Free The Boys' Club by Wendy Squires

has a great set of cans.'
    'Keith, the woman is a trained journalist, not a pin-up.' Rosie
knew she had that tone of indignation in her voice that Keith hated.
'Surely this goes against what's written in her contract?'
    'Quite frankly, Rose,' Nash interjected, 'contract negotiations are
none of your business. Perhaps if you paid more attention to what
your job is supposed to entail – publicity – we might not be in the
mess we currently are with Graham Hunt.'
    'That's a good point, Simon,' Keith said. 'I'm not happy about the
leaks "Secret Sydney" is running every day, not fucking happy at all.
When I find out who's talking to those arseholes – and I will – I will
personally rip their fucking heart out with my own hands.'
    Nervous glances were cast all round. Was someone at the table
the snitch? Certainly several of the reported snippets had only been
mentioned within the confidential daily briefings. Jason Jarvis
appeared particularly uncomfortable.
    'Good point, Keith,' Johnno piped up, 'which is why I think it best
if we limit these meetings to those of us who really need to be here.'
    Murmured dissent filled the room.
    'I don't like it,' Keith yelled, causing the chatter to stop. 'But you've
got a point. Those pricks at the Sentinel are doing my head in. Johnno,
Simon, Russ, Bales and Alicia you stay. The rest of you can piss off.'
    'You're kidding me!' Rosie yelled over the ensuing din.
    'No, I'm afraid I'm not – and that goes for the rest of you,' Keith
said, staring down Jason Jarvis, puffed with rage. 'This is only
temporary, mind you, just until we find out who's been grassing on
us.'
    And with that, the boys' club got smaller and more powerful as
an entire tier of executives, including Rosie, found themselves on the
other side of the boardroom doors.

CHAPTER 8
    Rosie was so angry by the time she got back to her office that she
could barely speak. Lisa, knowing her boss only too well, could see
she was in no mood to chat and handed her the latest log of calls in
silence. Rosie snatched them from her hand, then faltered, realising
she was taking things out on her PA, who deserved better.
    'Don't worry, I understand,' Lisa said in response to her boss's
double-take. 'Must have been a doozy of a meeting – what there
was of it, anyway. That would have to be the quickest programming
meeting on record.'
    Rosie looked at her affectionately. 'You know, Lisa, if I didn't need
you for my very survival, I would tell you to run – not walk – from
this place and never look back,' she said.
    Lisa, clearly chuffed at the compliment, added: 'And I would
happily hold the door open while you did the same. It's just over
there, you know.'
    Rosie smiled at her warmly and took a moment to be grateful for
having such a dependable woman at her back.
    Finally in her office, Rosie cleared the pile of interstate news
clippings Lisa had placed on her chair as a forget-me-not and quickly
scanned the latest message log. There were probably another thirty or
so messages, most of them requiring a return call. To have someone
do it for her would no doubt be construed as a personal slight by the
egocentric types she dealt with.
    There were three messages from an on-air personality asking what
Rosie was going to do about the column in the Brisbane Gazette .
Rosie smiled to herself. She had read this particular piece by the
paper's acerbic television reviewer, who described the presenter
as having 'a voice that made cats having sex sound like Mozart
in comparison' and 'the dress sense of a hooker who is happy to
bargain'. Rosie wondered just what she was supposed to do. Bomb
the guy's house? Call his editor and demand he be fired? It was a
review, for god's sake, and a fairly accurate one at that.
    There was a message from an irate reporter complaining that the
engraved silver compass publicity had sent out a week earlier as a
freebie teaser for a new jungle mystery series was stuck. You can take
the bloody compass and stick it up your