Page 19 of Hot Mic

‘So I misunderstood that?’ Sienna pressed.

‘Guess so.’

Sienna’s eyebrows touched. Uh oh.

‘Then that proves my point. If the explicit goal of the date was for us to learn about each other, it failed,’ Sienna insisted, her polite veneer cracking as her frustration over the date—and losing the listener vote—surfaced. ‘We were thrown into a dark room, given a ticking clock, and forced to find puzzle answers. It was an adrenaline spike, not a conversation. In terms of actually understanding how you operate, Robin, I learned zero new information.’

Now Robin was irked. ‘Zero?’

Zoe leaned in further, her eyes lighting up. ‘So you felt the format failed to yield any real depth?’

‘Precisely,’ Sienna pressed on, completely abandoning her keep-the-peace resolve as the attraction of her own argument took hold of her. ‘Gimmicks don’t create connection. They just create noise. We would have had an infinitely more substantial interaction in a quiet café where we were actually forced to sit down and talk like two adults.’

Robin swallowed, forcing her voice to stay light. ‘A coffee date? Sienna, we worked together and smashed the room record.’

‘We reacted to external stimuli under stress!’ Sienna countered with sharp irritation. ‘That isn’t connection, Robin. Throwing two people into a high-stress setup forces you to rely on superficial instincts instead of actual communication.’

Superficial.

Robin’s mouth fell open. She felt rage take her. She had walked into this studio fully prepared to play boring and ride it out. But watching Sienna gradually cast aside their pact just to win a cheap point—and dismiss Robin’s entire way of moving through the world as shallow in the process—cut deep.

‘You know, Vance,’ Robin said, her gravelly voice turning dangerously sharp. ‘It must be absolute bliss up there on your high horse.’

Behind the glass, Pip nearly choked on her coffee. Zoe looked like she was trying not to clap.

Sienna blinked. ‘I’m simply being realistic about the—’

‘No, you’re writing off anything you can’t steer,’ Robin interrupted, leaning straight across the desk, her blue eyes flashing. ‘You hated every second of that room because it was out of your control. You couldn’t sit there with a checklist and evaluate me like a job candidate.’

Sienna’s posture went rigid. ‘I never wanted to evaluate you! I’m just trying to point out that if the goal of a date is genuine communication, throwing us into an escape room was a complete waste of time!’

‘It wasn’t a waste of time until you decided to rewrite it as one!’ Robin snapped, abandoning restraint now. ‘We had fun. We worked well together. But God forbid you admit that a spontaneous moment actually worked, because then you’d have to admit your precious bloody system isn’t infallible!’

‘My ‘system’ relies on actual substance, not cheap adrenaline!’ Sienna shot back. ‘You think eighteen minutes of shitty puzzle solving means we understand each other? It’s completely hollow, Robin! It’s the exact kind of empty, performative romance you push on your show every single week!’

‘At least my ‘performative romance’ lets people actually feel something!’ Robin slammed her hand flat against the desk. ‘That’s why I won the vote. Because people know that all your precious ‘substance’ does is keep you safe and hidden and alone!’ Robin cried, holding Sienna’s gaze, her chest heaving. Sienna was glaring back, her dark eyes blazing.

Then something caught Robin’s eye. In the control room, Gemma was standing behind Pip, watching. She looked happy and satisfied.

So much for being boring, Robin thought bitterly, her chest burning.

They were never getting out of this contract.

Fifteen

The rhythmic drip of melting ice plipping into the bowl resting at the bottom of Sienna’s ancient freezer was a comforting sound, usually. But it was doing nothing today.

Sienna sat cross-legged on her linoleum floor, up to the elbow in rubber gloves, holding a wooden spatula like a chisel, cracking small chunks off a glacier that could take down the Titanic. It was a tedious and inefficient chore. But that was kind of the point. Bring on the mind-numbing labour.

‘Check the door! Check the door!’ a high-pitched voice squawked from the brass perch near the window. ‘Feds outside, watch the block!’

Sienna didn’t look up from her chipping. ‘Not now, Barnaby.’

Barnaby, a scruffy African Grey parrot, cocked his head with a jittery motion. Sienna had adopted him ten months ago from an avian rescue after his previous owner—a local drug dealer—was thrown in the clink. The rescue had warned Sienna that Barnaby came with an ‘interesting vocabulary’, but Sienna had believed that classic audiobooks would eventually widen his conversational skills.

It hadn’t quite worked out that way.

‘Put the weigh-scale in the drawer!’ Barnaby shrieked, doing a nervous little sideways shuffle along his perch. ‘Keep your mouth shut, Tony! Keep it shut!’