Page 19 of PR Stunt

A loose strand of hair slips free from my ponytail, brushing against my cheek. I reach up, only for his fingers to sweep it away instead.

The touch is light, but my pulse jumps anyway.

Even in my heels, he looms over me.

Grayson chuckles under his breath. “Remember,” he says smoothly, his gaze flicking toward the photographers across the street, “play your part.”

The shift is immediate.

I step into him, my hand sliding up the front of his jacket the way I’ve done in a dozen films before. Close the distance. Find the angle that will read from across the street.

I loop my arm around his shoulders.

His hand settles at my waist.

The warmth of him bleeds through the thin cotton of his shirt. Beneath it, muscle. Solid. Unmistakable. My stomach tightens involuntarily.

I let out a bright laugh.

“That’s the fourth time you’ve called me sweetheart,” I say sweetly.

I smile wider.

“And the last.”

For a fraction of a second, neither of us pulls away.

Then I step back first, turn, and get into my car. I place my purse on the passenger seat, reach for my sunglasses in the cup holder, and slip them on. As I adjust the rearview mirror, my eyes snags on what I see. Frowning, I tilt the mirror lower just in time to see Grayson throw a leg over a black Harley. Settling onto the seat, he pulls off his hat, secures it through a belt loop, and then reaches for the matte black helmet hooked onto the handlebars. I watch as he fastens the strap and then—wait.

What’s he reaching for now?

I adjust the mirror again, catching the moment he opens one of the saddlebags attached to the bike. A second later, he pulls out a pair of sunglasses and slides them on. Ugh. Annoying.

I shouldn’t be staring, but the way he moves, I swear the damn camera is still rolling.

I’ve never dated a biker guy before, which feels like an odd detail to clock right now—and not that Grayson counts. Still, as he fastens his helmet and pushes the bike upright, I can’t help but admit—begrudgingly, silently, and only to myself—he looks good.

Well, at least we’ll photograph well together. His engine roars to life, sharp and sudden, and a quiet gasp slips out of me before I can stop it. I realize I haven’t even turned my car on and that I’m just sitting here, staring, when our eyes meet in the rearview mirror. One corner of his mouth lifts, subtle but unmistakable, and heat climbs up my neck. I shove the key into the ignition, the engine catching a second later, and then I flick on my blinker and pull onto the street, already wondering how I’m going to survive the next few months.

Chapter 9

The vanity bulbs in my dressing room at the studio for the What’s in My Bag campaign cast a warm glow across the mirror, reflecting off scattered makeup brushes, foundation bottles, and half-empty cans of hairspray. The air smells like powder, perfume, and heat—the familiar cocktail of getting camera ready.

Seated in the makeup chair, I watch as Luca sweeps a final dusting of powder over my cheekbones.

“Okay, girlfriend. I kept it light and natural, just like you asked.”

I glance in the mirror, smiling. “This is perfect, thank you!”

To my right, Sienna is crouched beside a garment rack. She glances up, catching my reflection in the mirror.

“Excited?” she asks, though she already knows the answer.

I grin back at her. “I am! I didn’t overly look through my purse because I wanted this to be a true what’s in my bag, so it might be a bit of a wild card, but I’m looking forward to it.”

She pulls a clothing rack forward. “So, I’m thinking we keep it cool and casual today?”

“I love it, as always!” I chime, already picturing the look on.