Page 8 of PR Stunt

“Of course,” Miranda replies smoothly and then extends a hand. “Charlie Grace. Miranda Fox. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

I shake her hand. “So lovely to meet you. How do you know each other?”

Miranda’s lips curve into a knowing smile. “Who do you think trained Anna?”

Anna rolls her eyes. “And yet, somehow, she still claims all the credit.”

Then, almost immediately, she adds, “Where’s your headache?”

Her headache? I glance between the two of them, confused.

Miranda exhales, adjusting the cuff of her sleeve like she’s straightening a thought before speaking. “Where do you think?” She gestures toward the bar.

Following her gaze, I spot him. Standing tall, easily over six feet, broad-shouldered, with an easy confidence that makes him impossible to ignore. Grayson Cole. Even from behind, he commands attention. The sharp cut of his suit molds to his frame, the dark fabric stretching across a muscular back that hints at a body built for more than just looking good on camera.

Three women surround him, all of them stunning, wearing designer dresses that cling in all the right places, and giggles spill from glossy lips. They lean in, caught in the orbit of his charm, their laughter light and flirtatious.

He says something, and whatever it is, it earns him a round of soft, delighted laughter.

One of the women reaches out, resting a manicured hand on his arm, the touch lingering.

I can’t see his face yet, but I don’t need to. I already know he’s eating it up.

I’ve met him in passing at awards, but we’ve never worked together. Who doesn’t know who he is, though? Hollywood’s favorite bad boy. He makes headlines as often as he makes movies. A career built on undeniable talent, because no one can deny that Grayson Cole is good at what he does, but fueled by a reputation that keeps the press endlessly entertained.

Never photographed or seen with the same woman twice. The offhand comments in interviews that set social media on fire. The sex tape rumor that trended for a week before quietly disappearing.

Not that there was anything wrong with any of that. People could date who they wanted and make whatever choices they wanted. But every headline seemed to point to the same thing: Grayson Cole left a trail of chaos wherever he went.

He’s been in the industry for years. Studios love him because he guarantees box office numbers. Directors put up with him because when the cameras are rolling, he delivers. But offset, he’s unpredictable. He skips red carpets, ignores interview questions he doesn’t like, and he once walked off a panel because they turned it into a clickbait circus.

He romances like he works. Fast, intense, and done by wrap day.

Miranda walks up to Grayson, placing a hand on the back of his arm as she leans in, saying something to the women. Grayson turns to them, flashing that easy, charming smile, and murmurs a few words. Whatever he says makes their faces fall, like they already know they’ve lost his attention but still don’t want him to leave.

A moment later, he steps away from them and follows Miranda, heading straight toward us.

Even across the room, our eyes lock. For a moment, neither of us looks away.

I’ll admit it: he’s undeniably gorgeous. A face that doesn’t need good lighting or a flattering angle. His dark hair is slightly tousled, as if he just ran his fingers through it, the kind that makes you want to do the same. His features are sharp but composed, a straight nose that people pay a small fortune to replicate and a mouth that looks like it’s always holding back a secret.

Grayson’s expression is unreadable, but there’s something in his sharp blue eyes I can’t quite place. Even I’ll admit that it’s hard to look away.

Miranda reaches us first, gesturing between us. “Charlie, meet Grayson Cole.”

He stops just a step too close, the faintest grin playing at the corner of his mouth.

“Charlie Grace,” he says, his voice low and smooth, sending chills all over my body.

“Grayson Cole,” I reply.

Chapter 5

Grayson’s gaze moves over me, unhurried. I hold his stare. If he’s waiting for me to blink, he’ll be waiting awhile.

“I was expecting America’s Sweetheart,” he muses, voice low enough to feel private despite the noise around us. “Not…” He pauses, tilting his head slightly, like he’s trying to place me.

I arch a brow, slightly caught off guard. Well, then. That wasn’t exactly a standard introduction. I’ve been in this industry long enough to know that public perception and reality are rarely the same thing. Rumors get exaggerated. Gossip grows legs.