Chapter 29
MILA
Mila’s eyes sweep the ballroom, her shoulders loosening at last, as if they’ve finally remembered they don’t belong hunched around her ears. With Jake whisked off to prep with Naomi, a strange calm slips in. For the first time all evening, she almost believes everything is under control.
But she’s lost sight of Theo.
And that’s enough to make her feel…off-balance. Disoriented.
She catches sight of Carter, holding court like he’s the Bachelor. He’s flanked by two middle-aged donors who are clearly charmed by his dimples and bawdy stories about locker room pranks.
“Sorry to interrupt,” Mila says, stepping in and flashing a dazzling smile at Carter’s admirers, tablet tucked to her side. “Have you seen Theo?”
Carter grins, eyes unfocused. “Prince Theo? Yeah. Last I saw, he was being cornered by his mother.”
Mila blinks. “His what?”
“His mother,” Carter enunciates, as if Mila were unfamiliar with the word. “Fancy lady with a scowl. She terrifies me. I got the fuck outta there.”
She frowns. “Why do you keep calling him Prince Theo? And what do you mean his mother is here?”
She pulls up the list on her tablet and runs through the list of over two hundred names, eyes snagging on Janet Eagan-Tilbury.
Damn, she should have caught that. She wonders whether Theo knew she would be here. If he’s happy.
Carter is looking at her, genuinely surprised. “You don’t know?”
She tilts her head, suspicion rising. “Know what?”
“Tilly comes from mega money. Like, generational, prep-school, private-plane money. His dad’s some finance mogul-slash-media guy, and his mom’s on, like, every important board between here and Boston. The guy probably had his crib monogrammed.”
Mila blinks. “Wait. What?”
Carter raises a brow. “Yeah. You didn’t know that?”
She stares at him. “I mean…I knew his family was successful. I didn’t realize the scale.”
“Yeah. He doesn’t exactly lead with it.”
Mila forces a smile, her pulse picking up.
“Thanks,” she says, already stepping back. “I’ll go find him.”
“Godspeed,” Carter calls after her. “If his mom corners you, blink twice and I’ll come rescue you.”
She weaves through the crowd, her thoughts churning.
She had no idea.
Suddenly, his discomfort with attention makes more sense. The weight he carries. The way he slips into the background when everyone else is jockeying for space. He’s not shy—he’s trained for damage control. Programmed not to draw attention to himself, to not embarrass his family.
Now that she sees it, all she wants to do is find him.
She’s moving toward the side hallway when a voice stops her cold and has her hands clenching in involuntary fists.
“I suppose it makes sense,” Richard drawls behind her. “You’d replace a breakout star with a washed-up hack. Very on-brand.”
She whips around, already at her limit for tonight's bullshit quota “What the hell are you talking about?”
His head tilts with the smug satisfaction of someone who just found the perfect button to push. “Jake MacDonald. I heard he’s taking Jesse Mitchell’s spot as emcee.”
She lifts her chin. “Jesse got a call-up. He’s playing for the Brooklyn Mavericks tonight.”
Richard shrugs. “Sure. I just don’t understand the logic in swapping him for someone no one’s talked about in years. The whole point of this campaign is to raise the Whalers’ profile. Not to pump up the image of your bestie’s boy toy.”
Oh. Hell. No.
“He’s a former NHL player,” she snaps. “He has name recognition. Presence.”
“He has nostalgia,” Richard counters. “That’s not the same thing. We’re not trying to impress the old ladies on the hospital board—we’re selling jerseys. You need someone current. Someone with heat.”
Mila exhales harshly through her nose, wrestling her ire back into its cage.
And the worst part—the part that makes her stomach curdle and her hands ache to throw something—is that he’s not entirely wrong.
She wants Jake up there. Wants someone solid, dependable. But Richard’s not talking about strategy. He’s talking about optics. About twisting every move she makes into a weapon, a liability, a narrative.
She hates how practiced he is at it.
Despising herself, she nods once. Enough to acknowledge the point without ceding an inch.
“I’ll handle it.”
Richard smirks. “Good. You’re learning.”
She turns before she says something she’ll regret.
Every step away from him feels like shedding skin.
Finding Theo will have to wait.
If she can’t have Jesse, and Jake’s suddenly a liability, then Carter’s her best bet.
Mila huffs out a breath so forcefully she's surprised steam doesn't come out, then frantically scans the tables for the dark head of hair and amiable smile of her potential savior, Trayvon Carter.
She’s halfway across the ballroom, cutting through clusters of mingling donors and wine-sipping sponsors, when she nearly collides with a wall of tuxedoed muscle.
She stumbles to a halt with a sharp inhale, and a pair of strong hands catch her elbows to steady her.
“You okay?” Theo says quietly, hazel eyes steady beneath his black mask.
For a second, everything in her goes still.
Seeing him again—this close—feels like surfacing from deep water into sunlight. The air between them turns thick and golden, charged with all the words they haven’t said yet. Her lips part, then press together again as her brain scrambles for something that won't sound completely unhinged.
She can’t lose him again.
"Come with me," she says breathlessly, grabbing his hand before her brain can overthink it.
He doesn't question it, just follows as she spots her target emerging from the men's room. She tugs Theo along, practically speed-walking across the ballroom.
"Carter!" she calls out as they close in.
He turns, his grin immediate. “There she is. The brains behind the winter sparkle-palooza.”
“I need you,” she says, breath short. “To emcee.”
Carter blinks, surprised. “I thought Mac was going to do it. Saw him preparing with your cute little assistant. She’s real spicy. Is she single?”
Mila arranges her clenched teeth into something she hopes will pass for a smile.
“Carter, please. I need your help. We need a player to emcee. You’re the best choice. It’s a few talking points and some introductions. You’ll do great.”
“You got it, sis,” Carter says, slinging his arm around her and pulling her forward more forcefully than she expected.
Theo looks at him stony-faced.
"Thank you," Mila breathes, untangling herself from his arms. As she pulls back, the sharp tang of alcohol hits her. Her stomach sinks as she studies his face, noting his crooked—albeit very handsome—smile.
"Carter," she says, her voice dropping to that dangerously calm tone reserved for crisis management, "exactly how much have you had to drink tonight?"
“Just a few,” he says, raising his hands defensively. “But don’t worry—I’ve got the metabolism of a jungle cat. I’m fine.”
Theo makes a noise behind her. Quiet. Disapproving.
Carter grins, entirely unbothered. “You’re both so serious. Relax. I can do this in my sleep. I gave my sister’s wedding toast with a jello shot in each hand.”
Mila presses her lips together, brain spinning.
She has two options.
Use Jake and let Richard twist it into something it’s not. Risk the whisper campaigns and work gossip. Let her professional integrity get dragged through the mud by a man who loves to make her look foolish.
Or use Carter.
He’s a showboat, and possibly—okay, probably—a little tipsy. But also kind, loyal, and well-liked. People laugh when he talks. Sponsors will remember him.
She glances at Theo beside her.
His expression remains perfectly stoic, but his eyes find hers—warm and unwavering beneath the black mask.
He wants this to go well for her. She can feel it in his silence.
“Okay,” she says finally, nodding once. “You’re on, Carter. Go find Naomi and tell her about the switch. She has your talking points. I’ll go find the AV guys to push everything by a few minutes to give you time to prepare.”
Her mind is spinning as she squints at him apprehensively. “Please don’t make me regret this.”
Carter salutes with his champagne flute. "You won't." He spins on his heel and saunters off, whistling some jaunty little tune like he doesn't have a care in the world.
Theo steps closer, his voice low with concern. "You sure this is a good idea? Jake was willing to do it."
"I know." The words come out as a tortured groan. "But Richard's threatening to twist it into something inappropriate since Jake's dating Natalie. Says I need a current player to avoid the optics."
Theo's gaze follows Carter's retreating form. "I'll keep him out of trouble."
She turns to him, her throat tight.
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I want to.”
Her heart trips again as she searches his face—what little of it she can see—and wants, desperately, to reach for more.
But she’s still holding a tablet, and the room is still full of donors, and there’s still an event to run.
“Thank you,” she says. And she means it more than he probably realizes.
He gives her a slight nod. “Go do your thing.”