His Dangerous Love On Ice (Olivia and Zane) novel Chapter 123

Olive’s POV

From where I sat in my car, through the windshield, I stared at the building looming in front of me.

The Mercer Company.

Glass and steel stretched up toward the sky, modern and imposing and screaming wealth in a way that made Hopkins Enterprise look quaint by comparison. The architecture was aggressive-sharp angles and reflective surfaces that seemed. designed to intimidate anyone who approached.

My phone beeped.

My heart jumped, hope and dread mixing together in my chest.

1 grabbed it immediately, my pulse quickening.

A notification from my banking app. Another transfer completing.

Not him.

The disappointment hit me like a physical blow, sharp and agonizing in a way I refused to acknowledge.

I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding and closed my eyes, pressing my forehead against the steering wheel.

I was losing my mind.

Or maybe I’d already lost it. Maybe I’d lost it the moment I agreed to his insane proposal in Chicago. Maybe I’d lost it the first time he kissed me. Maybe I’d lost it when I went to his penthouse and begged for his help and then fucked him like I couldn’t breathe without him.

Maybe I’d been playing a dangerous game from the very beginning and was only now realizing I’d already lost.

I opened my eyes and stared at the building again.

Working at the Mercer Company wasn’t just dreadful. It meant being surrounded by hockey players I had no interest in dealing with. It meant walking into enemy territory. It meant facing him after a week of silence.

I took a deep breath, grabbed my bag, and pushed the car door open.

The December air hit me immediately-cold and sharp, biting at my cheeks and making my eyes water.

I stepped out onto the sidewalk and immediately felt eyes on me

People passing by turned to look. Some did double-takes. A few whispered to whoever they were with.

I kept my head up, shoulders back, and started walking toward the entrance.

The building smelled like money.

That was the first thing I noticed when I stepped through the revolving doors. Expensive cologne mixing with leather and coffee and something else I couldn’t quite identify. Power, maybe. Ambition.

And then I looked up.

The lobby was massive. Cathedral ceilings with modern chandeliers hanging down like crystallized ice. The floor was polished marble that reflected everything, making the space feel even larger. The walls were decorated with blown-up action shots of hockey players mid-game-brutal, beautiful, intense.

But it was the people that made me stop.

Hockey players everywhere.

In different uniforms. Different team colors. Different leagues. Some had clusters of fans trailing after them with phones out, recording everything. Some had paparazzi snapping photos. Some walked through like they owned the place-which, technically, some of them probably did.

It reminded me of Chicago. That hotel lobby and the photo shoot room. The overwhelming presence of athletic egos and testosterone and competition all condensed into one space.

I started walking toward the elevators, trying to blend in, trying not to draw attention.

My phone rang.

I stepped into an empty elevator car and pulled it out, glancing at the screen.

Cole.

Again.

I ended the call immediately, my jaw clenching,

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