Page 94 of Twisted Shot
And you’re very punchable.
“Thank you,” she says instead, voice light. “It’s always a pleasure to meet someone with such a generous heart.”
His smirk twitches. “Excuse me?”
She tilts her head, all warmth and sparkle. “A little bird told me about your bids for the silent auction. Generous sums. Astonishing, really.”
He blinks once, then narrows his eyes slightly. “Ah. That.”
“I wanted to thank you,” she says, keeping her tone breezy. “And also ask when we might expect your payment to be processed. The hospital is…quite eager to celebrate a donor of your caliber.”
There’s a pause.
She lets it stretch.
“Oh,” she continues, eyes twinkling. “And of course, I’d love to bring you onstage. We can make a moment of it. Shine a spotlight on your incredible support. Really let everyone know about the generous spirit behind Porky Pig.”
Conrad’s smile flattens. “That won’t be necessary.”
“Are you sure?” she says, cocking her head. “You seem so proud of your bids.”
He exhales through his nose, shifting uncomfortably. “I think you’ve made your point.”
“No, I really don’t think I have,” she replies, dropping the warmth. “Let’s cut the shit, Conrad. You’re not a donor. You’re a grown man playing a petty prank at a charity event to humiliate your brother.”
He starts to speak, but she steps in closer.
“Here’s what’s going to happen,” she says, cutting off whatever bullshit he was about to espouse. “You’re going to make one real, generous donation under your actual name. Something worthy of your family’s last name. And you’re going to withdraw the rest of your fake bids before you waste any more of my time or this hospital’s.”
Conrad sips his drink slowly. “And if I don’t?”
“Then I take that charming nickname of yours, walk it onstage, and announce to the entire room—including your mother, the donors, andthe press table—that Porky Pig is actually the heir to the Tilbury fortune, and he thinks children’s hospitals are a punchline.”
There’s a long silence.
Then, with a smirk that’s more grudging than pleased, Conrad extends a hand and says, “I would be very pleased to make a donation to the hospital.”
Every part of her wants to slap his hand away from her.
Instead, she lifts her chin and takes his slimy hand, leaning in just enough for only him to hear her.
“Thank you,” she says coolly. “And if you so much as look at Theo sideways, I will make sure the next thing that trends with your name on it is about the trust fund nepo baby who tried to sabotage a fundraiser for sick children.’”
His smirk falters.
“You want attention, Conrad?” she spits out, dropping all pretense. “Try me.”
Conrad holds her gaze a beat longer, then sips his drink, wincing like it tastes bitter. “Enjoy the rest of your evening.”
He disappears into the crowd, his shoulders tighter than before.
Mila exhales, tension bleeding from her spine.
Before she can turn and find a more worthy Tilbury, a calm, imperious voice speaks from behind her.
“My son has that effect on people.”
Mila pivots slowly, to find an elegant woman standing before her, draped in navy silk, diamonds glinting at her throat. Her dark hair is swept into a flawless chignon that reveals the graceful line of her neck, and her posture is so poised it feels almost theatrical. Mila sees the resemblance instantly in the piercing eyes framed by thick dark lashes, in the calm, calculated stillness that mirrors Theo’s more than either of them might admit.
