STILETTO SISTERHOOD - Book Two

ISOBEL | Passive is so passé

Isobel removed the sound mic from her lapel and stuck out her arms while the sound tech team swooped in to remove the wires and battery pack from underneath her clothes.

"Sorry." Shawn, the youngest on the team, blushed a scorching crimson as his fingers touched her lower back instead of the bit of tape used to hold the wire down.

"You don't need to apologize." She smiled brightly and his blush went from scarlet to maroon.

"Sorry," he stammered, rolling the wires around the pack and scampered off while the older, more seasoned guys watched him with a laugh and a shake of their heads.

"Alright, that was good, but when we come back after the meeting I want to dial up the tone a bit," Nneka said, uncrossing her legs as she rose out of the producer's chair to join Isobel on the sound stage. Three months in to Passivist Activist, they'd taken to prerecording little statement messages to launch across social media. A kind of final thought or word of the day to layer in between the real-time and reactionary coverage.

"Do we have time to grab a coffee?" she asked, whisking down the sound stage steps to keep up with Nneka who was already on the go.

"Negatory. Meeting started fifteen minutes ago."

"Fifteen?" Isobel gasped. "Why didn't you flag me?"

"You were in your last take and I wasn't going to interrupt. It's fine." Nneka waved a hand. Coral nails popping against her deep brown skin.

It wasn't, but Isobel didn't waste time arguing the quick five minute speed walk from the sound studio up three floors to the executive offices to and down to the largest meeting room already crammed with twenty two bodies.

"Sorry," Nneka apologized as they shot through the door. Only two seats available, the closest of which Nneka nabbed, leaving Isobel no choice but to swing around the other side of the table, politely excusing herself as she wedged and nudged between air vent and chair backs.

Troy stood at the head of the table, mid way through his presentation, and cast Isobel an exasperated glance, waiting for her to tuck her legs under the table before proceeding.

"Why don't you do a quick recap," Navid suggested, twirling the end of his pen in the air. "To catch these two up."

Troy flashed a bright, winning smile, all white teeth and deep dimples that had made him a top contender in MTV veejay search a handful of years ago. Isobel remembered the girls in her class losing their mind over his devilish looks, defined body and bad boy charm. To everyone's surprise he'd lost the semi-finals to a pint-sized Asian girl with punk-chic hipster and serious comedic timing.

"Okay." Troy hunched over his open laptop, fingers toggling back to the first page of words scrawled against glaring white background. "We all know the message behind PA is to put the active back in activist'," he began; hands linked together and thumb scoring along his palm. "And while we've seen a jump in viewers accessing our content, are we actually achieving that goal of driving the millennial demographic towards being the force behind real change?"

He clicked through a few more pages. Charts and spreadsheets, figures and ratios whizzed by too fast for Isobel to keep track of the numbers, but a quick glance around the table, it didn't seem that anyone else was particularly put off by his brusque approach.

"Overall, we've developed a solid brand but it's time we expand the angle and incorporate a new thread with a male co-host delivering more salacious coverage—the vice to Passivists virtue."

"What? No!" Isobel's voice shot out of her in a surprised gasp, too stunned to rein it in. Troy turned from his presentation and all attention swivelled in her direction.