Page 56 of PR Stunt

I cut off the thought with a shake of my head, increasing my pace. I catch a glimpse of my reflection in a storefront window. All black attire, hair flying, eyes narrowed in determination. Right now, I look like a woman headed into battle. A bead of sweat rolls down my cheek, and I wipe it away with the back of my hand. I’m close now. Just a few more blocks to outrun my thoughts. I push forward faster. Falling into a rhythm. Damn, if I ran to this music every day, I’d be in the best shape of my life.

A prickle runs down my neck, sudden and sharp, and for a moment I feel like I’m being watched. I subtly turn my head, scanning the street for cameras, but I don’t see anyone.

Paranoid. That’s what I get for having coffee on an empty stomach.

I round the last corner, and the studio’s sleek glass doors come into view just as Juno pulls into the lot. She barely has time to put her convertible Beetle in park before she spots me. I slow to a walk, catching my breath, and yank out my headphones.

Her brows shoot up the second she steps out. “No Dolly today?”

“Ah not today. Felt like running.”

Juno studies me, head tilting, but doesn’t push.

We head inside, offering polite smiles to the front desk receptionist, who greets us with the usual cheery “Welcome back, ladies!” before waving us through. The scent of eucalyptus and fresh towels instantly fills the air. A jolting contrast to the storm still rolling in my chest.

Inside the locker room, I unzip my jacket, shrug it off, and toss it into an open locker. My muscles vibrate from the run, and my pulse is still too quick. I bend down, swapping out my sneakers for my Pilates socks, tugging them on as I exhale slowly.

Juno leans against the lockers, arms crossed, watching me with amusement. “I have a feeling that whatever this is right now”—she gestures vaguely at my entire being—“has a lot to do with a certain…” She pauses, searching for the right descriptor, before her lips curve into a knowing grin, and she whispers just in case anyone hears in the change room. “A certain scandalous, annoyingly good-looking boyfriend?”

I glare at her as I put my belongings in the locker. She’s not wrong, but I refuse to give her the satisfaction of saying it.

Juno lets out a quiet laugh, clearly pleased. “Yeah. Thought so.”

We leave the locker area and head into the studio.

The instructor stands near the front, adjusting her mic, and I offer a polite “Hi!” as we pass.

Juno and I move to our usual spots, side by side, as other women start trickling in, all wearing leggings, their hair slicked back, murmuring about a new celebrity skincare guru and a singer who just started dating an nfl player.

I sink onto the reformer, stretching one leg out and reaching for my toes, rolling my ankle to loosen it up.

The instructor claps her hands, her voice bright but firm. “Alright, ladies! We’re starting with two red and one blue. Come lie down on your machines for some footwork.”

I exhale, shifting onto my back, hands gripping the edges of the carriage as I press my feet onto the bar. My legs are still warm, my pulse still a little too high, but the familiar structure of the class settles something inside me.

My legs push against the foot bar, and the carriage glides back before I slowly resist the pull forward. The instructor’s voice is smooth, almost too calm for the way my thighs are already shaking. “Stay controlled, ladies. No bouncing. Feel that resistance.”

Oh, I feel it.

I exhale sharply, pushing through another rep, but my mind refuses to stay in the room.

Instead, it loops through the last twenty-four hours, replaying every moment that led me here.

I’m sweaty, exhausted, and trying not to pass out in front of a room full of women in matching sets. Of all the people who have ever gotten under my skin…why him? This isn’t my first rodeo dealing with a cocky, ego-driven actor. Hollywood is full of them. I’ve spent years perfecting the art of brushing them off, of smiling through their self-important monologues and not giving them the reaction they want.

But Grayson Cole?

He’s different. And not just because he knows exactly how to get under my skin. It’s something else, something quieter. Like the way he always watches before he speaks, like he’s sizing up the room. Or the fact that, when he listens, it feels like he’s really paying attention. Not nodding to be polite but actually hearing me. It’s infuriating. And disarming.

Or maybe it’s because I made one impulsive decision at a fundraiser, and now I’m the one dealing with the fallout. I grit my teeth and push the carriage back, legs burning. The instructor strolls between the machines, hands on her hips, scanning us like a drill sergeant preparing to unleash more torture.

“Alright, let’s step it up. Add a red spring and move into single-leg presses.”

A wave of quiet suffering passes through the class. I glance at Juno, who tilts her head at me like she can see the storm behind my eyes. We both know my brain is miles away from this class. I take a sip of water, dragging in a slow breath before lowering onto one leg. The shake in my muscles is instant.

I wonder if Pilates instructors ever have a bad day and decide to take it out on us. A small, knowing smile tugs at my lips. I probably would. Juno catches the expression and raises a brow. I exhale. My life has officially turned upside down. And it’s all because of him. Well, fine, partly me this time, but still, he sucks, I tell my subconscious. The reformer groans under the added resistance, and I bite back a wince.

“Let your breath travel. Not just in, but around you. Your ribs are an open book.”