Olive’s POV

Chapter 8: Olive’s POV

"Small world, huh?" Ryan was watching me now, eyes glinting with something I didn't like. "So here's my advice—stop dreaming about guys like Zane. He's way out of your league. Dated models, actresses, socialites. Stick with me instead. I'm only eight months younger than you. We'd be perfect."

Something snapped.

Maybe it was the condescension in

his voice. Maybe it was the assumption that I couldn't have Zane even if I

wanted him. Maybe it was the fact that I'd spent the last three days being

underestimated by every man I encountered.

"And what happens," I

said slowly, "if I can catch your cousin's attention?"

Ryan froze.

Then he burst out laughing.

"Oh my God, you're serious."

"Dead serious."

His laughter died when he saw my

face.

"Wait." He leaned

forward, eyes narrowing. "You actually think you could—no. No way. Olive,

I love you, but Zane doesn't even look at girls like you. He's—"

"Let's make it

interesting," I interrupted. "A bet."

Ryan's eyebrows shot up. "A

bet?"

"If I can get Zane Mercer to

kiss me—publicly, where people can see—you pay me a hundred thousand dollars."

His mouth fell open.

For a moment, he just stared at

me like I'd grown a second head.

Then, slowly, his grin returned.

Wider. Sharper. Dangerous.

"A hundred thousand

dollars," he repeated. "For a kiss."

"A public one. PDA.

Something that leaves no room for doubt."

He laughed, low and disbelieving.

"You're insane."

"Do we have a deal or not?"

He studied me for a long moment,

and I could see the wheels turning in his head. He was calculating. Weighing

the odds. Deciding whether I was bluffing.

Then he leaned back, arms

crossed. "Fine. But if you can't—if you fail to wrap my untouchable cousin around

your pretty little finger—then you're mine."

My blood ran cold.

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me." His

eyes dropped to my chest—still fully covered by my oversized sweater—and

dragged back up with a look that made my skin crawl. "If you lose, I get

to do everything I've been fantasizing about since college. And trust me,

Olive, I've been very creative."

Bile rose in my throat.

"You're disgusting."

"And you've got three

days." He stood, shoving his chair back with a screech. "Three days

to seduce the most untouchable man in professional hockey, or you're mine.

Clock starts now."

He turned to leave, then paused,

glancing back over his shoulder.

"Oh, and Olive?" His

grin was pure malice. "I'm going to enjoy winning this."

He walked away, already pulling

out his phone and muttering about Bitcoin dropping two percent.

I sat there, frozen, staring at

the spot where he'd been.

What the hell had I just done?

Three days.

I had three days to kiss Zane

Mercer—publicly—or become Ryan Mitchell's prize.

A laugh bubbled up in my chest.

Bitter. Hysterical.

Because if anyone had told me a

week ago that I'd end up in this situation—running from one problem straight

into a bigger, more catastrophic one—I would've laughed in their face.

But here I was.

Trapped in a bet I couldn't afford

to lose.

Against a man I'd stupidly

refused just days ago.

A man who probably wouldn't even

remember my name.

Another laugh escaped, louder

this time, and I felt a tear slip down my cheek.

"I'm so fucked," I

whispered.

And this time, it wasn't a joke.

Because I knew Ryan wasn't joking

either. I'd seen it in his eyes—the hunger, the certainty that he'd already won.

It was either win or lose.

And I wasn't about to lose.

My heart pounded as I grabbed my

phone, staring at the blank screen.

I needed to find Zane.

I needed to grovel, beg,

plead—whatever it took to get him to agree to whatever deal he'd offered before.

Because losing to Ryan Mitchell

wasn't an option.

Not now.

Not ever.