Chapter 8 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.