A Billionaire for Christmas

A bad podcast and a good man

*Sawyer*

I walk into the sophisticated building that houses the podcast studio. The lobby is tastefully decorated for Christmas in silver and white.

Apparently, this place is home to several of the most popular podcasts in the world. I'm not quite sure why I feel the need to impress Alberto Olivera. Maybe I don't, not really. I think it's more about wanting to feel my best… confident and self-assured. I have a feeling I will need it.

Pascal, being my multi talented assistant, helped me with my makeup. He did an excellent job, making it look flawless yet natural. I'm wearing a burgundy wrap dress that accentuates my curves perfectly.

Approaching the reception desk, I greet the secretary with a smile. "Hi, I'm Sawyer Grace, here to see Alberto Olivera."

"Sure, take a seat," she replies, nodding toward a sofa. Her smile turns a bit sympathetic. "And good luck."

"Thanks," I mumble, wondering how seriously she meant that, as I settle onto the couch. I watch her make a call, presumably to announce my arrival.

A few minutes later, a young, pretty, and slightly nervous-looking woman appears. "Sawyer Grace, hi! I'm Mr. Olivera’s assistant, Clara. If you'll follow me this way."

"Sure… Nice to meet you, Clara," I say, rising to follow her.

As we walk down the hallway, she glances back at me. "It's just down here."

"So, Mr. Olivera… Is he really like that, or is it all an act to provoke and get attention?" I can't help but ask.

Even with her back to me, I can tell she sighs by the slight rise and fall of her shoulders. "If he's a better man than he seems, he's hiding it well."

"Yikes," I mumble. "How do you stand working for him?"

"Honestly, I can't really," she chuckles, though there's no happiness in her voice. "But I need the job, so until I find something else, I keep my head up and my eyes down and endure."

Her words make me both sad and angry. "It shouldn't be like that... I'm sorry you have to work for a jerk."

She turns her head to smile at me. "Thanks. I'm rooting for you to put him in his place. I've read a lot of your work and watched your videos... I'm kind of a fan Of you. If anyone can handle him, it's you."

"Thank you," I reply. "I'm crossing my fingers that another opportunity comes your way soon."

As she opens a door, she steps aside and whispers, "Go get him, girl."

I smile, take a deep breath, and step inside. "Mr. Olivera."

"You must be Miss Grace. Welcome to my humble show," he says, gesturing to a chair across from him. "Come sit, I'm almost ready."

"Thank you," I say, walking over to the chair and trying to sit down gracefully. It's not just what I know about the man; it's also the aura of contentment and entitlement that seems to shimmer around him.

He's fiddling with some equipment, and I focus, telling myself to stay calm. I remind myself that I undoubtedly know more facts than he does. I can handle this, no matter what he throws at me.

Starting the show he does his usual greeting of his listeners, of which there is usually more than he deserves to be honest. Then he introduces me, but I can’t help but cut in, “Sorry to interrupt Mr. Olivera, but you are mistaken, I am not radical, and I do not hate men.”

“But you would choose the bear, righ? I mean you Independent feminist women always say they do not need a man. But can you change a tire?” He looks at me.

“I don’t need to, I don’t have a car… and if I did I would learn, elseway I know how to call for a professional..” I start to say.

He cuts me off. “Yeah, a professional man. Men built this country, we gave you women freedom, maybe we gave too much… back in the kitchen.”

“Listen…” before I can say anything else he pulls out a bull horn, the sound almost making me fall off the chair.

“Now go make me a sandwich little lady,” he grins. “Even though by the look of you, you would probably eat it.”

*Theo*

“And here we have the podcast studios, Mr. Harrington,” he leads me down the hallway. “State of the art pf course, several of the top podcasts in the world are sent from right here.”

To be honest I do not really get the hype there is around podcasts, but they make money, quite a lot of money these days, and that is something I get. “So do they rent the studios or do you employ the… podcasters ?”

“Well we do both actually, we have a few that we pay to work with us, it has a lot of commercial value, but most pay to rent one of our studios.” He explains. “Look here is our star, Alberto Olivera… his podcast ‘the bro hour’ is very popular with especially the young men.”

I look through the window, inside a man is talking into a microphone, a self-satisfied smirk on his face. Across from him is a woman, she turns her head slightly, and my heart seems to stutter… Sawyer!

“Can we hear what is happening in there?” I ask.

“Sure Mr. Harrington,” he says, and leans in to push a button.”Here you go.”

I listen as this Mr. Olivera lets out some boring drivel about how women loses a part of themself with each s****l partner while men gain value. I never understood how anyone can actually believe that nonsense, but what annoys me more than his words is the way he cuts of Sawyer, and speaks over her every time she tries to say anything.

“Listen…” Sawyer tries again. “Everyone is allowed to have their personal standarts, no one is saying you can’t want what you want… but you do not get to set the standard for everyone.”

I silently applaud her, she has never been one to let others silence her.

The podcast jerk, pulls out a bullhorn, setting it off almost in her face. “Uh oh I triggered the past her prime feminist… let me guess, tired of f**k bois and simps and ready to settle for a real man, so we should lower our standarts,”

“He is good at putting these crazy feminists in their place,” the man next to me laughs, but when I turn my head, glaring at him he is smart enough to shut up and after a few seconds he starts to squirm.

“But hey, I got to give it to you,” Olivera says, grinning stupidly. “Knowing you are a feminist I expected you to be fugly with some nasty pink or Purple hair and face piercing.” He lets his eyes slide over Sawyer. “But if you just lost a little weight you would be totally fuckable.”

I do not think but just grab the handle and pull the door open, ignoring the man beside me, telling me I can’t as it is a live show. Like I freaking care.

“Hey what are you…” the podcast jerk starts to say.

Sawyer turns in her seat, her eyes going wide, and her mouth opening slightly, “Theo?”