Page 30 of PR Stunt

I watch him, unsure why I suddenly feel…exposed.

“I always dreamed of having a room like this when I was younger,” I admit, leaning against the doorway. “Reading books, diving into scripts… Wandering through other worlds has always fascinated me.”

I don’t know why I’m telling him this. Most people walk in here and go straight for the magazine covers and awards. They don’t even glance at the books.

I step inside, finally, and turn toward my desk, pretending to rearrange the fresh flowers in the vase to give my hands something to do.

Behind me, Grayson’s voice cuts through the quiet. “Are these your parents?”

I glance over my shoulder and see him holding a picture frame. The one from Whidbey Island. It’s a small island off the coast of Washington, where I’m standing on the beach, smiling, between my parents. The memory rushes back all at once, warm and familiar, and a pang of homesickness settles deep in my chest. I reach for the frame, taking it from his hands.

“Yep, that would be the parentals,” I say.

I set the picture frame back on the shelf and take a step back, only to bump into a solid wall.

Except…not a wall.

“Geez, personal space, yeah?” I mutter, stepping forward again.

“To clarify, you backed into me, not the other way around.”

Then, without another word, he turns and strolls out of the office.

As he disappears down the hall, he hollers, “What’s next? The upstairs?”

I narrow my eyes at his retreating figure. “You know, I actually don’t think upstairs is part of this tour.”

Both of our phones ping at the same time. We stop in the hallway, pulling them out. It’s a group text.

Anna

Why is it 9:54 AM and I still don’t see any romantic beach stroll pictures online?

Grayson, of course, is quick with his response. Seconds later, my phone pings again.

Stank Breath

Charlie is hungover.

My jaw drops, but I bite my lip, a smile threatening as his new contact name flashes back into my mind. “I’m not!”

He chuckles, not even remotely remorseful.

I scramble to type a response, but my fingers are not moving fast enough.

Me

Complete fabrication. We’re headed out now.

Another message comes through from a number I don’t recognize.

Unknown Number

Stick to the schedule, team.

This must be Miranda.

“Let’s just get this over with,” I mutter, shoving my phone into my pocket.