Chapter 6
MILA
The hum of the office on Monday morning grates on Mila, a rude reminder that she’s been dragged back to the land of overpriced lattes, painfully polite small talk, and passive-aggressive Slack messages.
Her inbox is a five-alarm fire. Her coffee’s already cold. And someone—probably Todd from finance—has once again stolen her ergonomic chair. This one keeps listing left like it’s trying to abandon ship.
Mila feigns a wince, lips twitching around the rim of her mug. “That’s awful,” she says, tone appropriately neutral. “I had no idea.”
“Mmhmm,” Naomi hums. She grins like a shark. Her work best friend—and occasional partner in petty office crime—has a sixth sense for drama.
“Come on. You vanish for a long weekend, conveniently skip the deck QA, and suddenly Richard looks like an intern who wandered into a shareholder meeting?”
“I was off-grid,” Mila replies coolly, tapping her temple with a manicured nail. “Mind, body, and Outlook.”
Naomi narrows her eyes, not buying a single syllable. “Well. However it happened, Jaryd was unimpressed. Richard looked ready to spit fire. It was fun to watch.”
If Richard suspects anything, he hasn’t said a word.
After Mila’s ruthlessly polite two-line text that ended their relationship with the efficiency of an out-of-office reply, he spent the entire weekend blowing up her phone—accusing her of being dramatic, begging for “context,” looping through the same exhausting cycle.
Not once did he mention the presentation.
Not a whisper about the butchered deck, no reference to the red-faced disaster he fumbled his way through.
She doesn’t know if he’s figured out it was sabotage, but a tiny, reckless part of her hopes he has.
Hopes he lies awake at night, staring at the ceiling, wondering whether the woman he screwed might have returned the favor.
She’d come in early this morning, ducking through side hallways like a fugitive to avoid seeing his smug face. If she ignored him long enough, maybe the universe would take the hint and delete him from her timeline.
Naomi’s still in the middle of gleefully recounting Richard’s implosion when the man himself darkens her doorway, blotting out the light like a storm cloud dragging in thunder.
“Mila,” he says, voice snapping across the bullpen. “Naomi. Could we have the room?”
Naomi’s expression ices over. She flicks a glance at Mila that carries equal parts warning and sympathy, then ghosts.
Richard steps inside and shuts the door behind him. Navy suit, perfectly gelled hair, Rolex peeking out from under his cufflinks.
Mila leans back, attempting to look casual in her lopsided chair, legs crossed, head tilted.
“You’ve been hiding,” he says.
“My office is made of glass, Richard. If I were hiding, I’d try harder.”
He stares at her for a beat, jaw tight. “Why haven’t you called me back?”
She blinks slowly. “Because I already dumped you.”
“I told you it was a mistake,” he says, stepping closer. “Ashley means nothing to me. I was—”
Mila waves a hand like she’s heard it all before—and she has. “Don’t embarrass yourself. It sounds like you already did that.”
A muscle twitches in his cheek.
“We never defined the specifics of our relationship,” he says, his tone tilting toward condescension. “I understand you may be hurt, but your reaction is…disproportionate.”
Mila’s mouth falls open. The audacity is staggering. This from the man who had pursued her with relentless charm, who made a point of keeping her at his place because he couldn’t be bothered to cross the city, who framed dating him as the smart, responsible, adult thing to do.
Her mind flashes to Theo, to his righteous indignation when he found out what Richard had done. How he told her she deserved better.
“Get out of my office,” she says, each word ground out through clenched teeth. “We may have to work together, but I no longer have to listen to your bullshit.”
He straightens, brushing an invisible speck from his lapel like she’s the one being absurd. “Richard doesn’t beg. I’ll be here when you change your mind.”
As he reaches for the door handle, he stops. “Eventful weekend, I hear. Sounds like you got over your cold.”
Her spine stiffens.
“What are you talking about?”
“Don’t play dumb, sweetheart. I know you used company resources to clean up that mess in Hartford. Your friend’s brother, what’s his name—Jason?” He clicks his tongue. “Very off-brand for a rising star.”
Her eyes narrow. “You’re fishing.”
“I’m not. The team owner called this morning. Wanted to thank us. Said the cleanup was impressive. They’re asking for a meeting.”
Mila’s pulse skips. “With me, or with us?”
“I took the call and set up the meeting.” He smirks. “We’re pitching full-service—PR, marketing, brand strategy. It’s a major contract. A real career maker.”
“You’re not seriously using my connections to land yourself a client,” she says, her voice like ice.
“I’m using our firm’s success to grow our reach,” he replies smoothly. “And I want you running point with me. You’ve already got the connection. Might as well leverage it.”
She stares at him, every instinct screaming don’t do this. But reality sinks in. This is big. Too big. Her name on a contract like that? Game-changing. It would put her in line for a promotion. Put her on equal footing with Richard.
Her jaw flexes. “You want me in the room? Say please.”
He gives her a tight smile. “Don’t push it.”
“Oh, I’m just getting started,” she mutters. “I’ll do it. But not for you. For the exposure. For the opportunity. You don’t get credit for my work.”
He holds up both hands, mock-innocent. “Of course. All yours.”
She cocks her head. “And Richard? I know exactly who brought me into that room.”
His eyes are cold, boring in to her.
“And I also know who fucked Ashley in a hotel room booked under the company card.”
That one lands. He stiffens, jaw tight.
“I look forward to collaborating, Mila,” he says, turning to leave.
The door clicks behind him.
She stays frozen, heart thumping, hands clenched.
Then she exhales, leaning back in her tilted chair, and opens a new tab.
He wants her in the room?
Fine.
She’ll own the whole goddamn building.