Page 42 of PR Stunt

“I haven’t,” I lie.

I swipe my phone off the counter and refresh my feed.

“Well, you should,” she says. “Because the sentiment is overwhelmingly positive.”

I press my tongue against my teeth. “Really?” I ask, forcing an easy tone. “Didn’t think it’d make this much noise.”

Anna laughs. “Are you kidding? The headlines are insane. The fan edits? It’s perfect.”

I snort. “That worked out well.”

“Keep it up. Seriously. The more natural moments, the better. The world is in love with this.”

Natural. That’s the part that keeps throwing me.

Anna shifts gears. “Anyway, I have a couple of new campaigns to go over in our next meeting. Also, I heard your gala look is drop-dead. Grayson’s team is already on it, making sure you two will photograph perfectly together.”

“Wonderful,” I say dryly.

Anna sighs on the other end. “You know, there are definitely worse positions to be in. Just about, oh, I don’t know, the entire world would happily trade places with you to cozy up with Grayson Cole, fake or not.”

“All I’m saying is this better work out and not backfire on me when it’s over. You know how the media twists things.”

“Don’t worry. This is a step in the right direction.” She pauses. “And that first article? Flimsy. Just a headline claiming Grayson’s up to his old ways, with a bunch of recycled photos of him leaving clubs with past flings. Nothing new, nothing credible. The team flagged it and had it buried before it could get traction.”

I stiffen, dropping my fork. “I didn’t even see it.”

“Exactly,” Anna says breezily. “Because we handled it.”

I nod, even though she can’t see me.

“Don’t worry, Charlie.” A pause. “That reminds me. Your dinner date is tonight. Try to enjoy yourself. It doesn’t have to be all work.”

Why does everyone keep saying that? Infuriating.

“Yeah, yeah. I gotta go.” I hang up before she can lecture me more.

With a sigh, I push my empty salad bowl aside and start tidying up before heading upstairs.

I grab the book I’ve been trying to finish and step out onto the bedroom terrace, hoping the fresh air will help me focus. A couple of hours slip by, and I’m just getting to the part where the shadow-wielding hottie is introduced when my phone lights up with the time.

I groan and let my head fall back against the couch.

I mark my place and set the book aside.

By the time I’m pulling on high-waisted flared jeans and stepping into black kitten heels, the sky outside my bedroom window has shifted to that soft, honeyed gold that only lasts a few minutes. I trade my robe for a silk blouse, spritz perfume at my wrists, grab a black purse, and head for the terrace doors.

As I pass my bed, I slow.

A single pink camellia rests against my pillow.

I frown, picking it up and brushing a petal between my fingers. Hailey must’ve left it behind while she was swapping the stems earlier.

The sky outside pulls my attention back to the terrace doors.

The sunset spills across the horizon in layers of orange and pink, fading slowly into the deep blue of the ocean.

I step onto the balcony, the breeze catching loose strands of my hair, and turn to the north. That side is quieter. Soft purples and pale blues, subtle and easy to miss.