His Dangerous Love On Ice Chapter 222: Olive's Pov

By the time I made it to the Mercer Company, it was almost three-thirty.

The meeting had started at three.

I was thirty minutes late.

My phone had been buzzing nonstop in my pocket—texts from Jessica asking where I was, missed calls from Nina's assistant, notifications that I'd been marked absent from the mandatory meeting.

I didn't care.

Let them think whatever they wanted. My mother had needed me, and that was more important than any corporate bullshit.

I parked and headed inside, my stomach churning with anxiety and dread and the overwhelming sense that I was walking into something I couldn't control.

The conference room was on the executive floor…massive space with glass walls and expensive furniture and a view of the Seattle skyline that stretched out like the company owned the entire city.

I could see them through the glass before I even opened the door.

Nina at the head of the table, mid-presentation, gesturing at something on the screen behind her.

The creative team scattered along one side—Jessica, and of course Sophia’s minion Stephanie.

And on the other side, looking smug and perfectly put-together, sat Sophia.

But it was the woman sitting next to Sophia who made me stop in my tracks.

She was stunning.

Not just beautiful—stunning in a way that felt almost unreal, like she'd stepped out of a high-fashion magazine spread or a runway show in Paris.

Long dark hair fell in perfect waves past her shoulders, catching the light from the windows in a way that made it look almost liquid. Sharp cheekbones that could cut glass. Full lips painted a deep red that stood out against her pale skin. Eyes that were an unusual shade of amber-green, framed by thick lashes that had to be natural because no extensions looked that perfectly imperfect.

She wore a crisp white blouse tucked into tailored black pants…the kind of clothes that looked effortless but definitely weren't, designer labels I couldn't even pronounce, fabric that probably felt like butter against skin.

Everything about her screamed wealth and elegance and untouchable sophistication.

And she was staring directly at the door.

Directly at me.

Like she'd been waiting for me to arrive.

I pushed open the door and immediately felt every pair of eyes in the room turn toward me.

The presentation stopped mid-sentence.

Nina's expression shifted from professional to annoyed.

"Olive," she said, her voice clipped. "Good of you to finally join us."

"I'm sorry," I said, moving quickly to take the empty seat at the table. "Family emergency. It couldn't be avoided."

Nina's expression softened slightly.

"Is everything alright?" she asked, her tone less harsh now.

"It will be," I said, which wasn't really an answer but was the best I could manage.

I slid into my seat, trying to ignore the way everyone was still looking at me, trying to pretend I wasn't thirty minutes late to the most important meeting of the quarter.

The beautiful woman's gaze never left me.

I met it head-on, refusing to look away first.

If she wanted to stare, fine. Two could play that game.

"Now that everyone's here," Nina continued, pulling my attention back, "let me make proper introductions. Olive Monroe, this is Elena Volkov. She's the high-profile celebrity who's agreed to collaborate with us on the Quantum AI campaign. Elena, this is Olive Monroe—she's been heading up the creative concepts alongside Mr. Mercer, and you'll be working closely with both her and Sophia moving forward."

Elena.

Elena Volkov.

The name meant nothing to me. I'd never heard of her before.

But from the way everyone else in the room seemed to be watching our interaction with bated breath, from the way Sophia was barely suppressing a satisfied smirk, I got the feeling I was missing something.

Elena stood slowly, gracefully, like every movement had been choreographed for maximum impact.

She extended her hand across the table.

"It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Olive," she said, her voice smooth and cultured with the faintest hint of an accent I couldn't quite place. Russian, maybe? Eastern European? "I've heard so much about you."

I stood and shook her hand, matching her firm grip with my own, refusing to be the first one to pull away.

"Nice to meet you too," I said, keeping my voice level. "I'm sorry, I'm not familiar with your work. What do you do exactly?"

Something flashed in Elena's eyes—surprise, maybe. Like she wasn't used to people not knowing who she was.

"I'm a model," she said, tilting her head slightly as those amber-green eyes studied my face. "International campaigns, primarily. Vogue, Harper's Bazaar, Versace, Chanel. I've also done some acting, though that's more of a passion project than a career focus."

"Impressive," I said, and I meant it, even if I still didn't know who the hell she was.

Elena's lips curved into a smile that looked a little too sharp to be friendly.

"And you," she said, her gaze traveling from my face down to my clothes and back up again in a way that felt deliberately assessing. "You work here at the Mercer Company. How long have you been with the organization?"

There was something pointed in the way she asked it, like she already knew the answer.

“Perhaps a month," I said evenly, holding her gaze.

"Interesting," Elena murmured. "And you're working closely with Zane Mercer on this campaign, I understand?"

There it was.

The real reason for all the staring. All the questions.

She wanted to know about Zane.

"Yes, same as the other candidate, Antonio Mercer," I said, keeping my tone professional even as my guard went up even higher. "We've been collaborating on the creative direction."

Elena's smile widened, but her eyes stayed cold.

"How wonderful," she said. "I'm very much looking forward to working with both of you. Zane and I, same as Antonio go way back, you see. Childhood friends. It'll be quite the reunion after all these years apart."

She sat back down, crossing her legs elegantly.

I sat down too, my mind racing.

Childhood friends.

Zane had never mentioned an Elena. Never mentioned a childhood friend who looked like she'd stepped off a runway.

And from the way Sophia was watching our exchange with barely concealed satisfaction, I got the feeling that was intentional.

This was a setup.