Chapter 6: Olive's POV

His hands were on my hips.

Firm. Possessive. Fingers digging into my skin hard enough to leave marks.

I was pressed against something cold. A wall, maybe. Glass. I couldn't tell. I Didn't care.

Because his mouth was on my neck, teeth grazing the sensitive spot below my ear, and I couldn't breathe. Couldn't think.

"You should've said yes," he murmured against my skin.

His voice. God, his voice.

Deep and rough and doing things to me that should be illegal.

"I don't-" I tried to speak, but his hand slid up my thigh, pushing my dress higher, and the words died in my throat.

"You don't what?" His lips curved against my neck. I could feel him smiling. "You don't want this?"

His fingers brushed the edge of my underwear, feeling my wetness, the softness of my heat.

I gasped. My voice caught hard in my throat, unable to speak.

"That's what I thought."

He pulled back just enough to look at me. Those blue eyes dark. Hungry.

"Tell me you want this, Olive."

"I-"

His thumb pressed exactly where I needed it. Deep. Hard. Circling.

My head fell back. A moan ripped from my throat.

"Say it."

"I want-"

He pressed harder. Circled again against my clit.

"Please-"

"Good girl."

And then his mouth was on mine. Hot. Demanding and consuming me completely.

I was so close. Right there. Right on the edge-

******

I woke up gasping, breath coming out hollow like I'd just run a marathon.

Sweaty. Tangled in sheets. Heart pounding so hard I thought it might break through my ribs.

And wet.

So fucking wet it was embarrassing.

"No. No, no, no."

I pressed my palms against my face. Groaned into the darkness of my suite.

A dream.

It was just a dream.

A very vivid. Very detailed. Very real-feeling dream.

About Zane Mercer.

The man I'd rejected three days ago.

"Fuck."

I threw the covers off. Sat up. My tank top was drenched with sweat, clinging to my skin. My thighs pressed together instinctively, trying to ease the ache that wouldn't go away.

This was bad.

So bad.

I'd been locked in this suite for three days. Three days of hiding. Avoiding everyone. Avoiding Hunter. Avoiding the possibility of running into Cole. Avoiding any chance of seeing Zane.

And apparently, my subconscious decided avoidance wasn't working.

Because now I was having wet dreams about him.

About his hands. His mouth. His voice saying things that made my entire body light up.

"Good girl."

I shivered.

Stop. Stop thinking about it.

I grabbed my phone off the nightstand. The screen lit up.

7:14 AM

And beneath the time, notifications I'd been ignoring for days.

- Texts from Brenda asking if I was okay.

- A missed call from my mother.

- And one message that made my stomach twist.

The blocked number. The one I'd blocked three days ago.

But I could still see the preview from before I blocked it.

Three days, Olive. That's how long my offer stands.

Three days.

Today was day three.

His offer expired today. Maybe by noon.

I stared at the message. At those words that had been playing on loop in my head for more than sixty hours straight.

'Date me. Be my partner. Make Cole regret everything.'

Part of me-a stupid, reckless part-wanted to unblock the number. Wanted to call him. Wanted to say I'd changed my mind.

But I didn't.

Because I'd made my choice.

I wasn't going to be used. Not by Cole. Not by Zane. Not by anyone.

Even if my body was currently screaming at me that I'd made the wrong decision.

I stood up. My legs were shaky, and I headed for the bathroom.

A cold shower. That's what I needed. A very cold shower to wash away the dream and the ache and the lingering feeling of his hands on my skin.

By the time I got out, it was past seven-thirty.

The suite was quiet. My parents were probably still asleep. Thank God.

The last thing I needed was my mother's morning cheerfulness or Grayson walking around in his boxers with his-

I stopped that thought immediately.

One thing I'd learned living above my parents' garage: Grayson was 'very comfortable' in his own home. And my mother was very loud about why she'd married him.

Some things you couldn't unhear.

I pulled on an oversized hoodie and leggings. Threw my hair up in a ponytail. No makeup. No effort.

I just needed air. Coffee. Something to clear my head before tomorrow's game.

Tomorrow.

Hunter's first big game with the Chicago Wolves.

The whole reason I was even in this godforsaken city.

"Fuck, I can't wait to get back to work and forget my life just shifted off its axis," I muttered to myself.

I grabbed my phone and key card. Slipped out of my room as quietly as possible.

The hallway was empty. Good.

I made it three steps toward the elevator before I heard it.

"Sneaking out?"

I froze. Turned slowly.

Hunter stood in the doorway of the main suite, arms crossed, with that cocky smirk on his face that made me want to punch him.

"Jesus Christ, Hunter. You scared the shit out of me."

"Is that how you greet your stepbrother after avoiding him for three days?"

I glared. "I wasn't avoiding you."

"Right. You just happened to be locked in your room the entire time we've been here."

"I needed space."

"From what? Me?" He stepped into the hallway. "Or from someone else?"

My stomach tightened. "From someone else? You tell me, Hunter. Who do you think I'm hiding from?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

He was too close now. Close enough that I could see something in his expression. Guilt? Concern?

I huffed hard. Of course, he'd deny it. Act like he was never part of Zane's master plan.

"You sold me out. Why?"

I could see recognition cross his face. His expression shifted.

"I'm sorry, Olive. I had no choice."

He muttered it quietly. Concern. Guilt. All those expressions I didn't want to see.

"You fucking sold me out, and do what? You just apologize? Do you know the mess you caused?"

My voice was rising. Almost a yell. And fuck it, I didn't care if anyone was listening.

"I said I was sorry, Olive. I really am. Did he-did he hurt you?"

I glared at him. The audacity to ask how I was feeling after ruining my life. Or maybe he was part of the ruin. Involved somehow. But I just stared hard at him.

The only thing I could say was:

"Move, Hunter."

"Olive-"

"I said move." I shoved past him. "I need coffee before I lose my mind or throw you off the balcony."

"Hey." He grabbed my arm. Gently. "I'm sorry. Are you okay? Did that bastard hurt you?"

I yanked free. "I'm fine."

"You don't look fine."

"Well, I am. So back off." My voice shook. "And don't you dare play games with me ever again. I don't know what your deal with Zane is, but don't you dare involve me again."

He held up his hands. "Alright. Alright. Just... be careful, okay?"

"Careful of what?"

His jaw tightened. "Just... don't do anything stupid."

I stared at him. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing. Forget it."

"Hunter-"

"Go get your coffee, Olive." He stepped back into the suite. "And for the record? Cole doesn't know you're here. I didn't tell him. So you can stop looking over your shoulder like he's going to jump out of a corner."

The door closed before I could respond.

I stood there for a moment. Fists clenched.

What the hell was that about?

'Don't do anything stupid?'

'Cole doesn't know you're here?'

Why would Hunter-

My phone suddenly buzzed, and I pulled it out.

It was a text from Brenda.

BRENDA: 'You alive? Or do I need to file a missing person report?'

I typed back quickly.

ME: 'Alive. Barely. Going to get coffee.'

BRENDA: 'At 7:30 AM? Who are you and what did you do with my best friend?'

ME: 'Couldn't sleep.'

BRENDA: 'Bet I know why. Starts with Z. Ends with ...ane Mercer.'

I almost threw my phone.

ME: 'I'm blocking you too.'

BRENDA: 'You love me. Now go get your coffee and stop spiraling. Today's a new day. Fresh start and all that bullshit.'

ME: 'Motivational speeches aren't your thing.'

BRENDA: 'I know. I'm trying something new. How's it working?'

ME: 'Terribly.'

BRENDA: 'Good. That's more on brand. Love you. Text me later.'

I shoved my phone in my pocket and headed for the elevator.

Fresh start.

Right.

Today was day three.

Zane's offer expired at noon.

Not that I cared.

Not that I was counting.

Chapter 7: Olive's POV

I'd found a reasonable place to have coffee not long after, tucked into a corner of the hotel café, nursing lukewarm coffee and debating whether my life had always been this much of a trainwreck or if it was a recent development.

Spoiler: It was recent.

Three days in Chicago, and I'd already been mistaken for a creative director, cornered by the hottest hockey player alive, offered some mysterious deal I'd been smart enough to refuse, and spent every waking moment trying not to think about said hockey player's bare chest and wet dreams.

I was doing great.

The café was quiet-thank God-just the soft hum of espresso machines and the occasional clink of dishes. I'd needed this. Space to think. To breathe. To figure out what the hell I was doing with my life.

And then the door opened.

I looked up.

And immediately wanted to throw myself out the window.

No.

It had been two years since I'd seen Ryan Mitchell, and the universe had been kind enough to keep it that way. But apparently, my luck had officially run out.

He spotted me instantly-because of course he did-and his face split into that same obnoxious grin I remembered from college. The one that made you want to punch him and also wonder if he was actually aware of how annoying he was.

He started walking toward me.

I considered running.

But my legs didn't move. Just stayed frozen as I watched him approach, all cocky swagger and that stupid hair flick he'd never grown out of. He swiped a hand through his sandy blonde hair, blowing out fake heat from his face like he'd just run a marathon instead of crossing a café.

His teeth were too white. His smile too wide.

I almost gagged.

"Oh, come on." He stopped in front of my table, hands on his hips, looking like he'd just won the lottery. "Don't tell me who we have here. If this isn't fate, I don't know what is."

"Fuck off, Ryan." I took a sip of my coffee, not bothering to look at him. "Fate is for paranormal romance novels. And you, buddy, don't look paranormal to me."

He burst out laughing.

That was the thing about Ryan-he didn't understand insults. Not because he was slow, but because he'd somehow convinced himself that verbal abuse was flirting.

"God, I love it when you insult me." He pulled out the chair across from me without asking and sat down. "It makes me hot. Turned on, even. That's why I always came to you. Free spank bank material, you know? Easier that way."

My face folded in disgust. "You're a walking HR violation."

"And you're still gorgeous when you're pissed." He leaned back, completely unbothered. "So what's new? Break any hearts lately? Ruin any lives?"

I set my cup down, debating whether throwing hot coffee in his face would be worth the assault charge.

I'd been sitting here, spiraling about my encounter with Zane. About the possibility-the dangerous possibility-that I might actually end up in over my head with him. The kind of over my head that involved his hands, his mouth, and a very bad decision.

And now Ryan had barged in and ruined even my fantasies.

"You're a child, Ryan," I said flatly. "And I'm glad I gave you the best three months of your freshman year. Now fuck off."

He laughed harder. "Oh, come on. That was four years ago. I graduated last year, pulled my life together, and here I am. Living the dream."

I grunted, already exhausted. "Good for you. Door's that way."

"Still got those daddy issues, huh?" He tilted his head, studying me like I was a science project. "That tone sounds exactly like the one you used to give when your dad-"

"Shut the fuck up."

I slammed my cup down hard enough that coffee sloshed over the rim.

Ryan blinked, startled for half a second before his grin returned.

That was Ryan's specialty-pushing until you snapped, then acting like your reaction was the punchline. He didn't care how much he hurt you as long as he got under your skin. It was his life's work.

And I'd been stupid enough to sleep with him in college.

"Okay, okay." He raised his hands in mock surrender. "Touchy subject. Got it. So is it daddy issues or new boyfriend issues? Because that look on your face screams 'man trouble.'"

I pressed my fingers to my temples. "Why are you here, Ryan?"

"Funny you should ask." He leaned forward, elbows on the table, grinning like the cat that ate the canary. "I got myself a hobby. Joined the NHL."

I stared at him.

Blinked.

Stared some more.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"NHL, baby." He tapped the table twice. "Chicago Wolves. Just got called up."

My brain tried to process this information and failed spectacularly.

"They're just picking up random scumbags off the street now?" I asked slowly. "Or did DADDY pull some strings for his little boy?"

Ryan's jaw tightened. "Always going for the throat, huh?"

"You make it so easy."

"I worked hard for this, Olive." His voice dropped, and for a second-just a second-he almost sounded serious. "Really fucking hard. You think I'd end up useless? And leave my dad out of this. I've got stronger connections through my mom's side."

I raised an eyebrow. "Oh, so Mommy helped you out."

He groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "You're impossible."

"And you're still talking."

"My uncle," he said through gritted teeth, "Gary Mercer. Senior VP of NHL operations. He helped me pull the strings. And now I'm here, playing on the same team as my favorite cousin."

My stomach dropped.

"Cousin?"

Ryan's grin returned, sharper now. "Zane Mercer. You might've heard of him. Best player in the league. Total god on the ice. Ring any bells?"

I couldn't breathe.

Zane Mercer was Ryan's cousin?

Chapter 8: Olive's POV

"Small world, huh?" Ryan was watching me now, eyes glinting with something I didn't like. "So here's my advice-stop dreaming about guys like Zane. He's way out of your league. Dated models, actresses, socialites. Stick with me instead. I'm only eight months younger than you. We'd be perfect."

Something snapped.

Maybe it was the condescension in his voice. Maybe it was the assumption that I couldn't have Zane even if I wanted him. Maybe it was the fact that I'd spent the last three days being underestimated by every man I encountered.

"And what happens," I said slowly, "if I can catch your cousin's attention?"

Ryan froze.

Then he burst out laughing. "Oh my God, you're serious."

"Dead serious."

His laughter died when he saw my face. "Wait." He leaned forward, eyes narrowing. "You actually think you could-no. No way. Olive, I love you, but Zane doesn't even look at girls like you. He's-"

"Let's make it interesting," I interrupted. "A bet."

Ryan's eyebrows shot up. "A bet?"

"If I can get Zane Mercer to kiss me-publicly, where people can see-you pay me a hundred thousand dollars."

His mouth fell open.

For a moment, he just stared at me like I'd grown a second head. Then, slowly, his grin returned. Wider. Sharper. Dangerous.

"A hundred thousand dollars," he repeated. "For a kiss."

"A public one. PDA. Something that leaves no room for doubt."

He laughed, low and disbelieving. "You're insane."

"Do we have a deal or not?"

He studied me for a long moment, and I could see the wheels turning in his head. He was calculating. Weighing the odds. Deciding whether I was bluffing.

Then he leaned back, arms crossed. "Fine. But if you can't-if you fail to wrap my untouchable cousin around your pretty little finger-then you're mine."

My blood ran cold.

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me." His eyes dropped to my chest-still fully covered by my oversized sweater-and dragged back up with a look that made my skin crawl. "If you lose, I get to do everything I've been fantasizing about since college. And trust me, Olive, I've been very creative."

Bile rose in my throat. "You're disgusting."

"And you've got three days." He stood, shoving his chair back with a screech. "Three days to seduce the most untouchable man in professional hockey, or you're mine. Clock starts now."

He turned to leave, then paused, glancing back over his shoulder.

"Oh, and Olive?" His grin was pure malice. "I'm going to enjoy winning this."

He walked away, already pulling out his phone and muttering about Bitcoin dropping two percent.

I sat there, frozen, staring at the spot where he'd been.

What the hell had I just done?

Three days.

I had three days to kiss Zane Mercer-publicly-or become Ryan Mitchell's prize.

A laugh bubbled up in my chest. Bitter. Hysterical.

Because if anyone had told me a week ago that I'd end up in this situation-running from one problem straight into a bigger, more catastrophic one-I would've laughed in their face.

But here I was.

Trapped in a bet I couldn't afford to lose.

Against a man I'd stupidly refused just days ago.

A man who probably wouldn't even remember my name.

Another laugh escaped, louder this time, and I felt a tear slip down my cheek.

"I'm so fucked," I whispered.

And this time, it wasn't a joke.

Because I knew Ryan wasn't joking either. I'd seen it in his eyes-the hunger, the certainty that he'd already won.

It was either win or lose.

And I wasn't about to lose.

My heart pounded as I grabbed my phone, staring at the blank screen.

I needed to find Zane.

I needed to grovel, beg, plead-whatever it took to get him to agree to whatever deal he'd offered before.

Because losing to Ryan Mitchell wasn't an option.

Not now.

Not ever.