s been doing fine and that’s no fucking excuse!”

“Because I’m picking up your slack!” Susannah screams. “I’m the one who sets up the callers. I’m the one who does the music. I’m the one who chooses the emails. I’m the one who does every fucking thing this show needs except, of course, milk your fucking cock when you want it milked! And for that, what do I get? You texting your goddamn girlfriend while I’m busting my ass!”

“Susannah, I already apologized—”

“Stick your apology up your ass!” Susannah screams. “I do all the work, and somehow you get to waltz in, drop some Barry White smooth tones and lame advice, and you get all the credit. The damn show’s even named after you. I’m not even a fucking side note. I’m the one carrying the whole show on my shoulders, working to get us into syndication and studio deals, and I barely get anything! ANYTHING!”

“What you do get is invading my privacy,” I seethe, my voice dropping to an enraged calmness. “I talked it over with a friend, pulled the archives of the show. That wasn’t just phone calls, and it wasn’t stuff I did in the studio. At least three of the clips you played were things I did in my apartment on my time. How the fuck did you do that?”

Susannah says nothing, crossing her arms over her chest. “I want a lawyer. This is sexual harassment.”

Quincy speaks up. “If anyone has a case for harassment, it’s Derrick. Can I see your phone?” he says, nodding to me.

I’m hesitant for a second, considering what’s just happened with my phone, but I hand it over and he starts tapping at the screen. He hands it to me, showing me the task manager with something running in the background I’ve never installed. “Uh-huh . . . thought so. Wouldn’t have had a damn clue how to check this, but saw it on TV the other day. She must’ve installed this on your phone somehow.”

“What—” I start, taking the phone in trembling fingers before remembering. “That time you were screwing with my phone, when I stepped out to take a piss.”

Susannah shrugs, finally deciding that offense is the best defense. “I had to do it. I just wanted to see what I was up against. I needed you here with me, and knowledge is power. If I knew what you were doing, I could cover for you, work with you, maybe get you to see the light that you don’t need her and she’s screwing everything up. We’re on the cusp of greatness here, and it’s everything I’ve worked so hard for. And you’re not only letting it slip away, you’re walking away for some damn pussy. After I listened to a few of the conversations, I thought it would be good for the show. Hell, it got me hot and I don’t even think of you that way. If she got mad and dumped you, then you’d re-focus on the show and we could go back to how it was before. Win-win.”

“Win-win? Like before?” I ask, staring at my phone. My hands are shaking so hard I can barely control myself, and the world narrows to a single black tunnel as I stare at the welcome screen for the spyware. My fist clenches, squeezing the sides of my phone until there’s a cracking sound, and suddenly, my phone’s screen goes black. I drop the wreck on the table and look up at Susannah. “How on earth could it be like before after what you did?”

Quincy doesn’t let her respond. “Susannah, you’re fired. Gather your shit and get out.”

“You’ll be hearing from my lawyer,” Susannah growls. “You hear me? I’m gonna own this station by the time I’m done with you.”

“Ms. Jameson, you’re going to be lucky if you don’t serve time. I’m reporting your actions to the police even if Mr. King here doesn’t. You’re not walking away from this. Your actions have risked the station and the show. I’ll call security to escort you out.”

Instead of waiting, Susannah storms out, kicking my office door open before screaming in rage as she heads down the hallway. In the strange silence that follows, I turn to Quincy, who’s watching my office door close on its pneumatic hinge. “I’m sorry about all—” I attempt.

“Forget it,” Quincy says. “I actually listen to the show, Derrick. Not as a boss, but just as a listener. Maybe she was carrying more load behind the scenes, but the success of the show on-air is about you and there has been something different lately. You seem happier on-air, like you believe the happily ever after shit you peddle, and it gives us all hope, even my crusty old soul. Maybe we need to get you an assistant for the prep and a co-host for on-air, but regardless, what Susannah did is about as wrong as it gets.”

I let out a relieved sigh, realizing I’m not fired too. “What about the show? We had to be breaking some rules last night.”

Quincy shrugs. “We’ll probably catch some shit, but as long as we don’t pull anything like that again, we’ll be fine.”

“And the show tonight?” I ask, looking at my cracked phone. “I really shouldn’t have done that . . . how the hell am I going to call Kat now?”

“Go get a new phone. If she meant that much to you, you have to know her number,” Quincy says. “As for your show, we’ll cue up one of the recorded ones. Take a few days, get yourself together, and we’ll line up some help for you. I know we’ve got some producers in-house who would give anything to work with the Love Whisperer, and I’ll put out some feelers for a co-host. Think of it this way, you’ve got a hell of an opening monologue to do if you want.”

“Yeah . . .” I mumble, not sure what else to say. “Quincy, I know I should start helping with everything now, but—”

“Go handle your business,” he says, patting me on the shoulder. “We got this.”

I think. How am I supposed to reach out to Kat when she isn’t answering me and I don’t know where she is? Suddenly, it hits me, and I look Quincy in the eye. “Actually, I need to get on the radio tonight. At least that first half hour or so. Think Phil would mind being my producer tonight?”

He gives me a small, tight smile. “Hell, if he can’t, I think I can still run a basic board. Just don’t ask me to do any digital magic.”