Page 92 of PR Stunt

I open my mouth, but my throat feels tight. I grip my wineglass a little too hard, the cool condensation damp against my palm. The thought has been creeping in for hours, lingering in the back of my mind like an uninvited guest. And now, sitting here, wine loosening my tongue, I finally say it.

“I just feel really stupid.”

Juno frowns. “Charlie, why would you say that?”

I laugh, but it’s hollow. “Because…” I throw my hands in the air. “This is all for show, and it’s not real, and I hate that I feel this way. I don’t know at what point exactly along the way the lines got…” I shake my head, frustration bubbling under my skin. “Blurred.”

Juno watches me carefully and then says, “Every time I see you two interact, it’s like I can physically see the connection. Yeah, you guys challenge each other to no end, but really think about it. Has he ever made you feel not validated? Not supported you?”

I open my mouth to argue, reaching for an answer, an easy dismissal. Of course he has. He’s Grayson Cole. He’s arrogant. Infuriating. Reckless. The press calls him a playboy for a reason. And yet… I sift through the last few months, trying to land on a moment that proved all of that. I search for a slight, a moment of disrespect. But there’s nothing apart from harmless jokes.

Just his constant presence, his unwavering support in the moments I needed it most.

Damn it.

Juno sees it all over my face. “Ironically, I think that’s why this whole ruse is working—because you two actually have something.”

“Yeah, because we’re acting, Juno.”

“No, no. It goes beyond that, and you know it.”

I shake my head, staring into my wine like it has the answers. “It doesn’t change his rep, though.”

“You and I both know how snaky the press can be.”

She has a very valid point, but the frustration simmers beneath the surface.

“Yeah, but the press can only twist so much. The photos are real, Juno. Every damn article comes with receipts. His past is everywhere.”

I open my phone, scroll, and tilt the screen toward her. “This one came out the morning after the gala.”

The headline glares back at me.

Grayson’s Latest Role: Pretending to Care?

Beneath it is a carousel of images. Grayson at a club in Vegas, shirt half undone, grinning. Another from just a few months ago, him on a yacht, surrounded by models. And then the final slide: me. At the gala. Looking up at him like an idiot.

Juno’s quiet for a beat. “Yeah…but that stuff’s not now.”

I glance at her.

She shrugs. “People grow. Change. Whatever. You of all people know how much this industry loves to dig up old shit and spin it like it’s fresh.” Her voice is calm, but her eyes are steady. “And Charlie? He cares.”

Juno pauses for a moment and then asks, voice softer this time, “What are you afraid of?”

Excuses flood my mind. The media. His reputation. The risk of ruining everything.

But none of those are the real reason. What if Lauren is right? That I’m not wild enough for him. I’m afraid it’s not real for him. That the warmth, the charm, the banter…it’s just who he is. Just part of the performance. And I read into something that was never meant to mean anything. Because if I let myself believe it’s more, and it’s not… That’s on me.

But I don’t say any of that. Because if I do, then it becomes real. And I’m not ready for that.

It’s almost laughable, really. Acting, my entire career, is about being vulnerable. Raw. Honest.

Stripped down. I can cry on cue, bare my soul in front of millions, but when it comes to him? That kind of vulnerability terrifies me. Because this isn’t a script. There are no retakes. If I let the truth out, there’s no undoing it.

I groan, tucking a golden strand of hair behind my ear. “Ugh. I don’t know what’s gotten into me. I hate that I feel like some…pick me girl.” The words still sting a little, but now I’m kind of laughing at myself. “I mean seriously, who am I right now?”

I let my head fall back against the cushion, gaze tracing the sky. A seagull flies past.