Page 28 of PR Stunt

“Oh my God.” I set my cup down a little harder than necessary. “Two minutes. That’s all you lasted before being insufferable. And to point out, you are bringing it up.”

“I think you secretly enjoy it, Miss Grace.” He shrugs, clearly enjoying the moment.

Miss Grace. What is with this new nickname? First, it was sweetheart, and now this? Rolling my eyes, I grab my coffee and make a point to sit in the chair farthest from him. I glare as I pop open the container and take a bite of my toast.

“I don’t have the energy this morning to even give that response the time of day.”

Damn. This toast is really hitting.

Grayson watches me for a beat. “How long have you lived here?”

I blink at him, mid-bite. “Here, as in this house?”

He nods.

“Four years,” I say, swallowing my toast. “Why?”

He shrugs. “Just curious. I figured you had some place in the Hills or tucked away in Beverly.”

“Because I seem like the type?” I challenge.

“You seem like the type who would want to be closer to studios.”

I tilt my head, surprised that he’s actually thought about this. “I like being by the water.”

He hums, glancing toward the ocean. “Yeah. I get that.”

For a second, it’s…nice. Just two people drinking coffee, enjoying the morning and having a regular conversation.

“So…you were texting me from the bath?” he comments.

Again, that was short-lived.

I throw my balled-up napkin at him.

He dodges it effortlessly and then leans back in his chair, eyes doing that weird sparkly thing. I take another bite of avocado toast and wash it down with a sip of coffee, doing my best to ignore him.

“So,” he continues, unfazed, “where are you from originally?”

A sigh escapes before I answer. “Bellingham.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Washington?”

“No, Bellingham, Alaska.” I roll my eyes. “Yes, Washington.”

“Huh.” He takes a slow sip of coffee. “Makes sense.”

I pause mid-bite. “What does that mean?”

He shrugs. “You give small-town, good girl, ‘golden girl’ energy.”

My eyes narrow. “That is not a real thing.”

“It absolutely is.” He gestures at me lazily. “All polite and polished on the outside, and your definition of acting out is…getting a second scoop of ice cream when your mom said one.”

“What is with the twenty questions? We’re not getting quizzed on this in interviews.” And he’s never even been to Moo & More. Arguably the best ice cream shop, from which I would kill for a cone right now.

“I just like watching you pretend you don’t enjoy talking to me.”