Page 25 of PR Stunt

My phone dings again.

I glance back, hesitate, and then turn and pick it up from the bath mat.

Unknown Number

You can ignore me all you want, but we both know I’m still on your mind. See you tomorrow at 9:00 am. Goodnight, Charlie.

What is he talking about? I check my calendar, and sure enough, there’s an addition, one Anna must have slipped in while I was at dinner with Juno.

9:00 am – Grayson Cole, Malibu Beach.

Me

The only thing on my mind is counting down the days until I’m no longer legally bound to you. (:

I set my phone down with a satisfied little smirk. That should shut him up. Feeling victorious, I grab my sleep shorts and an oversized tee, slipping them on before climbing into bed. The martinis have left a warm flush in my limbs, and my silk sheets feel extra nice against my skin.

I grab my phone, already picturing Grayson’s irritated response. He has to say something.

Nothing.

I frown. Still no response.

Weird. He usually has some smart-ass comeback locked and loaded within seconds. Maybe he’s retyping, trying to come up with something clever. Maybe I really got him this time.

Satisfied with that thought, I roll onto my side and plug my phone in. I’m not checking it again.

I’ve won.

A few minutes pass. Then a few more.

My hand twitches. I casually pick up my phone to check the time. You know, just in case. Still nothing.

I scowl at the screen.

What the hell? Now he’s ignoring me?

I’m not annoyed. Not at all. This is good. This means I shut him down so effectively that he has nothing left to say.

Right?

I set my phone down again. Fold my arms. Stare at the ceiling.

Ew. I’m literally giving myself the ick. I yank open my nightstand drawer and grab a melatonin. The room is quiet, just the soft crash of waves outside my window. The melatonin starts to work its magic, pulling me under.

Somewhere in the haze of sleep, the word sweetheart echoes in my mind, over and over, like a whisper I can’t shake.

Chapter 11

A sharp ding jolts me awake, followed immediately by another chime: my front door notification.

I groan, rolling over and grabbing my phone blindly from the nightstand.

My eyes widen. Shit. I shoot upright, heart pounding as I process the time. It’s 9:17 a.m.

Grayson.

Malibu—9 AM.