Page 94 of PR Stunt

The flight attendant returns, setting our drinks down on the glossy wood console. “Here you go. Let me know if you need anything else.”

“Thank you,” I say, stirring a swirl of honey into my coffee.

Before she can step away, Grayson leans over his seat, reaching for me. The movement is so sudden, I barely process it before his fingers brush against my temple, tucking a stray strand of hair behind my ear.

“Can’t wait to teach you to surf,” he murmurs, voice loud enough for the flight attendant to hear.

I hear her inhale sharply, probably trying to suppress a sigh or a blush or whatever it is people do when he turns on the charm. Juno’s words about face value chant in my head. But this has to be part of the act. It’s in front of people, obviously.

Still, I school my features, letting my smile soften. “I’m so excited! I’m sure it’ll be a…very enlightening experience.” I let out a light, playful laugh, meeting his gaze.

He grins like he’s genuinely excited, and the flight attendant scurries off, leaving us alone. I exhale slowly, willing myself to ignore him. He’s staring, I can feel it. His gaze burns into the side of my face.

I grab my headphones, settle them over my ears, and send him a single, pointed look before turning to my laptop. Three hours of peace. Three hours to get work done. Three hours without—

Grayson moves. I catch it out of the corner of my eye. He is rummaging through his duffel, and I assume he’s grabbing a script to study or something. But then my entire body locks up. It’s that book. The one with the ridiculous amount of fae smut. Why did I ever mention it? And now here he is, holding it like it’s the most casual thing in the world. He flips it open and settles back, like he’s actually about to read it. He doesn’t gloat. Just turns the page, completely unbothered. Then, without breaking rhythm, he reaches for his coffee, takes a slow sip, and finally meets my eyes. Smug. Oh, he knows exactly what he’s doing. I move my gaze to the window, watching as the jet begins to taxi.

The flight passes quickly. I answer emails, skim a brand deal, and read the script Anna pitched. Grayson spends the whole time reading that damn book. I try to ignore him, but every few minutes, he’ll make a sound deep in his throat, raise an eyebrow, or do something else to draw my attention, and I can’t help but wonder what he just read that made him react like he did.

Three hours later, the jet lands smoothly. Heat hits the moment we step out of the shuttle, the shift from cool air to heavy warmth making my clothes cling. The scent of salt and hibiscus lingers in the breeze, mixed with the distant crash of waves and the faint strum of a guitar.

Hotel staff greet us with easy smiles, quickly unloading our luggage. We follow a winding stone path through lush greenery, the jungle opening to golden sand and tall palms swaying under the afternoon sun. The hotel blends into the hillside, an open-air retreat with thatched roofs and wooden walkways leading to private bungalows.

I adjust the straps of my tote, already too hot in my sweatpants and tank top. The second we reach the room, I’m changing into a bikini. I haven’t had a real vacation in forever, and even if I’d rather not be sharing it with Grayson, I’m going to enjoy it—however short it is. I glance at him. His whole energy feels different. Looser. Brighter. Like Mexico shook something off him. He reaches for the wooden lobby door, holding it open for me. I step inside, and the immediate rush of cool air is a welcome relief.

“Gracias,” I murmur automatically, and when I look up, he’s smiling. Not his usual smile, but something more carefree.

The lobby is open and inviting, with rustic wooden beams and terracotta tiles warmed by the sun filtering in through wide, arched openings. A woven pendant hangs above the reception desk, its soft light casting patterns on the stucco walls. To the left, an indoor-outdoor lounge spills into a courtyard, where guests sip fresh agua frescas beneath swaying palm trees.

A receptionist greets us with a bright smile. “Bienvenidos a Selva Serena! How was your flight?”

“It was lovely, thank you,” I answer.

She nods, glancing at the screen in front of her. “We have you two in a suite in one of our best rooms.”

We couldn’t very well stay in separate rooms, but I did clarify with Hailey, and she reassured me that it’s a two-bedroom suite. Grayson steps up to the desk first, sliding his passport across the counter. I barely have time to ask about yoga classes before he greets the receptionist in perfect, fluent Spanish.

I do a double take. Fluent Spanish? The receptionist brightens, launching into an easy conversation with him, her replies fluid and warm. The other three at the desk take notice too, and soon, Grayson is chatting enthusiastically with all four of them, nodding and laughing like he does this all the time. I stare, a little stunned. Add this to the list of what I didn’t know about him.

They finish up, and the receptionist hands us our keycards. “If you need anything, let us know.”

Grayson gives them a charming thank-you before taking our key. We start down the lush, winding pathway, the sounds of the jungle mixing with the distant crash of waves. It’s quiet. Secluded. And for the first time, we’re truly alone. No publicist. No cameras. New element. Just us. And suddenly, I’m aware of everything. The soft brush of my arm against his. The gentle cling of heat on my skin. The steady sound of his footsteps beside mine. My pulse flutters against my will.

After tapping the hotel key against the lock on the door, we step into our suite. And damn, it is stunning. The space is open and airy, with vaulted wooden ceilings and smooth, sun-warmed stucco walls. Tall windows flood the room with light, casting soft shadows on the terracotta tiles. A massive terrace stretches beyond the living area, overlooking the jungle and the ocean beyond. An infinity pool glimmers at the edge, the water catching the afternoon sun. Grayson heads straight for the terrace, sliding the doors open as he steps outside. This suite is over the top, and I fully intend to call dibs on the best room.

I drop my tote on the wooden console and cross the space, taking in the thoughtful details: linen curtains drifting with the breeze, welcome drinks sweating on a tray, and a handwritten card with our names in gold ink.

I pluck one of the glasses, lift it in a silent cheers to the room, and take a sip. “Don’t mind if I do,” I murmur, the tart citrus hitting my tongue.

There are several doors off the main living area, and I make a beeline for the first one. I push it open, grinning at the sight of a king-sized bed with a white canopy draped from the ceiling. Panoramic windows look out onto a private corner of the terrace. The whole setup screams peace. A perfect place to unwind. Yeah, this room is mine. I set my drink down on the nightstand. Feeling satisfied, I turn back toward the living room, already planning to dump my suitcase on the bed before Grayson can even think about taking it.

Then I pause. What if there is a better room? I cross back into the main area and open the second door. Closet. Huh. Okay, maybe I got it wrong. Maybe the second bedroom is on the other side of the suite. I pivot, checking another door. Another closet. A small prickle of unease creeps up my spine. I whirl toward the last door and yank it open. Bathroom. I halt. Wait a minute. I spin back to the living room, scanning it… No, no, no. I storm back toward the only remaining room, and my stomach drops when my worst fear is confirmed.

One bed.

I stare at it like it personally betrayed me, my brain scrambling for another explanation. Maybe there’s some hidden Murphy bed or a secret door I somehow missed. There has to be a second bed.

But no matter how many times I check, open doors, re-check doors. It’s still just the one. I exhale sharply, hands planted on my hips, and stalk straight to the terrace, where Grayson is leaning against the railing, watching the waves.