His Dangerous Love On Ice Chapter 82: Olive's Pov

"So."

Brenda spun her chair toward me, and I could feel her stare burning into the side of my face even though I refused to look up from my laptop.

"So what?" I asked, typing furiously, pretending the spreadsheet in front of me was the most fascinating thing I'd ever seen.

"You know you've been hoarding shit from me."

"I'm not hoarding anything, Brenda."

"Oh really?" Her voice went up an octave. "You want me to remind you? Fine. The date. You refused to tell me how it went. And since you walked in here this morning with shaky legs—yes, I noticed, don't even try to deny it—you've been avoiding eye contact and changing the subject every time I bring it up."

I kept typing, my cheeks burning.

"Which, like, I'm proud of," she continued. "Good for you getting thoroughly fucked. But you don't just get to hide information from me. Have you replaced me? Am I not your best friend anymore?"

The dramatic hurt in her voice made me laugh despite myself.

"You know I have to send this presentation to Grayson," I said, still not looking at her. "It's for the next meeting with the Mercer Company. The partnership strategy we've been working on for weeks."

"Oh, I finished my part yesterday," Brenda said casually. "So don't try to change the subject. What happened on the date?"

I stopped typing. Turned my chair to face her. "Are you being serious right now?"

She nodded frantically, her eyes wide and gleaming with that gossipy excitement she always got when she sensed drama. "Yup. Very, very serious. Spill. Now."

I sighed, knowing she wouldn't let this go. "Okay. Fine. We went to a club."

"A club?" Brenda's eyes went even wider, if that was possible. "Like an actual club? With music and dancing and—"

"Yup. A club." I wasn't about to tell her it was an underground racing club. Or that it belonged to Zane. Or that my father apparently worked there. Some secrets needed to stay secret. "It was mindblowing. Very exclusive. Like, you need an invitation just to get through the door kind of exclusive."

"Oh my god, that's insane!" Brenda practically bounced in her chair. "I need to see this club. Finally, you're leaving the boring lifestyle behind. Not that I blame you for being boring before—Cole never let you do anything fun. That controlling son of a bitch."

Her face shifted from excitement to annoyance so fast I almost got whiplash watching it.

"Yeah, well." I turned back to my laptop, trying to focus on the charts I'd been building. "That's over now."

"Have you spoken to him?" Brenda asked, her voice softer now. "Since the scandal?"

I shook my head. "Nope. Haven't seen him, haven't heard from him. I was actually expecting some texts, you know? The usual pathetic manipulations or him trying to gaslight me into thinking I did it. But nothing. Radio silence."

I shrugged, trying to seem casual about it even though the silence had been bothering me more than I wanted to admit. "Maybe he's actually growing up. Learning to respect boundaries."

Brenda just stared at me.

"What?" I asked.

"Nothing." But her expression said it definitely wasn't nothing. "I just don't think people like Cole change overnight. We all know what he is—social climber, ass-kisser, manipulator, borderline abuser—"

"Brenda—"

"Okay, fine," she held up her hands. "I'll stop. But you really think someone like him just goes quiet? Doesn't even try to contact you after getting publicly exposed? No." She shook her head. "Something must have happened. Something that made him back off."

I turned back to my desk, uncomfortable with where this conversation was heading. "I don't know, Brenda. Don't you think it's possible he just realized he fucked up and decided to leave me alone?"

"No." Her answer was immediate and firm. "It's either he's planning something, or something happened to make him stop, or both. That man doesn't just give up."

"Alright, Brenda," I said, wanting to end this. "Let's just hope he's fine and has moved on with his life."

"God, Olive, you're so fucking nice and I hate it sometimes." But she was smiling. "I'm just glad karma came around and you ended up sitting on Zane Mercer's face."

I choked on air, my fingers freezing on the keyboard. "Brenda!"

"What? I'm just saying." She spun back to her own desk, looking entirely too pleased with herself.

I spent the rest of the afternoon trying not to have a panic attack about Brenda's words—both about Cole potentially planning something and about the very accurate assessment of what I'd been doing with Zane—while also trying to finish the presentation.

By the time I finally sent it to Grayson and shut down my computer, I was exhausted.

I grabbed my bag and headed out, my mind already on getting home, taking a hot shower, and maybe ordering takeout instead of dealing with Hunter's family party tonight.

But when I reached my apartment door, I stopped.

There was a box sitting on the ground in front of it. A very large box.

I stared at it, not entirely sure what I was seeing or who it could possibly be from.

The box was wrapped in a red bow, pristine white packaging that looked expensive. A small white card was tucked under the ribbon.

I picked up the box—quite heavy—and pulled out the card.

"Hello Muffin. Got you some presents. —Z"

My heart did this stupid flutter thing that I was absolutely not going to acknowledge.

I unlocked my door, carried the box inside, and set it on the kitchen island, staring at it like it might explode if I opened it wrong.

Slowly, carefully, I untied the bow and lifted the lid.

Inside was another box. Actually, three boxes, all stacked neatly with tissue paper between them.

The top box had a logo I recognized immediately—Valentino.

I opened it and found a note resting on top of the most beautiful red gown I'd ever seen.

"I got you some gifts. Not saying you don't have clothes, but I don't know what else to get someone who won't take my money. Maybe you can wear the red one for the party tonight."

I pulled out the gown, the fabric sliding through my fingers.

It was stunning—deep crimson with a neckline that would show just enough skin to be dangerous, fitted through the waist and hips before flowing out in this elegant way that somehow managed to be both sophisticated and sexy.

The second box held a black dress—Givenchy, equally stunning but more understated. Perfect for a business dinner or formal event.

The third was emerald green—Alexander McQueen, with cutouts in all the right places that I'd probably need three glasses of wine to have the courage to wear.

Another note fell out as I lifted the green dress.

"I've also got a surprise for you outside. Make sure you're dressed and ready for the family party."

I squinted at the note, wondering what kind of surprise he could possibly have waiting outside.

My phone pinged.

Zane: Dress to kill, Muffin. Tonight might be Hunter's party, but it's still yours.

I read the message three times, my stomach doing somersaults.

Then I looked at the dresses spread across my kitchen island, at the kind of thoughtfulness I'd never experienced from anyone, let alone someone like Zane who was supposed to be cold and calculating and emotionally unavailable.

"Fuck," I whispered to my empty apartment.

I was in trouble. Deep, complicated, heart-racing trouble.

********

Twenty minutes later, I was dressed in the red Valentino gown, my hair pulled back in a sleek low bun that showed off my neck and shoulders, makeup minimal but perfect—highlighting my cheekbones and making my eyes look bigger.

The dress fit like it had been made specifically for me, hugging every curve in a way that made me feel dangerous.

I grabbed my clutch, locked the door behind me, and stepped outside.

And stopped dead.

A man was standing at the bottom of my stairs. Tall, broad-shouldered, wearing a perfectly tailored black suit.

Behind him stood two more men, equally well-dressed, equally intimidating.