Page 74 of PR Stunt

For a second, he doesn’t speak. But something in his face gives, just enough to make the moment feel different. The walls don’t crash down, not fully, but I can feel the shift, like he wants to meet me there.

We run it again. And this time, he doesn’t hesitate. He delivers the line—“I think the first night we met might’ve been the beginning of the end for me”—and something about the way he says it doesn’t feel rehearsed.

It feels…unpolished.

Good. He’s getting rooted into the character.

When we finish, the silence stretches.

He clears his throat lightly. “Thanks.”

I nod, folding the script. “You’re not terrible.”

He was more than just not terrible. He was good, really good. There was something earnest in the way he delivered each line, something quietly exposed that caught me off guard. If he brings even half of that to the screen, audiences won’t stand a chance.

“That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

He stands, rolling the pages in his hand. For a second, I think he’s about to say more, but instead, he moves to the door.

“By the way, you still haven’t denied being madly in love with me. It’s getting awkward,” I say.

“Who said I’m not, girlfriend?”

I purse my lips, fighting a smile. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

A corner of his mouth lifts. “Night, Miss Grace.” Then he’s gone.

And I’m left on the couch, the script still in my lap, my heart beating too loud in the quiet.

Chapter 23

It’s been a full prep day. Facial, nails in a soft gold, and a lymphatic massage. All to ensure I’m red carpet ready. Inside the hotel suite, Vogue is filming a last-minute get ready with me. One camera hovers by my vanity. The other floats around, capturing soft b-roll. The gown, the jewelry, the final touches. I sit in a robe while Luca dabs concealer under my eyes.

Off camera, the producer cues me. “Charlie, this is your third City of Angels Gala—what’s tonight all about?”

I tilt my head toward the lens, smiling. “Oh, you know. Just a casual night out in couture.”

Laughter behind the camera.

“But really,” I continue, “it’s one of my favorite nights of the year. This year’s theme is Gilded Age Elegance. Opulence. Drama. All the high-society glamor of the late 1800s, with a modern twist.”

Luca hums his agreement.

“Luca’s done my glam for years,” I say, tilting my face toward the light. “What’s the vibe?”

“Timeless, sculpted, radiant,” he says. “Elegant but modern.”

b-roll rolls, my gown hanging in the closet, Sienna steaming it, jewelry laid out on velvet.

“Tell us about the dress?”

“Sienna and I planned it months ago. It’s everything I love—structured, ornate, and still wearable.”

“And the gloves?”

“They’re a nod to history. In the Gilded Age, gloves were a sign of refinement. Women rarely went to society events without them. They just felt right.”

Hailey snaps a film photo as I gesture toward the dress and then another as I laugh softly.