CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO Olive

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Olive

"You're doing great, Olive. Keep it up," Juliet, the photographer, says from behind her camera. "Now, over your shoulder."

I turn, looking right down the lens as requested, loving the sound of the camera snapping away.

It's still completely wild to me that I'm working with Good Jeans, and even more wild that I'm on set with them for the second day in a row.

I let my eyes wander around for a moment, taking in the busy background; the stylists and makeup artists flutter about, getting all the models ready for their chance in front of the camera.

This is easily one of the biggest, busiest sets I've ever been on, and I love the energy of it all. I've worked with some high-quality brands and photographers before, but nothing as big as this. Nothing that could give me the chance to be on an actual Hollywood billboard.

"God, this camera loves you," Juliet tells me. "You're going places, Olive. I'm calling it now. If you're not in front of the camera in the next five years, you'll either be behind it or you'll be doing something else to take the industry by storm."

For the first time in a long time, I don't have to force my smile in front of a camera. I'm genuinely happy.

Not only because of Juliet's words. It's everything.

It's this shoot I've worked so hard to get. It's Annie's engagement. It's the whole last month of my life.

It's Jude.

Just thinking of him has me reminiscing about our video chat yesterday. His dirty words echoed in my mind all night, making me wish I weren't half a world away from him. Or that I'd at least thought ahead enough to pack my vibrator.

"I can't tell if you're excited about what I just said or something else; either way, keep it up because this shot is hot," Juliet instructs, still clicking away.

I'm not even bothered by the bright lights and the flashing like I normally would be at this point.

I feel good. Beautiful. Happy.

Alive.

Distantly, I hear my ringtone—Taylor Swift's "Lover"—blast through the background noise. It's loud enough to hear over the other music thrumming through the studio, even though I don't recall turning on the volume. I must have accidentally turned it on before it was my turn to shoot.

The song dies down, then starts back up again.

Who the heck is calling me?

I slide my eyes over to Uma, who has been watching with a proud smile.

"Yours?" she mouths in questions, and I nod.

"Ignore it," she instructs.

"Yes! That one!" Juliet says, and I shake my head, turning my attention back to what's happening.

I run my hands over the mustard-yellow crop top I'm wearing, then over my hips, loving how the pair of Good Jeans hugs all my curves in just the right way.

I let myself get lost in the swell of the '90s R and B bumping through the speakers and focus solely on what I'm here to do—my job.

I give it my all, heeding the instructions Juliet gives me, like Move your arm or Relax your shoulders or Yes, more, as the minutes tick by.

I have no idea how many shots she's taken or how much time has passed when she finally calls it good.

"All right. That's good for now. Let's get you in the flare jeans. Head over to Wardrobe." She sends me a wink, then turns to her camera to look over the shots, Uma right at her side, already nixing some of them.

I race across the room to my station, pulling my phone from the mini backpack I brought along with me, eager to see who is blowing it up.

I snatch it up as it rings again.

Annie.

Why is she calling me?

My finger hovers over the green button, ready to answer.

"There you are!" I look up to find Yuli, the wardrobe coordinator, holding up different options for the next session. "Come on," she says, tipping her head to the side. "This way. I think you're going to look amazing in the flannel. It's going to make your eyes pop like never before."

I glance back down at my still-ringing phone, torn between wanting to answer it and knowing that now is not the time. I'm working. Annie knows that.

Which also means Annie wouldn't call unless it was important ...

"Let's pick up the pace, people," Juliet calls across the room. "We still have two remaining fall looks and all of winter to get through and only two more hours to do it. Hustle, hustle, hustle!"

Everyone begins moving faster, speed-walking from one end of the room to the other, grabbing clothes off the racks at breakneck speed.

I check my phone once again. It's gone silent, and I intend to keep it that way. This shoot is too important, and I can't mess this up.

Besides, I'm sure Annie is just having a meltdown about something with Remi or the wedding.

I silence my phone, then slip it back into the pocket of my mini backpack, pushing away all thoughts of it and anything else.

Today is a good day. A drama-free day. A day where my dreams are coming true.

Nothing is going to put a damper on that.

"Ah, come here. Give me a hug." Uma wraps me into a warm embrace, squeezing her arms around me so tightly my breath stutters. It's alarming, but not for obvious reasons. Mostly because she's hardly ever this affectionate, but I guess the shoot has her in a good mood. "I'm so proud of you," she says, and I can hear the smile in her voice.

Warmth spreads through me. I'm proud of me too. I've worked hard to get to this point, and these last few days in LA have been everything I've ever dreamed of.

"Thank you." I hug her back just as tightly. "Couldn't do this without you."

She pulls away, beaming at me, her orange lipstick nearly as bright as her smile. "You could, you'd just miss me too much." She shoots me a wink. "Now, get some rest. Tomorrow morning we're going shopping. My treat."

"You're on." I grin, never one to turn down a shopping spree.

Uma waves goodbye, then gets into her Uber, the one that's taking her in the exact opposite direction. She's rented a place down by the beach for a week. I'm going back to my hotel room, which still smells like Jude.

Jude, who I miss so damn much it hurts. He's gone for two weeks, and that's about thirteen days too long.

A white Ford compact rolls up a minute after Uma pulls away, and after verifying it's my ride, I hop in the back.

I'm blessed with a driver who doesn't want to talk, and after watching palm trees pass by for a few minutes, I pull my phone from my small backpack to do some work. LA doesn't hold the same appeal to me that New York does.

Almost as soon as I retrieve my phone, it lights up, Annie's name filling the screen. Again.

I don't even hesitate to answer this time.

"Hello?"

"Finally!"

I pull the phone away from my ear with a wince. It's so loud that even the Uber driver glances up from the road to make sure everything is okay.

I send her a soft smile and a thumbs-up. She doesn't return it, just goes back to weaving in and out of traffic.

"Well, hello to you, too, Bananie," I say, cautiously bringing the device closer. "What the hell was that for?"

"Have you been on social media today?"

"Why?"

"Just answer me, Liv."

I pull my brows together, not at all liking the rushed and worried tone of her voice. "No. I've been on set all day. You know that."

"Oh, thank god." She sighs. "Don't go on there."

"What?" I laugh. "You realize that's part of my job, right?"

"I know, but right now, you need to stay off it. Have you talked to Jude?"

"Not since this morning when he texted me. Why? What's going on?"

The silence on the other end of the line has me on the edge of my seat—literally.

Dread settles into my stomach as I lean forward, gripping the headrest in front of me like it's my lifeline.

"Why?" I ask again when she doesn't speak for a full ten seconds. "What happened, Annie?"

"You," she says. "You happened."

"Me? What did I do? I've been working nonstop for the last two days. I—"

My phone beeps, and I pull it away from my ear.

Uma.

The dread turns to lead, my whole stomach dropping out from under me. Uma shouldn't be calling. I just saw her. There's no reason.

"Hang on," I say loudly enough for Annie to hear. "Uma's calling."

"Liv, I—"

But Annie's words are cut off as I switch over to my manager.

"Hel—"

"You're viral," Uma says, talking over me. "Why didn't you tell me about this? I could have prepared a statement for you. I could have—"

"Hang on, hang on. I'm what?"

"Viral, dear." She laughs humorlessly. "You've officially made it—though I'm not exactly sure this is the kind of thing you want to be known for."

I grab my now-pounding head. "Known for what? What is going on? Annie's calling me in a panic, too, asking about Jude, saying things I don't understand. Just tell me what's going on."

Uma's quiet. Too quiet. So damn quiet that it's deafening, blocking out the sounds of the city passing by and even the music that's been quietly playing on the stereo.

The silence is so loud it's all I can hear.

So when it breaks, I jump, my heart racing.

"Your messages to Jasper Rafferty, Olive. They're all over the internet."

Her voice is calm. Collected. Which is the complete opposite of what I'm feeling, because now my heart is racing for a whole different reason.

Did she just . . .

"My messages?" I ask, though I'm not sure why. I heard her clearly.

But there's no way, right? She's not saying what I think she is ... is she?

"All those DMs you sent him. They're all over the place. I would have pulled you aside during the shoot, but I didn't see them until after. Are you okay?" Concern is so clear in her voice, and it's the gentlest I've ever heard Uma be in the years I've known her. It's unsettling, which is unfortunate because this is already an unsettling situation.

"I . . . I don't . . ."

My messages were leaked? How? When? Why?

"Tell you what: I'll give you some time to process this and work on a statement—because you're definitely going to want to make one—and I'll call you in about an hour. Sound good?"

"I . . . Sure."

"Talk soon, dear."

The call goes silent, but it doesn't last long. The screen fills with Annie's name and face, but I ignore it, instead going straight to Google, wanting to see for myself.

Uma is wrong. She has to be. There is no way what she's saying is possible.

I type my name into the search bar and hold my breath as I wait for the results to load.

Five seconds later, I'm staring down at my absolute worst nightmare.

Uma wasn't lying.

It's all there, splashed across the internet for the entire world to see.

My diary.

My hopes and dreams. All my deepest and darkest confessions. Memories with my father. My ... life. Everything.

My heart falls right out of my chest and onto the floor of the Ford.

I look down, as if I can see it lying on the carpet next to the stale french fry the driver forgot to clean out from under the seat.

Hi, heart.

I drag my focus back to my phone, navigating over to Instagram like some masochist.

More than five hundred notifications smack me right in the face, like they're saying, Hey, this isn't fake. It's very, very real. We're the proof.

I click on them, instantly regretting it.

Did she really cyberstalk her way into a relationship with a Rafferty?

Wait. If she's sOoOoOo into Jasper, what's she doing with Jude???

This is cringe AF!

Figures. She probably can't get a date, so she has to creep on a guy to get him to notice her.

Definitely not Rafferty worthy, no matter which brother it is!

So she's thirsting after one brother and ends up with the other? BIG ICK.

There are more—so many more—but I can't stomach another second of scrolling.

I click off the screen and set my phone in my lap. The Uber driver catches my eyes in the rearview mirror. She lifts her brows in a silent question, but I don't have any answers for her. I don't even have any answers for myself.

I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to block out her curious stare, the comments that are on replay in my mind, and the reality of ... well, everything.

This can't be happening. This can't be happening. This cannot be fucking happening.

My phone buzzes against my hand, and I must answer it, because the next thing I hear is Annie calling my name.

"Liv? Are you there? Liv? Hello?"

I pull the phone to my ear.

"Liv?" she asks again.

My head feels heavy, and my eyes start to burn, tears springing to them, threatening to spill free at any moment.

"Annie . . ."

She sighs. "You're there."

I sniffle, trying my best to hold back the incoming onslaught. "I'm here."

"Oh, Liv."

There's a loud screech from somewhere nearby, so awful and raw it draws the attention of the driver, causing her to jerk the wheel.

"What the hell?" she shrieks, glaring back at me from the rearview mirror.

That's when I realize it—the sound is me.

That terrible, contorted sound is me, and my face is wet, tears streaming from my eyes as the reality of this whole fucked-up situation truly hits me.

"Ma'am, are you okay?" the driver asks, voice softening, but I don't answer. I couldn't even if I wanted to. My voice is caught in my throat.

So I don't even bother trying. I cry.

I cry and cry and cry, clutching my phone to my ear as the miles pass us by, taking me back to the last place I was truly happy. The last place I was with Jude.

Jude, who I miss.

Jude, who I wish I could talk to right now.

Jude, who lied to me. Who pretended to be his brother. Who knew about these messages.

Jude, who could very well be responsible for this.

I feel sick just thinking it, my gut telling me I'm way off. Jude would never. I know that because I know him.

But if it's not Jude, then who could it be? Jasper? They were in his inbox, after all.

But just like I can't truly see Jude being the one to do this, I can't see it being Jasper either. I didn't get that vindictive vibe from him. Besides, what would he stand to gain from leaking them—other than making my life a living hell?

"Liv ..." Annie says cautiously. "Are you okay?"

"No," I answer her.

She sighs on the other end of the line. "It's going to be fine. We'll ..."

"What?" I snap. "What are we going to do? Deny it all? Say it's fake? It's pretty damn obvious it's real, Annie. Nobody is going to believe me. I'm ruined. Everything I worked so hard for is gone in a flash. I'll never be known as something other than the girl who slid into Jasper Rafferty's DMs."

She doesn't deny it, and how can she? She knows I'm right.

She swallows. "Have you talked to Jude?"

"No," I tell her again. "I ..."

She exhales heavily. "I know, Liv. I know. I ... I'm so, so sorry."

Me too.

"Do you need me to come out there? I'm sure I can get someone to cover my shifts. I—"

"No," I interrupt. "No. Don't." I wipe away the errant tears still streaking down my cheek, take a deep breath, then say, "I'm coming home."

"Olive, whatever you do, do not go on social media, okay? I ... Fuck. I don't know what's happening. I don't have a goddamn clue. I just ... I'm so sorry, Sunshine." A pause. "I'll fix this. I swear it to you. Just ... stay off the internet. Stay out of sight. I'll be home soon."

I hit Stop on the message I've played no fewer than fifty times over the last twelve hours, letting my phone fall back to the bed—where I've been lying since I got back to the East Coast.

My Uber driver in LA ended up being completely amazing and sympathetic to the very obvious crisis in her back seat. Once we got back to the hotel, she offered to drive me to the airport, free of charge. I paid her, obviously, but it was still a gesture I desperately needed.

Especially given that once I entered the airport, I could feel it—the stares and the knowing.

No one approached me or said anything directly, but they didn't have to. From the TSA agent's knowing glance to the snickering teens at my terminal, I could tell they knew.

Even the flight attendants kept their distance, whispering behind their hands and not so subtly gesturing toward me.

The flight was easily the longest five and a half hours of my life.

I kept my head down leaving the airport, ignoring the almost-constant stare from the cab driver on the way to my apartment, and didn't speak again until Annie pulled open the door and dragged me into her arms, then right to bed.

That's where I've been since I got back to New York.

I've tried sleeping, but it's pointless. Every time I close my eyes, all I can see are the snippets of my diary plastered all over the place—from gossip sites to TikTok. And all I can hear is the desperation in Jude's voicemail.

That may be the worst of all this.

I like Jude. A lot. Way more than I ever thought possible, given how we met.

But this? The attention? Constantly being thrown into the headlines or photographed or stared at? My damn diary being leaked?

As much as I like Jude, I'm not so sure I'm cut out for this life. I knew dating an actor would be a challenge, but I didn't know it would be this cutthroat. That the headlines could be so nasty. That the comments could be so personal. That all the things I've worked so damn hard for could be stripped away in a moment, like what's happening right now.

It's a hard dose of reality I wasn't aware I needed.

This thing with Jude ... If I keep it going, I could lose everything. My audience. The brand deals. This little corner of the world I've cut out just for me.

I can't take losing everything. I can't take something I love so much slipping through my fingers and not being able to do a damn thing about it. Not again.

I'm being given a chance to walk away before that happens. I have to take it. There's no way I'll survive it otherwise.

I press my hand over my heart to quell the literal ache I'm feeling.

Easy there, heart. I'll keep you safe.

"How you holding up?"

I raise my eyes to find Annie standing in the doorway of my bedroom.

Her lips dip into a frown when I don't answer.

"Scoot over," she tells me, padding into the room. I do as she says, moving over a couple of feet to give her space. She settles onto the bed next to me, looking down at me with that same sad smile she's been wearing since I walked in the door in the wee hours of the morning. "You look like shit."

Something resembling a laugh flounders out of me. It's rough and raw, which I suppose is fitting since that's exactly how I feel right now.

"Anything other than the voicemail?"

I shake my head. "No."

"Maybe that means he's on his way here?"

I scoff, rolling onto my back, groaning at the ache in my body. "I doubt that. He's in the middle of a press tour. He's not going to bail on that to come comfort poor, poor me."

"He cares about you, Olive. Don't dismiss that so easily because you're hurt."

"Whose side are you on here?"

It's supposed to be a joke, but Annie doesn't respond to it.

I lift my brows. "Seriously. Whose side are you on?"

She throws her hands in the air. "Neither. Because there aren't sides. Jude didn't do this, and neither did you. There's no reason I need to pick."

She's right. I know she is. I'm just feeling bratty right now.

But I guess that's justified when all my deepest, darkest secrets have been spilled to the world and my whole life's been flipped upside down.

"I'm sorry," I tell Annie.

She tips her head to the side. "You're sorry? Why?"

"Because I wrote about you. About Daphne. I wrote about everything. I'm sorry your name is out there too."

She shrugs. "It's not like I'm anyone important. There are millions of Annies out there this could be about. And like half of those are nurses. I'm more worried about you."

"I'm fine."

It's a lie, and we both know it. I'm far from fine, and I'm not even sure when I'll be fine again. It won't be for a long time, that's for certain.

"Are you hungry? Remi!" she calls out.

Her tall, raven-haired fiancé comes sprinting into the room, his long locks blown around his head like he's just stepped off the set of a music video.

"What's wrong?" he asks, shoving his hair out of his face, then his black-rimmed glasses higher up his nose. "Something wrong? A spider? Because I'll grab my flip-flop and kill it."

"Those stupid flip-flops ..." Annie grumbles. "Could you run down to the store for us? We need cheese crackers, two bottles of red wine, and whatever chocolate you can find. A variety of it. Think of it as a period kit."

He nods, completely unfazed by her request. "I can do that." His deep-brown eyes meet mine. "I've been working as hard as I can to find the source of the leak. We'll get to the bottom of this, Liv. You have my word."

He bows at the waist—because that's what Remi does—then promises to be back with supplies soon. Just moments later, the apartment door closes behind him.

I poke Annie's shoulder. "He's weird, but he's a keeper, Bananie."

She wrinkles her nose with a grin. "He is, huh?"

Annie's lucky to have someone like him.

I thought Jude could be my someone, but now ... now he can't. Not after this.

"Can we at least admit now that Jasper Rafferty's DMs probably wasn't the best place to keep a journal?"

My body shakes with the laugh that bursts out of me, then it's shaking for another reason—tears.

They start to fall, and I can't stop them.

This is all my fault. Why did I think that was a clever idea again? It was bad enough when Jude discovered my messages and pretended to be Jasper, but this? It's a whole different level of bad.

I should have seen this coming, and I'm so mad I didn't.

"Shh," Annie says, brushing my hair out of my face. "It's okay. We'll figure this out."

I nod, even though I've already made up my mind on how to figure this out.

Before she can dive into another speech about how this is going to be okay, the doorbell echoes off the apartment halls.

Annie's brows pinch together as she stares out toward the living room.

I glance at the door, then back to Annie. "Who's that?"

She shrugs. "No clue. Maybe Remi forgot his keys. He does that a lot." She propels off the bed. "Be right back."

Her footsteps slap against the hardwood floor as she slips out of the room while I close my eyes, squeezing them shut and wishing I could be anywhere else right now.

No. That's not true.

I wish I were someone else right now. Anyone. I don't even care who at this point. Because I'm not sure if I can take another minute of this. It's pure torture. From knowing my diary was leaked to the pity smiles from Annie and Remi. It's all too much, and I want to be done with it already.

"Hey, Liv?" Annie says.

"Hmm?" I don't bother opening my eyes.

"There's, uh, someone here to see you."

"I'm not really in the mood for visitors. Tell them to come back later."

"Even me, Sunshine?"

My eyes pop open, and I sit up with lightning speed. Too fast, if the way I wobble back is any indication.

Jude, ever the gentleman, crosses the room in a flash, reaching out to anchor me in place.

I don't need an anchor. I'm being dragged down enough as it is.

"Easy," he says in that deep, smooth voice of his, which I've missed way more than I care to admit.

The voice I will miss.

I try to move away from his touch, and he takes the hint, releasing me, then sits on the edge of the bed where Annie once was.

I look to the doorway for her help getting rid of him, but she's already gone, trying to be a good roommate and giving us our privacy.

I don't want privacy. Not right now and especially not with Jude.

Privacy means we're alone, and I can't be alone with him. If I'm alone with him, I'll be more likely to remember all the reasons I like him and none of the reasons I should stay away.

"Hi," he says softly, lifting his hand like he's about to brush back a strand of my hair, then, thinking better of it, dropping it into his lap. "How are you?"

Anger floods through me.

How am I? Is he serious?

"How do you think I am, Jude?" I snap at him.

He grimaces, squeezing the back of his neck nervously. "Right. Probably a bad question."

"Yeah, probably."

I shuffle around until my back is resting against the headboard. I drag my blanket up higher, too, like it's some sort of shield. It's really the only defense I have at this point. The only thing keeping me from doing something stupid, like leaning over and pressing my lips against his. The ones I know are soft yet hard, and say the sweetest and dirtiest things.

It's all his fault too. How dare he come here, looking so good after such a long flight? His ash-blond hair is disheveled, like he's raked his hands through it a million times over. He's wearing slacks and a simple white dress shirt that's unbuttoned far enough to show off his smattering of chest hair. His eyes are puffy but still as mesmerizing as ever.

He looks like hell and heaven all at once.

"I came as soon as I could. I ..." He shakes his head, his Adam's apple bobbing roughly as he swallows. "Fuck, Sunshine. I am so damn sorry. I don't know how this happened. I don't even know when this happened. But I swear to you, we will find who did this."

I want to laugh at his promise, the same one so many people have made—Uma, who is working hard on a statement. Annie and Remi too.

So many promises, yet none of them matter.

Who cares who did it? The damage is already done.

When I don't say anything, he dips his head, trying to catch my gaze, which has been focused on the blanket over my lap.

"Ollie ..." This time when he reaches over, he doesn't stop himself. His finger slips under my chin, and he tips up until I meet his eyes. "Talk to me."

"I can't."

His brows squeeze together. "Of course you can."

"No, Jude. I mean I can't."

He inhales sharply through his nose, my words really hitting him this time. "Can't what, Olive?"

Olive.

Not Sunshine. Not Ollie.

Just Olive.

I hate it and love it at the same time. I don't want to be his Olive, but I need to be if I'm going to get through this.

I blow out a long, slow breath, then meet his green eyes, which seem to be darkening by the second.

"Look, Jude, what we had ... It was fun."

He shakes his head, dropping open his mouth to stop me, but I don't let him.

"But that's all it was," I continue. "Because I can't do this anymore. This life you have ... this world of yours ... It's too much. I was doing fine in my own little corner of fashion, and I can't lose everything I've worked for. I can't let myself be swept up in your world. I ... I can't, Jude."

His shoulders sink lower and lower with every word that tumbles out of my mouth, and I war between wanting to take them all back and say them over and over until we both fully understand what I'm saying.

We're over.

"Sunshine . . ." he whispers.

"I can't," I repeat, for me and for him.

He stares at me, his eyes bouncing between mine. I don't know how long we sit like that—me pressed against the headboard and him looking like I just broke everything inside him.

It's okay. I broke everything inside me too.

But I had to. I had to because I've spent too much time building something for myself, and I can't let it continue to be torn down because of who I'm dating. It's not an option.

I'm not sure how much time passes before he squeezes his eyes closed, then nods once.

"Okay," he says softly. "Okay. I understand."

When he slides his eyes open once more, there's no mistaking the redness in them.

I want so badly to reach out and touch him one last time, but I'm too scared that if I do, I won't be able to stop.

Slowly, he pushes off the bed, stumbling two steps backward before righting himself.

He takes another deep breath, then pulls his shoulders back, but it doesn't do much. He still looks so ... defeated.

I hate it. For him. For me. For us.

But I know it's what I need to do.

He turns on his heel, and I look away, unable to watch him leave. Instead, I count the footsteps he takes.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

He pauses, but I still don't look.

"For what it's worth, I really am sorry, Sunshine. I ..." He clears his throat. "Goodbye."

Then he's gone. He's gone and I'm alone, hurting more than I ever thought possible.

This time when the loud wail pierces my ears, I know it's me.

And it's Annie who holds me, ready to help put me back together.