Page 12 of PR Stunt

With a sigh, I close the book and reach for my phone, tapping Instagram. It’s been weeks since I last posted, and I should probably do a recap of last night, along with the donation link for the fundraiser. Hailey already sent over a few caption options and a short blurb about the foundation. The post isn’t sponsored or part of any promo push, just something I want to organically support. Scrolling through my camera roll, I pick my favorites: a bts selfie in the makeup chair, two Hailey snapped of me before we left, and one from the red carpet. I hit share, and within seconds my phone buzzes with notifications. I share the post to my story, tagging the foundation and adding the donation link. I set my phone down on the small table beside me, where my book, lamp, and an unlit candle sit. Leaning back against the chair, I rest my head and close my eyes. I’m excited for Juno to come over tonight. We need a proper catch-up. I’ve been avoiding thinking about last night. More specifically, about someone. Grimacing, I still can’t believe I let him get to me. And in public, no less. Thank God everyone was too distracted by champagne and guru crystals to notice that embarrassing outburst of mine. Well, everyone except that one woman.

My phone starts buzzing uncontrollably, yanking me from my thoughts.

What the hell is—

I reach over and grab it, my screen lighting up in a blur of notifications. Texts in my team’s group chat are climbing by the second, too fast to even process. A link from Anna pops up, and my gaze snags on it. I tap it, and the moment the page loads, my stomach drops. A headline followed by a photo. Grayson and me, leaning in close at the fundraiser, seated at the table, caught mid-conversation.

Out of context, it looks intimate, as if I’m mesmerized by him.

Hollywood’s Newest Power Couple? Charlie Grace and Grayson Cole Spark Romance Rumors at Silver Lining Fundraiser

I stare at the headline, my stomach twisting. Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me. I scroll down, fingers tightening around my phone. The article wastes no time, spinning a story out of nothing.

“Charlie Grace and Grayson Cole set the internet ablaze last night after being spotted looking cozy at the exclusive Silver Lining Fundraiser in Los Angeles. In a candid moment captured at their table, the two actors appear deep in conversation, with sources claiming they were locked in all night. With a connection that seems impossible to ignore, fans are already speculating: is this just friendly industry chatter or the start of something more?”

A connection that seems impossible to ignore? Oh, I could ignore him just fine.

“The chemistry between them was obvious,” a so-called anonymous source tells the publication. “They had this pull…like they just get each other. If they’re not already together, I wouldn’t be surprised if they end up that way.”

I clench my jaw. A pull? The only thing pulling was my patience. Right to its breaking point. Then, the next line nearly makes me choke on air.

“The couple also made a statement with their generosity, donating a combined $250,000 to the Silver Lining Foundation, only fueling speculation that they may be closer than they let on.”

I sit up straighter, my blanket sliding to the floor. Excuse me? Couple?

We are not a couple. And we didn’t donate together. I donated because I care about the cause. Grayson donated—fine, technically because of me—for a mud race, which frankly he deserves…and now some poor, misguided reporter has decided that because our money ended up in the same donation pool, we must be financially and romantically intertwined? Halfway down the page, there’s a second photo. Not from the table, but from outside as I was leaving. The exact moment Grayson caught my arm. But from this angle, from the way my wrist is turned, it doesn’t look like he stopped me. It looks like he’s holding my hand.

I jump from the chair, my blanket falling to the ground.

The article continues, leaning into this new evidence of our so-called undeniable connection.

“A second photo captured the pair as they exited the venue, with Grayson reaching for Charlie in what appears to be an affectionate gesture. If this was just another industry friendship, why the lingering touch?”

I groan, gripping my phone tighter. What is this, Gossip Girl? The article keeps going, but I can’t read any more.

I swear I’m going to lose my mind.

My phone is still buzzing nonstop when a text comes through from Anna. Then another from Juno.

Anna

I’m coming over tonight.

Junebug

Char… I heard. Forget book clurb. I need the Grayson deets. I’m bringing wine.

My pulse feels too loud in the quiet house. I leave the phone where it is and head upstairs, taking the steps two at a time. In my closet, I pull on leggings and a jacket. In the bathroom, I twist my hair into a ponytail without looking in the mirror. I need to move. Back downstairs, rain hits harder when I open the back door. Wind rushes in sharp and cold off the tide. I grab the key, lock up behind me, and push through the gate that leads to the beach. Beyond it, the shoreline stretches dark and empty, waves break in uneven white lines beneath the storm, and the air is thick with salt and wet sand. The sand is slick beneath my shoes, packed firm near the tide line. I take off in a sprint, the wind stinging my cheeks. Rain soaks through my jacket, cool against my overheated skin. Waves roll in and drag back out again, steady and relentless beside me. It shouldn’t matter this much. It’s only a headline. Only a photo. But I’ve been here before. One relationship turned into a hundred articles. Private pain pulled apart in public. Comments that felt less like sympathy and more like judgment. I told myself I would never let it happen again.

Now they’ve built something out of a glance and a misread grip. I keep running until my lungs burn and the noise in my head finally starts to thin. When I slow to a stop, rain drips from my lashes and the storm has softened to a steady drizzle.

Chapter 7

I walk back home at a slow pace. I don’t feel completely better, but at least the weight in my chest feels a little lighter. Reaching the gate, I punch in the code and push it open, stepping into my backyard. The second I do, my hair tie slips free, falling to the ground. I glance down and spot it lying near the flower bed, resting on the stones.

Bending down to grab it, I pause. Dirt is scattered across the pathway. Some of the flowers are bent, a few rocks knocked out of place. I frown. Sliding the hair tie onto my wrist, I reach for the key in my pocket and unlock the back door. I kick off my shoes by the door and walk to the fridge, filling a glass of water. I chug the water and then set the empty glass on the counter, my gaze flicking to the clock.

A moment later, the doorbell rings. I pull the front door open to find Juno holding up a bottle of wine in one hand and a sushi takeout bag in the other, grinning like she already knows this is going to be a night. Anna stands beside her, looking…off.