His Dangerous Love On Ice (Olivia and Zane) novel Chapter 73

OLIVE’s POV

“What happens now?” I asked, changing the subject because I wasn’t ready to dive into the ethics of protecting family. members who didn’t deserve it.

“Now,” Zane said, his voice dropping lower, taking on that dangerous edge that made my stomach flip, “you go back to work. Act like nothing happened. The story is dead. The partnership is moving forward. And tonight-” he traced my bottom lip with his thumb, and I had to resist the urge to bite it, “-you’re coming with me to my club.”

My stomach did a full somersault. “Your racing club?”

“The one and only.” His eyes were dark now, intense. “I told you you’d see my biggest secret. Or maybe one of them. Time to deliver on that promise.”

“Zane-”

“No arguments, Muffin.” He kissed me again, softer this time, almost tender. “I’ll pick you up at eight. Wear something you don’t mind getting dirty.” He paused, his expression shifting to something more serious. “And you should change your key locks. Tonight, before I pick you up.”

Before I could ask what he meant by that-why it sounded like a warning instead of a suggestion-he was gone, striding out of the office like he owned the building, leaving me standing there trying to remember how to breathe normally.

*****

The rest of the day passed in a blur of emails and spreadsheets and pretending I wasn’t completely distracted by the memory of Zane’s hands on my body.

Brenda cornered me at my desk around lunch, her eyes sharp with curiosity and concern. “Okay, spill. What did Zane say? What happened in the meeting? Are you okay? And why do you ook like you just got thoroughly kissed in a supply closet?”

I gave her the abbreviated version-Zane proved the video was fake using forensic analysis, the partnership was back on track, everything was fine, and no we did not fuck in the supply closet even though she clearly thought we did.

She didn’t look entirely convinced, but she also didn’t push. Brenda knew when I needed space, and right now I needed a lot of it.

Grayson sent me a text around three PM: Good work today. We talk later.

Not exactly effusive praise, but coming from Grayson-who rarely praised anyone for anything-it might as well have been a standing ovation.

My mother called twice, but I let both calls go to voicemail. I’d deal with Hunter’s party and whatever family drama was brewing there tomorrow. One crisis at a time was my new motto.

By the time five o’clock rolled around, I was exhausted-mentally, emotionally, physically. The kind of bone-deep tired that made you want to sleep for a week and wake up in a different timeline where your life wasn’t a constant series of dramatic revelations.

But when I finally made it home, dragging myself up the stairs to my apartment with my purse feeling like it weighed a thousand pounds, I stopped short.

There was a box at my doorstep.

I cocked my head, staring at it suspiciously. I wasn’t expecting a package. Hadn’t ordered anything online. And after everything that had happened with all of this, I was understandably paranoid about unexpected deliveries.

But curiosity won out over caution.

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