Page 83 of Pucking my Enemy Boss

“Ethan,” he greets, his voice dripping with that familiar, slimy slickness. “Imagine my surprise that you actually accepted the invitation. Almost feels ... friendly.”

My jaw tightens as I resist the urge to turn on my heel and leave, but I force myself to sit. This isn’t about me—it's about Holly. Blue knows that, and he’s playing every angle he can. A waiter hovers nearby, clearly sensing the tension, but Blue flicks his wrist dismissively, keeping his gaze locked on mine like he’s got all the cards.

“Let’s cut the crap, Blue,” I say, voice laced with the edge of my anger. “What’s your angle here?”

His smirk spreads wider, that gleam in his eye sharpening as he slides a photograph across the table. I don’t even need to look closely to know what it is. It’s a snapshot of Holly and me, caught mid-laughter, her face lit up in that way that made me feel like we were the only two people in the world. I grind my teeth, forcing myself to keep steady, but he knows the impact he’s made.

Blue leans back, looking like a man who’s just pulled off the perfect heist. “Release this photo,” he drawls, his voice a soft, mocking lilt, “and she’ll be the one to suffer. A media frenzy, maybe even some ‘fan concerns’ about her professionalism.” He tilts his head, his grin almost gleeful. “And, of course, her past with Jake Roland? A scandal magnet in her own right. Thepublic will eat it up, Ethan. They’d practically demand her head on a platter.”

I lean close to him, resisting the urge to yank him closer, barely able to hold my wrath. “You should know that if you hurt her, it’ll be the last thing you do.”

“And you should know when violence isn’t the way to go, Carter.”

Every muscle in my body screams for me to slam that smug face of his into the table, but I force myself to breathe. He’s fishing for a reaction, banking on the idea that I’ll lose my cool and give him even more ammunition. I force my voice to stay steady, each word like a razor’s edge. “And what exactly do you think you’ll gain from this, Blue? Blackmail’s a pretty big leap for a guy whose job is to write about sports.”

He gives a lazy shrug, his gaze never faltering. “I think it’ll get me quite a lot, actually. Here’s the deal. I want exclusive access to you, Ethan. Stories, behind-the-scenes details, the works. I want to be the one with all the insider knowledge on the Chicago Blizzards. And in return, well … you get to keep Holly’s reputation intact.”

There’s a spark of triumph in his eyes, like he’s already celebrating his victory. “Come on, Ethan,” he says, voice softening as if he’s doing me a favor. “Think about it—a fair trade. Her career stays untouched, her history with Roland fades into the background, and you become my little source on the inside. No one has to know how I got the scoop.”

The rage that’s been simmering beneath the surface threatens to boil over, but I clamp down hard, forcing it back. I lean forward, lowering my voice, every word laced with venom. “If you so much as breathe Holly’s name again, you’ll regret it. I swear, I’ll end you, Blue.”

He chuckles, the sound low and taunting. “You’ve got that all wrong, Carter. I’m not the enemy here. No, no—you’re going tohelp me. And if you manage things well, Holly’s news never sees the light of day.” He lifts his glass, a mock toast to his supposed genius. “So? Think about it. What’s a little ‘exclusive access’ compared to her career, her reputation?”

I clench my fists under the table, every instinct screaming at me to walk away, to refuse. But Holly’s face flashes in my mind—her smile, her laugh, the way she’s poured everything into this job. She’s worked too hard to have it torn down by someone like Blue.

He watches me in silence, sensing the internal war raging in my head. When I don’t respond right away, he leans forward, voice dropping. “You don’t have to decide now,” he says with a predatory grin. “But I’ll expect your cooperation moving forward. If you play nice, then we’ll keep this between us. Just remember ... I’ve got all the cards, Ethan.”

He stands, straightening his jacket like this is just business as usual. He pauses, glancing over his shoulder, his smirk even wider. “I’ll leave you to your meal, Carter. I’ve had my fill for the night.”

Then he strolls out, leaving me alone in the dim light, with a twisted choice gnawing at my gut.

27

HOLLY

Christmas is creepinginto every inch of this town, and there’s no escaping it. Not in the snow-dusted streets, or the twinkling fairy lights on every corner, or even the Blizzards main hall, which today is our playground-slash-warzone for all things festive. A veritable gingerbread palace in the making, except, well, without the gingerbread. Just tinsel, trees, and too many arguments over which shade of red best screamsholiday cheer.

Lauren, Mia, and I are stationed in the center of it all, awaiting the arrival of the decorator who’s meant to take this place from ‘semi-jolly’ to ‘full Christmas explosion.’ Mia’s flipping through her notes like she’s about to ace the SATs on holiday decor, while Lauren’s eyeing me, suspicion crinkling her brow.

“It’s snowing again,” she notes casually, glancing at me as if she’s testing a theory. “Pretty, right?”

“Beautiful.” The word flits out, barely more than a mumble. It’s hard to keep my focus straight on anything with thoughts of Ethan floating around in my head. The way he disappeared outside for a call last night, so mysterious and distant—like he’d been exchanging secrets with a ghost.

Lauren’s eyes narrow. “You haven’t heard a word, have you?”

“Of course!” The lie tumbles out too quickly, and her raised eyebrow says she isn’t buying it for a second.

“Uh-huh. Okay, well, try to keep up, Sherlock. We’ve got glitter decisions to make.”

Before I can defend my innocence (or lack thereof), the decorator strides in—a tall, rakish guy with a wild mane of curls and a scarf that looks like he’s just walked off a Christmas runway. He beams at us, hands sweeping out like he’s presenting the Sistine Chapel.

“Ladies, are you ready to make Christmas … fabulous?”

He’s a burst of energy, twirling swatches of fabric and shiny ornaments, holding up tinsel like it’s precious metal. And yet, with each sparkle and swoop, my mind keeps slipping away, drifting back to Ethan, that woman, and the endless question marks in my head. The way his jaw had clenched when I’d asked about the phone call and the brush-off with his “agent.”

The decorator is going on, way too enthusiastically, about “modern sparkle aesthetics,” waving his hands in wide arcs, and I catch a bit about “red-and-gold explosions of luxury meets whimsy.” But it’s a lost cause. Ethan keeps popping into my head, or rather theEthan and Mystery Mall Woman Situation.Stubbornly, I shake my head, trying to follow the decorator’s rapid-fire explanations, but my focus slips again. Ethan’s been distant, and worse, has been taking phone calls outside in the snow. I mean, who even does that?

“Could we maybe do the centerpieces a little subtler?” Lauren’s voice yanks me back to reality.

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