Page 26 of PR Stunt

Another buzz. My screen lights up, and this time, I register the notification:

Front Door Camera – Motion Detected.

I swipe to open the app, and there he is. Grayson Cole standing at my front door, hands in his pockets, head tilting slightly as if sensing he’s being watched. My head gives a dull throb, and I wince, pressing my fingertips to my temple. Maybe one too many martinis with Juno last night. But that’s a problem for later. I fire off a quick text.

Me

I’m coming!

Unknown Number

Already? That was quick, Miss Grace.

Jesus Christ. Virtually gagging, I throw the covers off and launch out of bed, only for my foot to get tangled in the sheets. Before I can catch myself, I go face first into the floor. Seriously?

Why this morning of all mornings? Groaning, I untangle myself, my headache throbbing even worse now, and make a mad dash toward the bathroom, only to freeze mid-stride.

My gaze lands on the full-length mirror leaning against the wall. Oh. My. God. I look awful. My golden waves are an angled, frizzy mess. I look like Weird Barbie from the movie. No, for real. My skin is puffy, my lips are dry, and there’s a faint indent on my cheek from my pillowcase.

I look like I spent all night dancing on tables in nyc until four a.m., except, tragically, I did not. Melatonin always makes me extra groggy, and I faintly remember the words sweetheart haunting my dreams last night.

Oh, yeah.

Grayson is at my front door. Am I still buzzed? I have approximately 0.2 seconds to fix this. Not that I care what he thinks, but this is truly not a good look. I sprint back to my phone and fire off a text.

Me

This is me not acknowledging the last text, but I need 10. Can you walk around the block or something? Or you’re welcome to wait in my backyard. Side gate code: 7777.

I should probably give this contact a name. I start to type Grays— Nope. Bad idea.

Chuckling, I try Human Headache. Fitting, given the pounding in my skull.

Still not sold.

Red flag emojis? Tempting. But I’ve already got a few of those in my contacts.

Come on, brain. Think.

The most perfect contact name comes to mind.

Stank Breath.

Grinning to myself, I hit save.

Stank Breath

Tell me you didn’t make your security code an angel number.

Me

What? Who would actually ever guess something that obvious?

Stank Breath

Uh…literally everyone. I’ll wait for you. Go take some Advil.

Me