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matching shoes that the wardrobe department had managed to source for her. Her hair was caught up from her face, but most of it was left loose. Having all of it piled on top of her head would look too formal alongside the bling-bling of her dress. It was a fine line – you wanted to look attractive enough for TV, but not so much that you looked out of place. Nicki couldn’t help but search herself critically, her eye lingering on every flaw.
    ‘What? Are you doubting my undeniably fantastic ability with a make-up brush?’
    ‘I’m doubting your impartiality, seeing as you are my best friend,’ said Nicki.
    ‘A true friend wouldn’t send you out there looking anything else but your best,’ said Sorcha. ‘And I’m a true friend.’
    ‘Your piece is amazing,’ Sorcha continued. The two edited pieces had gone up a couple of days earlier on the internet, and viewers had started voting in their thousands. Nicki had spent hours in the editing suite trying to get the tone just right, and she’d thought that she had done a reasonable enough job. That was until she’d looked at Alva’s. She was slick, perfectly turned out, and the seductive way that she talked to the camera would give television chef Nigella Lawson a run for her money. And by the string of comments under the video, a lot of men watching the video had thought something pretty similar. A lot of them had been deleted.
    ‘Hi,’ said Alva behind her. She was wearing a tight blue dress with a small amount of sparkle, nothing that could be considered gaudy or in poor taste. It heightened her ice princess look, and there was nothing friendly in her eyes right now.
    ‘Are you nervous?’ asked Nicki, in a poor attempt at making conversation.
    Alva shot her a look of disbelief. ‘Are you kidding me? I was born to do this job.’
    ‘Your piece was excellent,’ said Nicki, determined to be professional.
    ‘Thanks,’ said Alva. ‘Though, I do feel sort of bad. This wasn’t exactly a fair contest, was it? But still, you did your best. I do admire you for giving it your best shot, even if the results weren’t exactly spectacular.’
    ‘Hey, the new reporter hasn’t been announced yet,’ said Nicki. It was a poor shot, and Alva knew it.
    ‘I was talking to Kenny,’ she said, shaking a curtain of highlighted blonde hair over one shoulder. ‘I was saying that there should be no reason why the junior researchers shouldn’t do some of the research for the special reports too. I mean, it can be a big job doing all that focused work on deadline.’
    Brilliant. Not only would Nicki have to suffer the indignity of losing out on the job to Alva, but she’d also be expected to do work for her too.
    ‘What did Kenny think of that?’ asked Nicki. She struggled to keep her voice level, but Alva could see through her.
    ‘He thought it was a fantastic idea,’ said Alva, with a fake smile. ‘So you needn’t worry, we’ll still be working together.’
    ‘Goody,’ said Nicki flatly.
    ‘Ok, ladies, it’s time to get on with things,’ said Terri, the stage manager pushing them towards the recording room. ‘They’re just ready for you now.’
    Nicki felt butterflies in her stomach as she walked on set. There was an ad break on as they took their places. Danielle shot her a warm smile as Sorcha touched up Greg’s make-up. Honestly, he required more attention than any woman in the building.
    Danielle and Greg were on one sofa, facing Alva, Nicki, and Imelda – one of the women that she had interviewed during the week. Alva picked the end of the sofa closest to the cameras and crossed her legs in a way that showed an eyeful of fake tanned thigh to the camera. Freddy the camera looked rooted to the spot.
    ‘Thirty seconds!’
    ‘Hi,’ said Nicki, sitting down beside Imelda. ‘How’s Colin?’
    ‘He’s doing all right; the doctor is sending him for an MRI to see how his condition is progressing.’
    ‘Twenty seconds!’
    ‘Your dress is nice,’ said