When the voicemail picked up, she said, “Listen, I got your message loud and clear, so don’t bother coming around here anymore. You got exactly what you wanted, so congratulations on that one. You’re a sorry son of a bitch. I hope you know that. Just know that I'm flipping you off the next time I see you. Fuck you, Henry.”
Ending the call, Olivia threw her phone across the room, hearing it clatter somewhere on the floor. She didn’t care. Didn’t even have it in her to be concerned. What did it matter anyway?
Embarrassingly, she could feel tears start to sting her eyes. She slapped her hands to her cheeks, rubbing at them before they could fall. There was absolutely no way she was going to cry over a stupid man who didn’t even have the courtesy to let her know he was no longer interested.
She wasn’t about to waste her precious time and energy over someone that barely considered her feelings in any of this.
Taking in a deep breath, Olivia tugged off her towel and threw it onto the bed.
The only thing left to do now was go wallow somewhere productively. At least then, she could do something that had an end result she liked.
Getting into some comfortable clothes, Olivia pinned her hair back and headed out of her apartment. Her podcast studio wasn’t far from where she lived, thankfully. So it made for a pleasant walk, especially on sunny days like today.
However, no matter how nice it was outside, it still felt bitter and cold to her.
I can’t believe he just left like that. What an asshole.
Olivia stopped at the crosswalk and waited for the light to allow her to cross the street, spotting her studio a few doors down, where she shared a space with other artists needing a place to work. She shifted her pack around her shoulder, feeling the jitteriness that made her want to crawl out of her own skin.
There was nothing in this world that she hated more than liars.
Crossing the street, Olivia hurried to her studio’s front door but stopped short when she saw that there was a man loitering outside of it. She watched him for a few moments, taking him in. He had an average build with nothing too remarkable about him, but there was something … off.
Slowly, she approached him.
“Can I help you?”
The man looked up, immediately straightening himself up. “Olivia Jackson, right?”
She raised a brow. “Uh, yes? Can I help you?”
“Yeah. Saw a picture of you and Henry Darrow getting pretty cozy lately. I know you’ll probably have him on your podcast soon. I want in.”
She blinked. Who the hell was this guy?
“You know where I shoot my podcast?”
He nodded toward the building. “You mentioned it on one of your podcasts. Led me right to it.”
He had her frowning. She was pretty sure she’d never mentioned the location of her podcast studio to anyone, let alone her millions of followers.
She ran her eyes over the man again. “What’s your name?”
“Philodendron Shed. I watch your podcasts all the time.”
What an unfortunate name.
“Oh … well, thank you for supporting the show. But unfortunately, I can’t help you.”
The man scowled. “What? Why?”
She sighed, hoping he wasn’t the type of person to throw a fit in the middle of public.
“I’m not in contact with Mr. Darrow anymore.”
“Why the hell not?”
She wanted to roll her eyes. Like it was any of his business. This was the part she hated about being semi-famous online. Everyone always acted so entitled when it came to her personal life. Like she somehow owed them because they subscribed and gave her money.