His Dangerous Love On Ice Chapter 94: Olive's Pov

I was in my office trying not to think about last night too much.

About everything that had happened between me and Zane, about the way he'd touched me, the way he'd made me come apart in the club bathroom like we weren't in public, like anyone could have walked in and caught us.

I'd told him to drive me back to my apartment afterward because I had work the next day. Still had projects to complete, deadlines to meet, and I couldn't just keep showing up late because I was too busy fucking my boyfriend.

God, was that what Zane was? My boyfriend?

The thought made my stomach flip in a way I wasn't ready to examine.

I was sitting at my desk, staring at my computer screen without really seeing it, when someone walked in.

Brenda. She worked beside me, had her own desk and computer and filing cabinet right next to mine, separated only by a half wall that did absolutely nothing for privacy.

"Morning," she said cheerfully, setting down her coffee. "How was your night?"

"Fine," I said automatically, because there was no way I was telling Brenda about anything that had happened last night. "Quiet."

"Liar," she said, grinning. "You have that look."

"What look?"

"The ‘I-got-thoroughly-fucked’ look," she said, and I choked on air.

"Brenda—"

"I'm just saying," she continued, completely unbothered. "You're glowing. And that hickey on your neck that you tried to cover with makeup? Not as hidden as you think."

My hand flew to my neck automatically. Fuck. I thought I'd gotten all of them covered.

"Anyway," Brenda said, mercifully changing the subject, "someone's here to see you."

"Who?" I asked, frowning.

She just grinned wider. "You'll see."

Before I could ask what that meant, there was a knock on the door frame and a delivery guy walked in carrying the biggest bouquet of flowers I'd ever seen in my life.

Pink peonies. My favorite. Fresh and smelling absolutely incredible.

"Delivery for Olive Monroe?" he said.

"That's me," I managed, standing up.

He set the bouquet on my desk, then went back out to the hallway and came back with a box. A huge box, wrapped in expensive paper with a bow on top.

"Jesus," Brenda whispered. "Someone's definitely spoiling their girl. What's the secret? What did you do to get a man like that? I’m going to keep asking you this question babe."

"He literally bought me a Benz car last week, and the G-Wagon. Since you want the full tea" I said without thinking.

"WHAT?" Brenda practically shrieked. "Olive, you have to give me tips. You have to tell me everything. How do I get a man who buys cars? JT has to pardon me for now and yesterday was so noisy to reveal all these…"

But I wasn't listening anymore because I was staring at the box, at the flowers, and something in my gut was telling me this wasn't from Zane.

The delivery guy was still standing there. "There's a note," he said, gesturing to the small envelope tucked into the flowers.

I reached for it with shaking hands, pulled out the card inside.

‘I have a surprise for you. Open the box.’

That was it. No signature. No name. Nothing.

My heart was pounding as I slowly opened the box, Brenda crowding close to look over my shoulder.

Inside was another note, this one longer, written on expensive cardstock in neat handwriting that definitely wasn't Zane's.

‘There's a lot you don't know about Zane Mercer. A lot he's kept hidden. If you want answers, meet me at the Riverside Art Studio at 2pm today. Come alone.’

Ice flooded my veins.

This was the same type of message I'd gotten last night. The same mysterious person who had sent me a warning, trying to get me to see Zane for what he "really" was.

I'd ignored the last few messages, because I received like five of at different time intervals and deleted them. And told myself it was just some obsessive fan trying to stir up drama.

But now they were sending things to my workplace. Now they knew where I worked, what I liked, when I'd be here.

That was beginning to get absurd, especially knowing that they’d started sending me those messages the previous day.

"Olive?" Brenda asked quietly. "You okay? You look like you've seen a ghost."

"I'm fine," I said automatically, folding the note and shoving it in my pocket. "Just surprised."

"Good surprised or bad surprised?"

"I don't know yet," I admitted.

I spent the rest of the morning distracted, unable to focus on work, my mind racing with possibilities.

Who the fuck was sending these messages? What did they want? What could they possibly know about Zane that I didn't?

And why did part of me want to go find out?

By 1:30pm, I'd made my decision.

I was going to that art studio. I was going to find out who was doing this and what they wanted and I was going to end this once and for all.

I grabbed my bag, told Brenda I had a meeting, and headed for the parking garage.

Brenda called as I was getting in my car.

"Hey," I answered, starting the engine.

"Where are you going?" she asked immediately, because of course she somehow knew I was leaving.

"I have a thing," I said vaguely.

"What thing? Olive, you sound weird. What's going on?"

"Nothing," I lied. "Just running an errand. I'll call you later."

"Olive—"

I hung up before she could argue, feeling guilty but determined.

The Riverside Art Studio was across town, in one of those trendy neighborhoods with coffee shops and vintage stores and galleries on every corner. I found a parking block away and walked the rest of the distance, my heels clicking against the sidewalk.

The building was modern, glass and clean lines, with large windows displaying various artworks.

I took a deep breath and walked inside.

The space was bigger than I expected, with high ceilings and white walls covered in paintings and photographs and sculptures. Soft music played from hidden speakers and the air smelled like coffee and paint.

There was no one at the front desk.

I walked further inside, my footsteps echoing, looking around at the art displayed on every surface.

Abstract paintings in bright colors. Black and white photography. Sculptures made of metal and wood and glass.

And then I saw it.

A painting that made me stop in my tracks.

It showed the most popular basketball player ever, but the artist had painted him in a way that showed multiple versions of him at once, like he was playing different positions simultaneously, the images overlapping and blending together in this impossible, beautiful way.

It was stunning.

I pulled out my phone, checking the time. 2:10pm.

I'd been here ten minutes and no one had shown up.

Maybe this was a prank. Maybe I'd been played.

I sighed, about to turn around and leave, about to text Brenda and admit she was right about me being an idiot, when I walked directly into someone.

The person's perfume hit me first—soft, feminine, enchanting, expensive smelling.

"Oh god, I'm so sorry," I said quickly, stumbling back. "I didn't know you were behind me."

I looked up and found myself staring at one of the most beautiful women I'd ever seen.