Page 77 of PR Stunt

Grayson shoves his hands into his pockets. “Easy.”

“Oh, one more thing,” Hailey continues, scrolling through her notes. “There are fans and press already waiting outside the hotel. You guys know the drill. Everyone wants to see the looks before you hit the carpet. And Anna also wanted me to pass along that you two need to get shots together.”

I nod. “Figured as much. We’ll give them what they want.”

“No, like casual talking—make it romantic but not too obvious.” She waves a hand. “Just enough to make it look natural, the in-between moments. And, of course, solo shots, too. I know I’m a broken record, but Anna will kill me and both of you if I don’t say this. This is the first time you’re officially making your red-carpet debut.”

Grayson smooths a hand over his jacket, taking the instructions in stride. “Understood. Hold hands, stare deeply into each other’s eyes, whisper sweet nothings. No problem.”

“You’re an idiot,” I say.

“A very convincing one.”

Hailey huffs. “Alright, lovebirds. Let’s go.”

Luca steps in for a final touch-up, and once satisfied, he tucks the compact into my clutch, handing it off to Hailey.

“Touch-ups are in here if you need them,” he says, giving me one last approving look.

Then, only to me, he wiggles his tongue suggestively, raising his eyebrows in an exaggerated motion, all while sneaking a glance at Grayson behind his back.

I let out a quiet gasp, swatting him on the shoulder. “Luca!”

Hailey tucks the clutch under her arm, catching all of that and muttering a laugh. “Alright, let’s move.”

The three of us make our way toward the elevator, my heels sinking slightly into the plush carpet. The only sound is the faint rustle of my gown. Grayson stands close to my right, his presence steady—and, unfortunately, becoming the norm. As the elevator doors slide open, we step inside. I close my eyes for a brief second. Happy thoughts, Charlie. You are a fantastic actress. You can do this. I’ve performed in a room full of professionals, on sets with cameras inches from my face.

This is just another scene. Another role.

I open my eyes. And immediately catch Grayson watching me. I squint slightly, brows pulling together. What? His expression doesn’t shift, doesn’t blink. Just watches like he’s cataloguing something private.

Hailey lowers her voice. “Showtime, you two.”

The doors slide open. I smile instantly, slipping back into character as I gather my dress in my hands, nodding at a passing hotel worker. Grayson keeps pace beside me, his hand just grazing my back as we step out into the hotel lobby.

Chapter 24

I can see the cameras flashing, fans packed behind velvet ropes, and our shuttle idling at the curb, waiting for us. The crowd starts buzzing the second they spot us. The doorman nods as we pass, pulling the door open.

As soon as the evening air hits me, I smile, taking in the energy of it all. “Hi! Hi, hi guys!” I wave, my expression warm.

Grayson walks a step behind me as flashes go off, cameras click, and phones rise in unison. The crowd is yelling our names. Grayson throws up a charming smile and wave, his expression as relaxed as ever. We step toward the shuttle. Hailey catches the back of my gown before it drags. Grayson offers his hand, and I take it, stepping into the shuttle, careful in my heels. The doors close. The noise fades. As the vehicle moves, I sway slightly. Grayson steadies me before I can fall. We briefly hold each other’s gaze, the space between us too close, his cologne spice and warmth as it reaches me.

Then, Grayson lifts a brow, his grip still light around my wrist. “Careful, Miss Grace. Falling for me already?”

I make a sound that’s somewhere between a laugh and a warning and then turn to the window. “You wish. I’d have to be at my absolute lowest. Stranded on a desert island, hallucinating from dehydration. And even then? I’d take my chances with a sand flea over you.”

Grayson shrugs. “Sure. But I don’t think a sand flea has the stamina to keep up with you.”

I start to fire back but catch Hailey watching us from across the van. I shoot her a questioning glance. She just lifts a brow as if she’s two steps ahead of something I haven’t figured out yet. We’re stuck in the middle of the road, caught in traffic, van after van ahead of us. The windows back here are fully tinted, but outside, press and fans line the streets, waiting. The van crawls into a slow-moving stream of black suvs and tinted shuttles. Outside the dark windows, the buzz is electric—press, fans, security, and staff moving in chaotic sync. Cameras flash like lightning. The gala entrance gleams, gilded and surreal.

A grand tent structure, transformed for the theme, is draped in flowing ivory and champagne fabrics. Oversized chandeliers cast a soft golden light. At the center, a long, wide staircase rises before us, wrapped in a luminous gold and cream carpet, its sheen catching the warm shimmer from above. I glance down at my dress. I match the carpet perfectly.

I almost laugh, shaking my head. Sienna truly nailed the assignment. I’m basically an extension of the venue. The van slows to a stop. Outside, event coordinators, security, and press handlers move quickly, directing talent, guests, and teams like a well-oiled machine. The driver steps out, circles the vehicle, and opens the door. Grayson is the first out. The moment his shoes hit the carpet, the crowd noise spikes. He steps aside and then immediately turns back for me.

He extends his hand, palm open, waiting. Hailey moves fast, already gathering the train of my dress and keeping it lifted just enough so it doesn’t drag. I slide my gloved hand into Grayson’s, letting him help me out. The moment my heels meet the carpet, everything heightens. The flashes explode. The cameras tilt in our direction. Voices call out, a wall of energy, admiration, anticipation. Everywhere I look, gowns and intricate silhouettes glide up the stairs.

Gold, white, cream, emerald, sapphire, ruby, and hints of amethyst shimmer in embroidery and embellishments. The air buzzes with camera shutters, staff instructions, air kisses, and champagne-laced laughter. The Met Gala might be New York’s biggest night, but this is l.a.’s.