Page 106 of Twisted Shot
“Your brother the venture capitalist?” she says gently, like she’s trying to tug him back from the ledge.
“Don’t let the suit and ironic glasses fool you. Quentin has friends in strange places.”
Mila chuckles, but it’s soft and fleeting.
He leans his head back against the headboard, jaw tight. “I’m sorry. I made it harder for you, and now you’re the one paying for it.”
“You were defending me,” she says softly. “I don’t regret that.”
But he does. Every fiber of him regrets putting her in this position. She deserves a clean slate, not a battlefield. She deserves everything.
They talk for a while longer—about nothing and everything. And before they hang up, they make a plan. She’ll fly down and visit next weekend. They’ll steal whatever moments they can, pretending the rest of the world doesn’t exist for a little while.
When the call ends, Theo stares at the ceiling, jaw tight, chest hollow. His phone rests heavy in his palm.
His fingers hover over a contact he’s been avoiding all night.
He knows who he needs to call. And it’s not even Wednesday.
CHAPTER 40
MILA
The soft clack of Naomi’s violently red nails against her keyboard is the only sound in Mila’s office besides the faint hum of a space heater and the distant buzz of phones in the bullpen. The city outside is caught in that strange in-between place where winter hasn’t quite ended but spring refuses to commit. Inside, Mila wraps her cardigan tighter around herself and frowns at the screen.
“Okay, hear me out,” Naomi says, swiveling slightly in her chair. “We position the kibble like it’s artisanal. Handcrafted. Like some ethically-sourced oat milk, but for dogs.”
Mila lifts a brow. “Are we talking heirloom carrots and free-range peas?”
Naomi snaps her fingers. “Yes! Farm-to-doggie bowl cuisine.”
“So basically, what would Gwyneth Paltrow feed her dog?”
“Exactly.”
“This is either brilliant or a cry for help.”
Naomi shrugs. “Can’t it be both? That’s kind of my brand.”
Mila lets out a small, actual laugh. She hasn’t been able to focus lately, not really, but Naomi’s presence is heartening. The two of them have been spit balling ideas for an organic pet food campaign for thelast hour, trying to spark something inspired. Or at least mildly presentable.
The post-mortem for the Whalers’ gala is set for this afternoon—a Hollis ritual where account teams pick apart an event’s highs, lows, and missed opportunities. Mila built the deck herself and had imagined standing at the head of the table, running through the metrics, owning the praise for what everyone agreed was a knockout success. Instead, her phone hasn’t stopped buzzing all morning with messages from Richard, each one blunt and suffocating, leaving no doubt that he expects to be the one presenting. If he had his way, she wouldn’t even be in the room.
The thought of handing him the credit churns in her stomach. Recognition matters—not just for her career, but because, as a woman in this boys’ club of an industry, she’s had to fight for every sliver of it. This account could put her within reach of a promotion.
And with Jim actively shopping the team around, time is running out fast. If the Whalers are sold, there's no guarantee the new owners will stick with Hollis. This meeting might be her last shot to claim a major win before everything goes sideways and the account disappears entirely.
She feels pinned in place, trapped between the future she’s been clawing toward and the secret he’s holding like a blade at her ribs.
Mila leans back and stretches her neck. “Thanks for doing this with me. I?—”
Naomi cuts her off with a wave. “Please. You clearly need the distraction. You look like someone told you Starbucks is cancelling PSLs.”
Mila winces. “That bad?”
Naomi eyes her over the rim of her coffee mug. “Worse. And don’t pretend it’s about dog snacks.”
Mila exhales, her fingers tightening around her pen. “It’s just...everything.”
