Page 48 of Twisted Shot
Mila doesn’t cry often.
Not over work. Not over losses. Not even when her ex cheated on her with someone whose entire personality revolved around matching outfits with her dog.
But tonight, slumped at her tiny dining table after a ten-hour day, half-empty takeout container pushed to one side, she blinks back tears as she gapes at her laptop screen in disbelief, pressure building in her chest.
Jim Pearce’s email sits at the top of her inbox, the subject line glowing back at her: “Excited to move forward.” She stares at it for a full thirty seconds before leaning back in her chair.
They got the contract.
Shegot the contract.
Her throat tightens as she re-reads the words: We’re thrilled to bring your team on board as the official marketing partner of the Hartford Whalers.
Her brain short-circuits. Like any second there’ll be a follow-up email that says,lol, our bad.
But no second email comes. It’s real.
It’s hers.
A laugh bubbles up before she can stop it, somewhere betweendisbelieving and absolutely giddy. She shoves back from the table, nearly knocking over the carton of shanghai noodles she had been picking at, and grabs her phone.
There’s only one person she wants to call.
Natalie picks up on the second ring. “Tell me you got it.”
Mila grins so hard her cheeks hurt. “We got it.”
A squeal comes through the phone so high-pitched that she has to hold it away from her ear.
“Shut up! I knew it! You crushed it!”
“I mean, I did,” Mila says, trying for casual, but her voice wavers with emotion. “But it still feels...kind of insane. Like, what if they made a mistake? What if they think I’m someone else?”
“Right,” Natalie deadpans. “They meant to hire that guy with the comb-over and the wet fish handshake. Happens all the time.”
Mila lets out a shaky breath and drops onto her couch, the phone tucked under her chin, her other hand buried in her hair.
Wednesday blinks at her from where she’s curled up in her cat bed, gives a single, slow yawn, and resumes ignoring her entirely. She’s so supportive.
“I just—I really needed this. After Richard. After—everything,” Mila says.
She tucks her phone under her chin as Natalie launches into her grand plans for Mila’s next visit, promising to stock the pantry with her favorite cereal and Pinot Noir, already plotting girls’ nights for every weekend Jake’s on the road with the team. Her voice is bright, bubbling with excitement, and even through the phone, her enthusiasm is impossible not to catch.
Because yes, she wants to go. The idea of being back in Hartford, of diving into the campaign and making a real impact—it thrills her.
But there’s something else too. A flutter deep in her gut. That low, steady hum that started on Halloween and hasn’t let up since.
Him.
Her man in black.
He’s still texting her. Not every day, but often enough to keep her heart on edge. The messages are cryptic, bold, intimate in a way that makes her toes curl. And whoever he is—he’s in Hartford.
And maybe it’s stupid, maybe it’s reckless, but she needs to findout if the man behind the mask is the same one who’s been living in her head ever since.
“I’ll be there in a couple weeks,” Mila promises.
“Hell yes you will.” Natalie laughs, warm and genuine. “You’re gonna crush this, Mil. The city’s not ready.”
