Page 78 of Twisted Shot
But just as she steps away, she catches it—Tall leaning ever so slightly closer to Naomi.
“How do you say puck in Swedish?” he murmurs, low and unmistakably suggestive.
Mila presses her lips together and lets it slide. Now is not the time to unpack whatever brand of nonsense Tall has decided to unleash on Naomi.
She turns and nearly collides with Jim Pearce, who clasps her shoulders and gives her air kisses like he’s greeting a Hollywood star.
“This,” he says, looking around the ballroom with a gleam in his eye, “is outstanding. Mila, this is exactly what I imagined when we pitched this to the board. Elegant and modern—but still warm.”
“Thank you,” Mila says, allowing herself to enjoy the praise. “We wanted it to feel like something hopeful. Something that made people want to give.”
Jim leans in, smiling. “It’s more than that. You’ve built something very special here. You should feel proud.”
She sees Jake arrive over Jim’s shoulder. He’s walking in alone, dressed in a stylish burgundy tux, his long Viking hair tied back into a sleek ponytail. He’s sporting a gold mask that brings out the icy blue in his eyes, which are trained on her.
But with him, there’s no sign of her best friend. And no sign of Jesse.
She excuses herself from Jim and heads straight for him. “Jake?”
He lifts a hand in a half-wave, wearing the expression of someone who's just realized they have to be the bearer of bad news.
She stops cold in front of him. “Where are Natalieand Jesse?”
“Didn’t you check your phone?”
“I’ve been a little busy running a gala,” she says lightly, fingers already fumbling for her clutch. “Why?”
“Jesse got called up to the NHL,” Jake says. “The Mavericks need a winger. Two guys went down in pre-skate.”
Mila freezes, stomach plunging like an anchor through dark water, dropping away from its moorings with sickening velocity. Jesse was supposed to be the face of the night—the charming golden retriever everyone wanted a selfie with. He was the draw. The headline act. She literally wrote a speech for him, full of carefully scripted jokes he was never going to follow.
Jake continues. “They called an hour ago. He and Nat left right away. It’s a three hour drive to Brooklyn. Two and a half if she lets Jesse drive.”
The room doesn’t spin, not quite. But she can already feel her carefully laid plans careening sideways, like plates sliding off a table and shattering on the floor.
Jake softens. “They’re both really sorry to miss it. They’ve been calling you.”
She wants to feel thrilled for Jesse. Sheisthrilled. Somewhere under the adrenaline and disbelief and rising panic, she knows this is incredible.
But all she can think about is the fact that Jesse was supposed to emcee.
“Shit,” she breathes.
Jake raises an eyebrow. “You okay?”
She nods automatically, already looking past him. Already running scenarios. The speeches portion of the night hinges on someone who can keep it light. Jesse was the perfect choice—funny, warm, familiar to everyone in the room.
Who the hell is going to do it now?
“I’m fine,” she says quickly, voice tight. “I’m just?—”
Panicking.
But she can’t say that out loud. Not here.
She swallows it down.
“Excuse me,” she saysto Jake. “I’ve got to?—”
