The applause from the studio audience rolled in, predictable and comforting.
"Any woman who gives him the time of day should have her head examined." She leaned back in her chair, savoring the moment.
The bar was dim. The soft glow of chandeliers reflected off the polished mahogany and the clink of crystal glasses blended with low murmurs. Joy spotted him first, his cocky smile cutting through the room like a neon sign. Then he caught her eyes. Obnoxiously, he blew her a kiss.
Fury surged through her. "That arrogant piece of-" She rose to her feet, every step on her way to him fueled with hate. "You've got some nerve," she said, her voice dripping with contempt.
Tate's grin widened. "You said you'd slap me. Let's see if you-"
Slap.
His head jerked, his smirk unshaken.
"Is that all you've got?" he said, wiping his cheek.
She didn't hesitate. Another slap. This time, the sting lingered in her fingers. She reared back for another but before she could-
Slap.
His hand cracked across her face.
Hard.
It burned.
Behar retaliated with another.
Anger and frustration swirled around her as they traded blows.
Slap. Slap. Slap.
Then, a hint of desire.
Instead of another slap, she locked eyes with him.
He grabbed her wrist, pulled her toward him, and without another word, walked her backward. Up against the wall, and then into a closet. The door slammed shut. She felt his breath on her neck.
Joy stared into the camera, her mind elsewhere.
"Let's take a call," her co-host suggested.
A young woman's voice crackled through the speakers. "I'm at a bar right now, and that filthy Andrew Tate is here. He's trying to make eye contact with me. Joy, I was so inspired by what you said yesterday, I'm going to go slap him. For you."
Joy's fingers tightened around the desk. "No," she said, with a hint of desperation. "I'm going to take care of him myself. In fact, I have half a mind to come there right now and give him a piece of me... of my mind."
Her co-hosts egged the caller on. "Go on, give him one! For Joy!"
A loud slap crackled through the phone.
Joy winced. Her stomach sank.
Then another smack.
Behar's face tightened, but she forced a smile.
A succession of slaps, a slamming door, then silence.
"It got pretty quiet," one co-host said. "Think she's okay?"
Joy's lips quivered. She cleared her throat. "Yeah, I'm sure she's fine," she said, her tone too steady to be convincing. A moment passed. She exhaled sharply. "Let's just take another call."
