1. Holly
1
HOLLY
I lean my head back against the seat, watching the world blur past through the car window. Chicago. That’s the final destination for the chaos that’s been my life for the past four months.
I'm exhausted. Physically, emotionally, and in every way possible. I’ve left everything behind in L.A.—everything that made me who I am. But maybe that’s the point. Chicago is not exactly the November postcard image I’d imagined, but it’s my reality now.
“Cheer up, Holly!” Lauren’s voice breaks through my thoughts, bright and hopeful. “This is a new beginning. You’ll love Chicago, I promise.”
I force a smile and glance at her. “I know. I’m trying.”
I look out the window again, taking in the unfamiliar scenery as Lauren’s car glides smoothly through the streets. The city is already dressed up for Thanksgiving. Twinkling lights hang from lampposts, and storefronts boast festive displays of turkeys and pumpkins. It’s a stark contrast to L.A.; the buildings here are taller, older, with an air of history and permanence. L.A. is all about the new, the now, the temporary glamour that fades as quickly as it comes. Here, the streets seem to hold an air of resilience and endurance.
Two things that I need more doses of right now.
Seeing the signs of Thanksgiving reminds me of how much of my life is changing. Every year, without fail, I’d spend the holiday at home in L.A, surrounded by uncles, aunts, and cousins, laughter, and the comforting smell of turkey. That life was over when my grandma passed away last year. She was the one who brought the Bennett family together, and without her keeping control, a Bennett family get-together would be a total disaster. Everyone now prefers to stay scattered across the country; even my parents are on a European tour to promote their book this year. I’m alone, and it’s time I got used to it.
I knew the holidays would be different this year, but I thought I’d be spending it with friends and colleagues. Well, the last four months showed me I had no friends in L.A.—they’d all abandoned me after the scandal and I’m here now in a car with the only friend who’d turned up for me, driving through a city I barely know.
How did it all go so fucking wrong?
I close my eyes, trying to block out the memories. But they’re persistent, like an annoying pop-up ad that won’t go away. I can see it clearly: Jake Roland’s face changing from glee to shock to anger. I wonder what fucking look is on his face right now.
It’s been four long, excruciating months since the night at the club. Four months of hell. The video, the scandal, the loss of everything I’d worked so hard for. It’s like I’ve been hit with a wrecking ball over and over until everything left of my life has ended up in pieces.
“Look on the bright side,” Lauren continues, her eyes flicking to me briefly before returning to the road. “You’re going to be pretty busy managing events for the Chicago Blizzards! I think it’s an exciting opportunity.”
“It is,” I agree, trying to sound as enthusiastic as she does. It’s not that I’m not excited about the job. I am. It’s just ... everything else.
I look at Lauren, who has a little, sympathetic smile on her face. “I promise I won’t be such a downer.”
She pats my knee affectionately. “You’ve been through a lot. It’s okay to take your time to adjust.”
More like I need to move the fuck on.
I worked my butt off to become Holly Bennett—rising star in the world of events and interior design, and well-known model. Now, I’m just Holly, a girl with nothing but a suitcase full of regrets.
It all started with my break-up with the Hollywood star—bastard or not, Hollywood takes care of its own so it wasn’t long before agencies started dropping me from modeling gigs, and clients canceled my interior design jobs. Even my event planning gala was taken over by a new planner.
Jake Roland is a spineless, vindictive bastard, and no doubt he’s waiting for me to crawl back. Over my dead, decayed, decomposed body.
That’s never going to happen.
I sold my house, my car, and now here I am, starting over in Chicago. Lauren had recommended me for the job with the Blizzards, and thankfully, they took her word for it. She assures me the position is still mine, and I’m determined to prove myself.
And the first step is a shared house I’ve taken because I’ll have to pay rent in kind—by helping to fix the place. Any penny I can save right now is worth it.
I take a deep breath. Time to focus on the future, Holly .
“So, tell me about this house,” I say, shifting in my seat. “You said I’d be sharing it?”
Lauren nods, her eyes twinkling with excitement. “Yes! It’s a really nice place, and you’re sharing it with one of the hockey stars. He’s hardly ever home because he hates the place and is looking to renovate.”
"So, you're telling me I'm going to be sharing the place with one of the team’s hockey players?" I groan, my voice dripping with sarcasm.
Lauren laughs, that infectious sound that always manages to lift my spirits. "Yep."
I roll my eyes. "Great. Just what I need. More men and their egos."
I can already picture it: a muscle-bound, ego-inflated athlete demanding this and that. I had enough of that with Jake. The last thing I need is another round of it.
"Come on, Holly," Lauren says, squeezing my hand. "This guy’s different. He keeps to himself so much that you might not even notice he’s there.
I force a smile. "We'll see about that."
The truth is, I'm scared. Scared of failing, scared of being hurt again. But I'm also determined. I'm not going to let Jake's betrayal define me. I'm going to show him that I can rebuild my life without him.
We pull up to the house, and I’m immediately impressed. It’s a beautiful building with a charming exterior, much more than I expected.
“This is it,” Lauren says, her voice filled with excitement. “Your new home.”
I get out of the car and take a deep breath. The air is crisp and cold, a stark contrast to the warm California air I’m used to. I shiver involuntarily.
Lauren is already unlocking the door and then her phone starts to ring.
“Go on in,” she says, waving me off. “I’ll be right there.”
I take a deep breath and step inside, my footsteps echoing in the spacious entryway. The house is eerily quiet as I step further inside. It’s even more impressive on the inside. High ceilings, large windows letting in natural light, and tasteful decor that speaks of understated elegance.
I let my fingers glide along the polished wooden banister, taking in the surroundings. The decor is high-quality, a blend of modern elegance with subtle rustic touches. It’s the kind of place that screams money—lots of it.
I set my suitcase down and look around, imagining how I’ll fit into this new space.
Why on earth would anyone want to change this?
He’s a stinkingly rich hockey player, go figure. Rich, popular men have the craziest whims ever, mostly fueled by stupid ego. Maybe the place reminds him of an ex or an affair he wants to forget. Who knows?
At least the place is comfortable enough for me to not worry about where I lay my head at night. I have no business trying to unravel the labyrinth of mysteries in the mind of the owner, and frankly, I’m done trying to understand rich, popular men.
I wander through the living room, admiring the plush sofa and the tasteful artwork on the walls. The furniture looks almost new, and everything is immaculately clean.
Lauren mentioned that the living quarters are separated—one on the top floor and the other on the first. I head toward the stairs, curiosity getting the better of me.
At the end of the hallway, I come across a door. This must be the spare bedroom. I take a deep breath and push the door open.
The room is even more impressive than the rest of the house. The bed is huge, covered in crisp white linens. There's an empty walk-in closet, and a bathroom that looks like something out of a spa.
I’m about to close the door when I hear a noise. I freeze, my heart pounding. Someone's in there.
I turn to leave, but it's too late. The door swings open, revealing a man standing in the doorway. He's stark naked. I gasp, eyes widening in shock as my brain registers glistening fat pecs, tight abs, with water traveling down to his navel and…
Holy hell he’s huge! In that split second, every cell in my body freezes like a deer caught in headlights.
And then we both scream.
“Oh my God!” I shout, spinning around to face the wall. “What the hell are you doing in here?”
“I should ask that!” he yells back. “Who are you? And what are you doing in my place?”
“Lauren let me in,” I stammer, keeping my eyes firmly on the wall. “I’m the one who’s supposed to live here and help with the renovation.”
"Get out," he says, his voice firm.
I nod, my body trembling. I turn and run out of the room, my heart pounding in my chest. I can hear him closing the door behind me.
I lean against the wall, trying to catch my breath. What a way to start. Now I’m never going to be able to see my roommate with a woman without picturing what he’s got to work with.
I hear footsteps approaching, and I turn to face the man. He's now wrapped in a towel, his hair still wet. Yeah, my roomie is a hunk. A whole meal—tall, with broad shoulders and a lean build–fitting for an athlete. Pity that he’s also probably a huge pain in the ass.
"What the hell were you doing in my bathroom?" he demands, his voice low and dangerous.
I open my mouth to explain, but nothing comes out. I'm too stunned to speak.
He takes a step forward, his eyes scanning me from head to toe. “And why do you look familiar?”
I blink. I was about to say just that. The long dark mullet, perfect Nordic features, and my jaw drops as I meet the vivid blue eyes.
He’s the stranger I met at the club four months ago. The night my life changed. The same eyes that captivated me while we danced and made Jake burn with jealousy.
“Mr. Mysterious?” I blurt out, the nickname slipping out before I can stop it.
He raises an eyebrow. “Mr. Mysterious?”
I start to piece it together—his Chicago Blizzards jacket, his strange presence in an L.A. club.
“You’re that guy from the club,” I mutter, more to myself than to him. I curse under my breath as recognition dawns on his face as well.
“You’re the woman who was cheating on her boyfriend with me.”
My face flushes with anger. “I wasn’t cheating.”
“Sure,” he replies, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “That’s exactly what a cheat would say.”
My hands clench into fists. “Listen, you approached me first, and you don’t know anything about me or my situation. That night was a mistake I’d rather forget, and you were just a part of it.”
He crosses his arms against his smooth, muscular chest.
Hairless, just the way I like my men.
“Well, your mistake is standing right in front of you. I guess the world doesn’t want you to forget about it yet.”
The tension between us is thick enough to cut with a knife.
"I-I..." I stammer, trying to find my voice.
He laughs, a short, bitter sound. "I’m listening?"
I close my eyes and take a deep breath. Just when is the universe going to give me a break from this pit of hell that’s been my life the last four months?
"Look, this is ridiculous. Let's just forget about that night and deal with the fact that we're both standing here in the same apartment."
He runs a hand through his wet hair. "I’m listening..."
Before I can say anything else, Lauren stands there, looking from me to the man in front of me. Her eyes widen in shock.
"Oh my god," she gasps.
The man, whose name I still don't know, lifts a perfect eyebrow. "Hi, Lauren" he greets as casually as any man standing in a towel in front of two women could.
“I could hear you two from downstairs. What’s going on?” She steps into the room, raising her own eyebrow at the sight of us. “Do you know each other?”
“Yes.”
“No.”
I glare at him, but he only lifts the corner of his lips in a smirk. “I don’t know you.”
“Well, unfortunately,” he drawls, “I know the kind of person you are, and that’s enough.”
Lauren’s eyes widen with curiosity. “Holly, what’s going on?”
I sigh, rubbing my temples. “He’s the man I met in the club the night I broke up with Jake.”
Lauren’s eyes light up. “He’s Mr. Mysterious?”
He groans, looking between us. “What the hell does that name mean?”
I look away in mortification and Lauren just smiles. “It’s great you’ve met before. Holly, this is Ethan Carter, star forward of the Chicago Blizzards. And Ethan, this is Holly Bennett.”
“Holy? That’s an interesting irony.” Ethan’s eyes narrow. “What is Holy Bennett doing here?”
Holly, not Holy you silly man! I shake my head, unable to speak.
Lauren’s smile widens as she looks between us, “Since you wanted parts of the house changed and Holly needed somewhere to stay, I called her in as my friend who’s an interior decorator and event planner. She’s here to help fix the place while she stays.”
Ethan’s expression shifts, and he takes a step back. “No. I don’t want someone like her here. She needs to leave.”
"Excuse me?" I stare at him, my jaw dropped. No way. This can't be happening.
"I said, I don't want her here," he repeats, his voice cold.
My anger flares up again. “Well, too bad. I’m not going anywhere. I’ve paid for my stay by agreeing to do this renovation and buying the supplies I need. I’m going nowhere until I get my money’s worth.”
“What?” Ethan raises an eyebrow. "I’ll pay for that. I just don’t want you here."
My blood starts boiling. “You think money solves everything, don’t you?”
Lauren clears her throat. "Guys, come on. Let's just calm down."
“Ethan, you have to understand. Holly’s been through a lot. Jake, the guy I believe you saw her with in L.A., actually cheated on her. She broke up with him that night and moved to Chicago for a fresh start.”
Ethan’s face flickers with something—sympathy, maybe—but it’s gone as quickly as it came.
Good. Because I don’t want your fucking sympathy.
He huffs, running a hand through his hair. “Fine. You can stay for now. But I’d prefer if you moved out as soon as possible. Take the upstairs, and don’t get in my way.”
With that, he turns and walks out, leaving me standing there, fuming. Lauren places a reassuring hand on my shoulder. “Don’t take it to heart. He’s just ... complicated. I’ll talk to him.”
I nod, but my mind is racing. Mr. Mysterious is Ethan Carter. The bubble of my perfect handsome mystery man busted already—that’s right in place with how everything has gone for me so far these last few months.
I walk back into the room and collapse onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling. This is not how I envisioned my new life in Chicago starting. I close my eyes, trying to calm the storm of emotions inside me.
I'm living with the star of the Chicago Blizzards. The man I met at the club. And he hates me, just like I hate rich, popular men.
Great. Just great.