Page 3 of PR Stunt

I tried the public relationship once, and that was more than enough. I still remember waking up to a headline announcing his “private dinner” with someone else. There were side-by-side photos and strangers dissecting my expression as if they could pinpoint the exact moment I should have seen it coming.

I hadn’t.

Since then, I have kept that part of my life quiet.

Work is different. Work comes with scripts and marks taped to sidewalks. It comes with lighting cues and scenes I have already rehearsed. I know how to prepare for it. I know what is expected of me.

Love does not offer the same certainty.

I lean back against the seat as we merge onto the highway, watching the city fade behind us.

Tomorrow’s headlines will not mention the wrap or the campaign. They will be about who I am dating.

Or, more accurately, who I am not.

I glance down at my phone as it lights up again and then tuck it into my bag. I’m not ready to see what the world has decided about me today. For now, I just want to go home.

Chapter 2

As a teenager growing up in Bellingham, Washington, I used to daydream about life beyond my small hometown. Not because I didn’t love it. I did. But something in me always ached for more. And most definitely more sun.

From bed, I watch the morning light filter in through wide glass panes that overlook the ocean. The interior is all soft neutrals, airy rooms, and wide windows that welcome the sea breeze. French doors open to a private balcony, where I like to read, barefoot, with a sweeping stretch of blue on the horizon.

The robe I left on the floor last night is still where I dropped it. I tie it around my waist, already regretting the Pilates class I thought would be a good idea when I signed up last night. Jet lag is still lingering. At least I had the energy to throw my hair into sock curls before passing out. Thank God for that hack—total game changer. The socks come out, and my hair falls in loose waves that say I woke up like this,literally. A quick three-step skincare routine later, and I’m heading toward my walk-in closet.

I step into my closet and reach for my usual workout set of black flared leggings and a cropped tank. Most of what hangs in here is practical, with a few pieces I may or may not have taken from set over the years. I pull on a knit pullover and head downstairs.

Light oak floors stretch beneath vaulted ceilings and exposed beams, giving the space an easy, lived-in feel. The living room is all plush sofas, textured throws, and a fireplace that crackles on cooler nights. The kitchen, sleek but warm, has a marble island big enough for six or, more realistically, takeout.

I glance at the clock. Shit. I need to hurry.

I grab my Pilates bag and head to the garage, where my baby blue ’70 Ford Bronco waits. Anna keeps pushing for a full-time driver for “security,” but I like driving myself. It makes everything feel normal.

The studio is only five minutes away. I turn the key, and the engine comes to life before I back out of the driveway, windows cracked and music low. After months of living out of hotels, the simple routine feels grounding.

When I pull into the parking lot, I spot Juno already heading inside. She turns, sees me, and waves me over like we haven’t seen each other in years.

I grab my bag and head toward her.

“Finally!” She rushes over, wrapping her arms around me. “Do you know how lonely l.a. has been without you? I’ve had no one to spiral over my latest book boyfriend with. And did you see that Hailey just got another smoothie at Nova? I refuse to try it without you.”

Juno has that rare energy that shifts a room the moment she walks in. Not because she tries to, but because she just does. With warm honey skin, dark waves that seem to move with her, and eyes that sparkle like she’s always in on a secret, she’s impossible to ignore. She’s the wild spirit in every friend group, the one who convinces you to take a spontaneous road trip or jump into the ocean at midnight. Even sipping an overpriced matcha or sending a dramatic voice note, she makes everything feel more alive. She’s an actress too, and we met on my first day on set years ago. We’ve been attached at the hip ever since.

“I missed you too, bestie,” I say, hugging her tight. “Okay, I need to hear everything. Book boyfriends, smoothies, all of it. And don’t leave anything out.”

We head to the changing rooms and toss our bags into lockers.

“Okay, I need your unbiased opinion,” Juno says, already pulling off her sweatshirt. “I went on a date with this guy last night. Very hot. He has those veiny, manly hands. You know when guys reverse the car one-handed and put their arm on the passenger seat?”

I lean against the lockers. “Where are we going with this?”

“He was wearing flip-flops,” she says quickly.

I blink. “No…”

Juno winces. “To be fair, the restaurant was across from the beach.”

“At night?”