Page 7 of PR Stunt

HOT DAYUM. Have so much fun, and please let your hair down a little. But don’t have too much fun because I don’t want fomo.

I settle into the back of the suv as we begin the hour-long drive to West Hollywood.

By the time we turn onto Melrose, the city is fully lit, palm trees silhouetted against a navy sky, storefront windows glowing beneath strings of warm light. The Pacific Design Center comes into view a few minutes later, all sharp blue glass and clean lines, its massive facade glowing against the night like something pulled straight from a futuristic set. Tonight, the entrance has been transformed—velvet ropes, floral installations, and a red carpet stretching beneath bright overhead lights while a line of black cars idle curbside, each one unloading another familiar face into the chaos.

The suv slows as we approach, camera flashes already dancing across the glass. Through the tinted windows, I spot a few familiar faces waiting near the entrance.

A valet opens Hailey’s door first, and she steps out, scanning the scene before nodding at me.

Showtime.

The moment I step out, the flashes explode. Shouts come from every direction.

“Charlie, who’s your date tonight?”

“Charlie, who are you wearing?”

“To your left Charlie!”

I hold my head high, a slow, knowing smile curving my lips as I take in the scene with an easy grace. The carpet is packed. Actors, influencers, socialites, all dressed in gowns and suits that took an entire team to perfect. To my left, a well-known director I’ve worked with is giving an interview. Farther down, a pop star is laughing with one of her model friends, the cameras eating up their every move.

I stride toward the red carpet, stopping in front of the Silver Lining Foundation backdrop. Hailey adjusts my dress with quick meticulousness before stepping aside, leaving me to face the wall of flashing cameras. I smile big and wave to them.

“Charlie, I see you! Over here to the right!” a voice calls out, louder than the rest and familiar somehow, even over the noise.

I turn toward the persistent voice, angling my body toward the backdrop before glancing over my shoulder, giving the cameras a perfect shot of the back of my dress.

“Thank you so much!” I flash a final smile, offering a small wave to the photographers before making my way inside the event.

As I step inside, the air shifts. It’s warmer, buzzing with the low hum of conversation and the clink of crystal glasses. The grand entrance is framed by towering columns, candlelit arrangements casting a soft glow over polished marble floors. The scent of fresh flowers lingers in the air, mingling with expensive perfume and champagne.

Anna is waiting just beyond the entrance. Her gaze scans the crowd before landing on me. A slow smile spreads across her face as she takes me in.

“Charlie, you look incredible,” she says, her tone approving as she steps forward, lightly adjusting the bracelet on my wrist like a final touch.

“You do too, as always, Anna,” I say, smiling back at her.

We walk into the ballroom. Chandeliers drip golden light above rows of candles and elegantly set tables. A string quartet plays nearby, their melody weaving through quiet conversation and bursts of laughter. At the front of the room, a single podium stands beneath a soft spotlight.

Waiters in crisp white jackets move between the tables with silver trays, offering glasses of champagne and delicate hors d’oeuvres. The city’s elite fill the room, mingling in sleek gowns and perfectly cut suits.

“Everyone’s here tonight,” Anna murmurs, her gaze sweeping the room. “Let’s make sure they see you.”

I straighten slightly, adjusting my posture as we step farther inside, the energy of the night settling around me like a second skin. I reach for a glass of champagne as a waiter passes by, taking a slow sip of the bubbling drink while scanning the room. There aren’t any paparazzi inside, but hired photographers weave through the crowd. I’ve been to countless galas, events, and fundraisers, but I’m especially happy this one supports mental health. It’s something that’s touched people I care about, and if showing up helps move the needle even a little, I’ll keep doing it.

“Charlie, let me show you to your table,” Anna says, placing a guiding hand on my arm as we weave through the room.

As we walk, I catch snippets of hushed deals, quiet laughter, and the occasional flash of a camera.

Anna subtly tugs me forward, guiding me toward the main dining area. As we reach the elegantly set table, I set my champagne flute down, smoothing a hand over my dress.

“Anna!”

The voice is smooth but firm, carrying over the crowd. I turn as a woman in her late forties or maybe early fifties approaches. Honestly, who knows? This is Hollywood, where everyone looks ten years younger. Her silver hair frames a face that is both striking and assured, and her sharp gaze studies me from behind thin-rimmed glasses.

Anna greets her with a warm smile. “Miranda, I was hoping I’d run into you.”

Miranda returns the expression, her gaze flicking to me with recognition.